How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

Chapter 33: Spilling the Beans

I was busy observing the photographs lining the mantelpiece in Adrian's living room, when the boy finally made it through the front door.

One particular photograph drew my attention. It consisted solely of a little boy sitting by a piano, his fingers resting on the keys as he grinned a toothless cheeky grin at the camera. His green eyes gleamed with a certain kind of joy that was difficult to find in the world, perhaps because it seemed so innocent and pure.

Carefree. That was the word.

Adrian must have been no more than five years old in that picture.

But a frown crossed my face then as I realized I was only seeing half the picture. The photo had been bent in half before being inserted into its frame, obscuring the rest.

My fingers reached out to take it but Adrian, appearing out of nowhere, beat me to it.

"Oh God, not these," he murmured, sounding embarrassed. He stuffed the photograph into a cupboard before I could argue.

"You used to be cute once," I said, before adding with a smirk. "What happened?"

Adrian frowned, "Is that the question you ask yourself every time you look in the mirror?"

A laugh escaped my lips. I clapped him on the shoulder, grinning proudly, "Ooh, Adrian, you're getting good. Must be my greatness rubbing off on you."

He rolled his eyes dramatically, "I'm going to go get changed, Charley. Do you need a fresh change of clothes?"

I glanced at his thick arms and down at my small, albeit flabby ones, "Do you have anything that won't make me look like a malnourished mutant?"

He shrugged, "I think I have something I wore when I was ten. Might fit you."

"Do you think it'll fit in the chest area as well?" I called worriedly as he walked away.

He didn't even bother glancing back, "Oh don't worry. It will."

A chuckle then escaped his lips, knowing I was staring daggers into his back.

Five minutes later, I stood in dry clothes, gazing at the piano which stood by the side of Adrian's living room. It seemed exactly like the one I had seen in the photograph, only more unused, its black paint peeling off and cobwebs visible along the keys.

"Do you... um, do you ever miss your mum?" I asked him suddenly, then wanted to chuck myself upside the head when I realized how rude it must have sounded, "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. Forget it."

"No, it's fine," Adrian's reply surprised me. He shrugged, face solemn, "She's gone, either way. No point avoiding it."

Feeling unsure, I turned my gaze back to the piano.

There was a long pause before I found myself chuckling sadly, "I can't say the same about myself. Clearly. I couldn't even tell you that my father was dead, let alone speak about the murder... I'm sorry, Adrian." I tried to smile apologetically but it turned into a grimace, "I'm sorry I pretended he was alive when you asked. And that I didn't tell you, even when you told me about your mother. I guess I'm just Queen, at avoiding the truth."

There was a long silence. Adrian's gaze was on the floor, and I could tell he was thinking hard. When he finally met my gaze, he shook his head.

"Don't apologize, Charley," he said, "I know I didn't avoid the truth when I told you. And I don't pretend like she's still here when she's not. But when I act like I'm over it, I'm still only pretending." He shrugged, "Either way, we're living a lie."