Page 70 of Breaking the Dark

Jessica looks into the mug. It’s a vivid shade of tan, milky and rich. It looks great. She takes a big sip and smacks her lips. “Thanks,” she says, “that’s delicious.”

Debra returns a moment later with a pair of leggings and a cropped T-shirt. Jessica takes the clothes and goes into the bathroom to change, gasping as her eye catches her reflection in the mirror.

My God. She turns this way and that, eyeing every inch of herself, her tight, high backside, her endless, flawless legs, her toned thighs, her feet, so elegant and fine-boned, and her breasts—good God, the most perfect breasts she has ever seen—she stares at them in awe. And then her eyes go to her face, and she gasps again. Her skin is…perfect. Her eyes are clear and shining. Her eyebrows look like she’s one of those women who pay someone to do things to them every two weeks. And her teeth—she pulls her top lip up and examines them in detail—they are pearl-white, perfectly straight. Her lips are plumper, her eyelashes are longer.

She is freaking exquisite.

She showers and puts on the fresh clothes, then admires her reflection in the mirror again: the way her butt fills out the leggings, her flat stomach beneath the crop top.

Her gaze pauses, her hand stops moving. She looks at her stomach and feels a small pulse of disquiet pass through her, but then bats it away.

Debra speaks through the door. “Come to the kitchen when you’re done. Come and eat. I’m just going to check in on Belle. Make yourself comfortable.”

In the kitchen there is a huge spread of delicious-looking food on the table, fresh fruit, pastries, bagels. Jessica loads a plate and makes herself a coffee and takes them out to the front of the house, where she sits on a bench to eat, admiring the perfect view: the rolling, manicured grounds, the Titian blue sky, the air cool, but the sun warm enough to cut through it. She swings her long shiny hair from one shoulder to the other—it’s so slinky!—and sighs with pleasure. She could stay here forever. Everything is just so perfect.

She sits like that for a while. Eventually, the dogs come to greet her, tails wagging. The one who bit her heel last night stares up at her with chocolate-drop eyes, and she feeds him a slice of banana before going back to watching the landscape.

And then, through the silence, she hears a strange, high-pitched humming noise.

She looks up and sees a drone hovering about twelve feet overhead. It stops when it sees her looking at it, then slowly lands on the bench next to her. The dogs all surround it, ears pricked. She makes a soft clicking noise at the dogs that makes them back off and she picks up the small machine.

There is a piece of paper taped to its underbelly.

Jessica tugs it off and unfolds it. Scrawled on it are the words:

IT’S ELLIOT THE CHEMIST. MALCOLM HAS BEEN MESSAGING YOU ALL NIGHT AND DAY. ARE YOU OK? PLEASE GIVE THE DRONE THE THUMBS-UP IF YOU’RE OK? THUMBS-DOWN IF YOU’RE NOT. AND IF THERE’S ANYTHING YOU WANT TO SAY, WRITE IT ON HERE AND SEND IT BACK UP.

Jessica stares at the drone, then stares up into the sky. She doesn’t have a pen, but even if she had a pen, what could she possibly want to say? Everything is perfect.

The name Malcolm reminds her of something. A place far away, another life of hers, away from this one. She feels warm when she thinks of him, but she cannot bring his face into her mind. She tucks the paper back into the drone and watches as it rises back into the sky. As it hovers above her, she remembers the written instructions and she gets to her feet and waves at it. She swings her hair and beams with her big white teeth and throws both her thumbs aloft and shouts out as loud as she can, mouthing the words widely and clearly:

“I’m FINE!” she yells at the drone. “I am PERFECT!”

The drone hovers for a moment more and then floats back across the sky, over the treetops and out of sight.

Jessica spends the day drifting. She plays with the dogs, she watches movies, she eats the food that Debra keeps making for her. Debra is pleasant company, easy to talk to. She tells Jessica a little about her childhood, about how she always felt on the edges of things, never felt like she fit anywhere, until she was twenty, when it all fell into place for her. She has a playful energy about her, but also a sadness that makes Jessica ask her if she’s really okay.

“Oh,” says Debra, her pale eyes sparkling, light glinting from the gold chains around her neck. “Yes, I’m okay. Just getting a bit tired. You know.” She squeezes Jessica’s hand in hers, then heads to the back of the kitchen with the words “Hot chocolate?”

Jessica nods. She feels good, she feels unburdened, like the spiky bits of her psyche have been planed down, as if other bits of her have been cast away in a thorough spring clean. Her body feels new, like she just pulled it out of its packaging. Her thoughts are filled with songs she barely remembers, films she hasn’t seen for years, but whenever she reaches for a memory, it slithers away from her and then she is distracted again.

Lunch appears. Arancini and olives and ciabatta. She eats it on the sofa in the cute living room. “Nice arancini,” she says to Debra. “Where’d it come from?”

“The deli in the village. They deliver.”

Jessica nods. Deli? she thinks. Village?

And then she remembers the village, that strange little street of higgledy-piggledy houses, a hotel, a pub, a pharmacy with a boy in it. The boy. What was his name? Elliot. Yes. Elliot the Chemist. He was the one who sent the drone. Malcolm asked him to. Who’s Malcolm? For some reason she feels a sharp spike of concern when she thinks of Malcolm. Is he her child, she wonders. Her boyfriend? Her phone, she thinks. Malcolm will be on her phone.

“Debra,” she calls out. “Where’s my phone?”

“It’s over there,” says Debra, “by the front door. It’s charging.”

“I need to check it.”

“Of course. Feel free. But remember, there’s not really a signal out here. And no Wi-Fi.”

“Okay.”

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