Page 37 of None of This is True

‘You know, I’m probably going to tell Alix about the girls.’

His head snaps towards her. ‘What do you mean, tell her?’

‘I’m going to tell her. What happened. What we did.’

He narrows his eyes at her. ‘Are you mad?’

Josie recoils slightly. She hates it when Walter says things like that.

‘It’s time. That’s all. She’ll be able to help us.’

‘Help us? Fuck, Josie. She’ll call the fucking police.’

‘Good.’

‘Oh my God. Oh Jesus. Josie. You actually are, aren’t you? You’re actually mad. Genuinely. We’ve been through all of this. I thought we agreed—’

‘No. No, we did not agree. We did not agree anything. We need to—’

‘We need to do nothing , Josie. We need to do nothing. Fucking hell …’ He slaps his forehead with his hand and pushes the tray of food off his lap so he can stand up.

He starts to stride away from Josie and she pulls him back by his arm and then flinches when she sees his hand arcing towards her. He brings it back quickly to his side and carries on walking towards the bay window.

‘It’s happening, Walter. Whether you like it or not. I’m going to tell Alix everything. I can’t live like this any more. We’re moving on.’

‘I can’t talk to you. You’re insane. You’re literally insane. I’m married to a fucking nutter.’

‘And I’m married to a fucking paedophile !’

The air in the room freezes. For a second, neither Josie nor Walter breathes or moves.

Finally, Walter speaks. ‘I’m sorry?’

She wants to say it again. And then again and again. She wants to pummel her fists against his chest and spit the word into his face until he’s choking on it. But she can’t. It’s gone.

She collects their half-eaten plates of food, scrapes some into the blender for Erin, throws the rest into the bin.

She purees the pie for Erin and spoons it into a bowl. She puts it on a tray with a strawberry-flavoured Müllerlight. She leaves it outside Erin’s room, her spare hand clamped over her mouth and nose to mask the smell. She is about to touch the door and then kiss her fingers, but she stops herself.

She’s starting to feel that Erin is part of the problem here. She’s starting to feel like Erin is no longer on her side.

Friday, 12 July

Nathan texts Alix at 6.30 p.m.:

I’m just having a quick one with Gio. Should be back before 7.30. Need me to pick anything up?

Alix sighs heavily, her thumb over the keyboard, thinking of and discarding a dozen ripe responses, before simply typing OK , turning off the screen and putting the phone down. She returns to the onion she’d been slicing for the dish she’s cooking for Josie and Walter, turns it round to dice it, then slides it into the casserole dish, where it sizzles in a pool of melted butter.

Eliza is at her friend’s house for a sleepover. Leon is watching TV in the living room. Alix thinks about the half-open bottle of wine in the fridge, thinks about pouring herself a large glass right now and glugging it. But she mustn’t. She has to hold it together. She slices chicken breasts into strips and adds them to the frying onions.

Nathan is still not home at seven thirty. She stares at her phone desperately, even though she knows there won’t be anything there. She sends a prayer out to the universe that Josie and Walter will be late, but at seven thirty-two the doorbell rings and she dries her hands, tidies her hair and heads to the front door.

‘Hi!’

Josie stands on the top step in one of the dresses they’d chosen together at the boutique, her hair held back in a French braid on one side of her head, clutching a bunch of pink roses and a bottle of expensive champagne. She beams at Alix brightly and slightly unnervingly; Josie does not usually beam. And then she leans into her and kisses her firmly on both cheeks. ‘Hi! You look lovely!’

Then Josie turns and pulls Walter to her gently by his elbow. ‘Alix, this is Walter. Walter, this is Alix.’

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