Page 45 of The Actor and His Secret

Selina chews on my statement and nods. ‘I want to be able to help you, Nikos. But I can’t do that unless you want me to.’

Do you? Do you actually?

‘Please.’ My entire body is shaking, my knuckles bleeding, and chest aching. I dare close my eyes in case I see Oli’s body laid out at the bottom of a flight of stairs, head cracked and eyes empty of life… just like my…

My phone is in my hand, distracting me from the only thought that can undo me. I pull up the internet. In a matter of moments, all whilst Selina is looking at me, I have the website that I need before me.

‘What are you doing now, Nikos?’

‘Holiday,’ I exhale, unable to form a sentence. ‘Just like you said. I’m getting away. I need a break.’

But more so, I need to get Oli away. And there is one place that I know in the world that my father would never return.

The scene of the crime that started this nightmare.

‘I’m going home.’

17

OLI

I feel like I’m going to pass out the whole time I’m engaged in this horrific deception.

It doesn’t quite feel real, like I’m a character in some spy movie who’s been tasked with setting up a drop. You know that sense of unreality that sometimes comes along with anxiety, like you’re not the one in charge of your body? Like you’re seeing through someone else’s eyes?

Yeah. I’m feeling that hard.

Nikos told me this morning that he was going to record for a radio show, and that it would take him a few hours to get back. I told him that I had errands to run and that I would listen as I did them, and I felt so bad as he kissed me and then walked out of the door that I wanted to die.

I’m not going to listen, and I know it.

I grab a hoodie out of my closet and throw on jeans, fishing out an old baseball cap too. There’s no reason for me to be disguised, but I feel like it’s armour. Like if I’m dressed this way, I’m not the one who’s actually dropping a watch worth tens of thousands of dollars into the coffee cup I get from Costa along the way.

Drinking the coffee gives me instant heartburn. I dump the rest in the Thames.

Sorry fish.

The spot by the river where Nikos and I had sat was so special to me, and now Geoff has ruined it, just like he ruined our relationship and my heart. My stomach lurches as I shake the last dregs of the coffee out of the cup and then drop the watch into it, snapping the plastic lid on top.

When I glance around, I can’t see Geoff anywhere. I know he must be watching, though. He probably was following me the whole way here. The thought makes me hunch my shoulders as I turn back towards home. I’m constantly looking behind me as I walk, too wound up to take the tube. Fresh air usually does me good when I’m anxious, but not this time. My stomach just sinks further with every step I take.

It’s over, I remind myself. He got the sick revenge he wanted, and now he’s out of your life.

Geoff is the kind of man who just wants to be in control. He just wants to know that everyone is wrapped around his finance-bro finger. This is like a dog pissing on something to show ownership.

It’s the last time he’s going to do this to me. I have to believe that.

I stop into the hardware store after the half-hour walk home. It’s raining now, and only getting worse. A clock on the wall shows that Nikos’ radio program must have ended by now, but I can’t bring myself to text him. Not with what I’ve just done.

I pick up a roll of white tape, the kind that you use to section off stripes when painting. I disabled the security system last night, but I don’t trust Geoff to not find a way to get back in.

When I walk in my front door, the first thing I do after drying off is grab a chair from the kitchen. The tape held under one arm, I drag it to the first camera by the door. I stick tape over the lens, a small enough piece to be nearly unnoticeable this high up, but enough to cover the lens. I play Nikos’ interview through my AirPods while I work, and when he says the part about life giving him honey, my stomach swoops.

If only life had given me him to keep.

By the time there’s a knock at the door, I’m sweaty and my arms ache, but I’ve covered all the cameras. I take a moment to compose myself and greet Nikos. He steps in quickly and leans his weight back against the door, turning the deadbolt with one hand and grabbing the back of my neck with the other. He looks me up and down, and only when his eyes have finished traversing my body does he seem to relax.

‘How was your interview?’ I fist my hands into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He’s soaked through.

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