Page 87 of None of This is True

The text beneath reads:

Alix Summer, January 2022

Alix speaks to an off-camera interviewer.

‘I couldn’t come in here’ – she gestures at her recording studio – ‘not for months and months. It felt so … full of her. So full of Josie. So, I just abandoned it. Focused on the kids, focused on getting my daughter through her first term of secondary school without a dad, on persuading my grieving son that I could be fun too. You know? And then a few months later, of course, the pandemic hit and life changed and everyone started doing things differently. Getting dogs. Baking bread. Writing novels. All of that. And I realised that it was all on me now, all of it. There was no life insurance policy, no income. There’d been a few thousand in our joint bank account when Nathan went missing, but that wasn’t going to last very long. I needed to get a job, but of course, how can you get a job in the middle of a global pandemic when you’re a single parent home-schooling two children? I felt terrified, started making plans to sell the house, downsize. But then one night, a few weeks into the first lockdown, I looked out across the garden and there was this fox, sitting by the door to my studio, staring at me. And he looked like he was issuing me with a challenge. Like, a, you know, what are you going to do now? kind of thing. Like an are you just going to sit around feeling sad about everything or are you going to fire up your engines and make something out of all this fucking awfulness? Because believe me, it was truly awful. But I knew that I had the makings, if I could only stomach it, of a truly unbelievable story.

‘So the next morning I made myself a strong coffee and took a deep breath and I unlocked the door to the studio and I thought: Right, Alix Summer, it’s all there, everything you need to make this happen, hours and hours of recordings with Josie, with Roxy, with Pat. I had access to all the news reports online. I had recorded all my calls throughout, so I had my phone conversations with DC s Albright and Bryant. I had more than enough to create something completely unforgettable, something unmissable. I got in touch with Andrea Muse, the famous true crime podcaster, and asked if she would help produce and edit. My previous podcasts had been straightforward one-on-one interviews, all recorded in one sitting, just needed polishing and a light edit before they went out into the world. This was going to be hugely different, involving complex editing skills that I did not possess. So, with Andrea on board, I started, that day. By the end of the month we had the first episode, and it went live in late May. And yes, as you know, it went viral. Totally viral. After the first episode aired, I had people contact me directly wanting me to interview them. Brooke Ripley’s mother. Josie’s friend Helen from school. Walter’s son in Canada. So week by week the podcast was becoming more and more complex, more and more multi-layered, more and more gripping. And then, midsummer 2020, close on a year since Nathan died, I got a message from Katelyn. You know – Katelyn Rand? They’d just relaxed the restrictions then, which meant I could meet up with her, face to face. So we arranged to meet in Queen’s Park, just around the corner from my house. It was a Wednesday afternoon. I was quite terrified.’

Wednesday, 15 July 2020

Alix pushes her sunglasses from her face and into her hair when she sees Katelyn approaching. Her heart races in her chest and she feels a sickening mix of nerves and excitement.

Then the woman’s face opens up into a huge disarming smile and her pace picks up and she comes to Alix looking as if she might hug her, then quickly remembers that she’s not allowed to any more, so they sit six feet apart and Katelyn says, ‘Wow, you’re beautiful. I mean I saw you on the news, obviously. But you’re much more beautiful in real life.’

‘You’re beautiful, too,’ Alix says, without the same warmth with which Katelyn had imbued her compliment. And Katelyn is spectacularly pretty. Her skin is clear and honeyed and her hair is a mass of soft blonde curls, tied away from her face into a puff ball. She has dimples and a small gap between her very white teeth and she is leggy in skinny jeans and a cropped fitted cardigan that clings to breasts at least three cup sizes bigger than Alix’s.

Katelyn pooh-poohs the compliment, likeably, and Alix feels herself being drawn against her will into liking this human being who played such a huge part in the death of her husband. She sets up her phone and portable microphone ready to record their conversation. Katelyn chatters as she does so.

‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw you’d put a podcast out. It’s everywhere! I mean, I don’t even listen to podcasts, I don’t even know what a podcast is, barely. But this one – wow! – I mean, inevitable, I suppose. It’s not every day you get thrown into your own real-life crime. And I’m sorry, Alix, but I have to warn you in advance, I have no filter. I say words before I hear them in my head, you know? And sometimes it makes me sound insensitive? Uncaring? But really, I am not that person. Not at all. And I need you to know, Alix, how horribly, horribly sorry I am for what happened. And for the part that I played in it. I can barely sleep at night, sometimes, thinking about it all, wanting to turn back the clock, wanting never to have walked into that alterations shop that morning.’

‘You met Josie in the alterations shop?’

‘Yeah. Well, I knew who she was already, she was kind of famous on my estate for being the girl who ran off with her mum’s boyfriend, you know? But I hadn’t seen her for years before that. But listen, Alix, please believe me, I thought I was doing something good, you know? I thought I was doing something for the sisterhood. The way she painted it, that you were stuck in this marriage with this guy who couldn’t keep it in his trousers, you know? And she was helping you escape. And I wanted to help you escape too. Obviously, the money was a huge incentive. A thousand pounds is a thousand pounds, yeah? But mainly I just thought: Let’s show this woman what sort of man her husband is. Let’s show her and then she can be free of him. And then of course, it turned out that your husband was not that guy at all. Not at all . My God, Alix, that man loved you. He didn’t come near me in that way. He was not interested in me in that way. He was just so drunk and I think he saw me as his drinking buddy, you know? He just wanted a drinking buddy. But all the while it was Alix-this and Alix-that. And showing me photos of you on his phone.’

Alix glances up at Katelyn at this and says, ‘His phone. Yes. I always wondered, why didn’t he call me? Why didn’t he text me? Why didn’t he reply to my calls? When he was with you?’

‘He was too drunk, Alix. I’m not sure I can really convey to you what a fucking mess he was. I’m sorry for swearing. Can you edit that out? Sorry. But he was seeing double. So I took over his phone for him. I told him I was messaging you to come and get him. But all the time I knew that Josie was going to come and get him. I lied to him, Alix, and I am so sorry . I mean, really. He was such a nice person. Such a good person. And I lied to him. Told him he was safe. Told him you were coming. Told him I was looking after him. And all the while …’ Katelyn shakes her head sadly.

Alix feels a slick of bitter bile at the back of her throat as she absorbs Katelyn’s words. She wants to hurt her. She wants to scream into her face.

‘You can hate me,’ Katelyn says, as if she’d been reading Alix’s mind. ‘I want you to hate me. I really do. I’m not here to be your friend or look for forgiveness. I’m here for your podcast. To make it, like, the biggest podcast there ever was, to make you famous, to make you fly. Because that’s what I thought I was doing that night, the night I lied to your beautiful husband and destroyed your life: I thought I was helping you to fly.’ She tuts quietly at her own folly and shakes her head again.

‘Just know, Alix Summer, that you had a husband who adored you, adored his kids, adored his life. A husband who didn’t want anyone else. Only you.’

Alix nods and holds back tears. Then she smiles tightly and says, ‘Right, shall we start from the beginning? From the day you met Josie at the alterations shop.’ And the interview begins.

Hi! I’m Your Birthday Twin!

A NETFLIX ORIGINAL SERIES

The screen shows Alix Summer in her recording studio, taking off her headphones, shutting down her screens, walking to the door and closing it behind her.

The camera then pans slowly around the detail of Alix’s studio in her absence and the following text appears on screen:

The last episode of Alix’s podcast was released in August 2020 on the one-year anniversary of Nathan’s funeral. This is Alix’s closing message.

Alix’s voice is heard as the camera carries on exploring her studio .

‘And that brings us to today. I’m here, near the end of August, in the middle of a global pandemic, not sure what the world holds for me, or for any of us. I do know one thing, that tomorrow I am collecting our lockdown puppy from a breeder in Hampshire. She is an Aussie sheepdog with mismatched eyes, and she will be called Matilda, for obvious reasons. She will, I hope, bring joy to our small family as we learn to live with the absence, with the grief, with the questions, with the pain. And earlier today I also had a very exciting email from a US production company expressing an interest in buying the rights to this podcast in order to film it as a documentary, so you never know, before too long you might be watching Hi! I’m Your Birthday Twin! from the comfort of your own sofa. And just two days ago Roxy told me that she and Erin have found a place to live together, that Erin is moving in this weekend, and bringing her whole gaming universe with her. So there is lots to celebrate as we reach these final moments. But, frustratingly for me, as a journalist, and for you, as listeners, and as is so often the way for true crime podcasts like these, there is no real closure, no real THE END , because, of course, as I speak, Josie Fair is still out there somewhere. She may claim to have done all of this to secure her freedom, but the truth is, Josie Fair has no freedom. None whatsoever. She is trapped now in a prison of her own making, where she will forever be looking over her shoulder, on the run, lying low, hiding. And I am glad. And of course I nurse a secret fantasy that moments before I press end on this recording my phone will ring and DC Albright will be on the line telling me that they’ve found her, they’re bringing her in, she’s going to court, she’s going to prison, she’s atoning for her crimes. And what crimes they are. What shocking, unthinkable, unbearable crimes. A feisty, clever teenage girl with her whole life ahead of her, her battered body left to rot in a dirty, damp garage, for no good reason. No good reason at all. Josie’s pensioner husband, whilst clearly far from a good husband, and by some accounts even a bad man, but a good father to his children, beaten whilst having a heart attack and left to die in a bathtub. The attempted murder of her own daughter, her vulnerable, firstborn child. What? To steal her money? To keep her from living her own life? Pursuing her own dreams? My God … And lastly, the pointless, ridiculous, dreadful murder of my own husband. Nathan Summer. My boy. My man. My flame-haired partner in life. My children’s father. Friend to dozens. Loved colleague. Just … God. Just a nice guy, you know? We had our problems, yes. We had our issues. And yes, in the weeks before Josie took him, I’d considered a life without him. I really had. I’d imagined what it might be like to go it alone and not have to live with those long, awful nights where he didn’t come home to me and I lay in the dark sleeplessly, my stomach churning, my thoughts racing, wondering if he was dead, wondering if he was having sex with a stranger, wondering why he didn’t just want to come home to me. And maybe one day I would have reached the end of the road, maybe one day I would have decided to live without him. But Josie took that choice from me. She took all the other possible paths our lives could have taken away from us. And worse than that, she took a good father from his children. And whatever her reasons – her psychosis, her childhood trauma, her mental health, her difficulties and issues – whatever reason she would give for what she has done, I maintain, whatever she herself might say, that she did what she did because she is evil. Pure and simple. So, Josie Fair, if you’re out there somewhere listening, know this. Your fight is yours and yours alone. Do not claim to be fighting on anyone’s behalf. Do not claim that you are a victim. Do not claim that you are anything other than what you are. An evil motherfucking basic bitch.

‘My name is Alix Summer. And this has been Hi! I’m Your Birthday Twin! Thank you for listening. And farewell.’

The audio plays the single click of a recording being ended.

The screen fades to black and the closing credits roll.

Series ends.

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