Twist Of Fate

Sixty Two

CHLOE

I never meant for any of this to happen. When I woke from the nightmare last night and realised what my mind had been keeping from me all this time, I can't begin to describe the level of my own self-loathing. I sat on the sand in front of the tent and watched the sun rise slowly over the sea, all the time hoping, wishing, praying that my dream was exactly that: a dream. I squeezed my eyes shut and delved into the furthest corners of my memory; it was incredible just how much detail I could remember. And once I accepted that I was the killer, not Harry, the solution was obvious: I needed to tell the truth.

This whole escapade was my fault. Harry needn't have fled, he had nothing to fear. He said himself, he was only going to lie low for a few days. But he continued running because I told him Chris was dead, and he believed he, Harry, was to blame. He believed himself a murderer when the real culprit was under his nose the entire time, suffering from some sort of inexplicable temporary memory loss.

As I sat on the sand, running everything over in my mind, I began to realise the true extent of the consequences of everyone learning the truth. Not only would I have to explain everything to the police but I would have to face trial, and then prison, all alone. Harry would obviously face some sort of custodial sentence for his part in the attack, and possibly for perverting the course of justice, theft of the car and theft of Chris' drug money. But even with his prior record it is unlikely he would be locked up for a significant length of time, as long as he behaved himself and enrolled in a rehabilitation programme to deal with the issues of his past. Then he would be free to start his life again and be a father to Dylan like he always wanted, and I know deep in my heart he would be able to win Sofía round if he tried hard enough. 

My own life would take a very different path. After prison, I would have to start all over again too. With a murder conviction I would struggle to find a job, get a flat, make friends, start a relationship (although the idea of falling in love with anyone other than Harry seems incomprehensible right now). I would have no one to support me, no one to help me get back on my feet, no one to turn to when it all got too much. 

I considered running. For about thirty seconds I allowed myself to stray down the path of cowardice; to imagine the rest of my life on the run, all alone, never having to face up to what I had done. But ultimately, running away would mean allowing Harry to continue to be the main suspect. Running away would mean wondering for the rest of my life what happened to him, whether or not he got his life back on track, whether or not he had been convicted of murder when the real culprit walked free. And I couldn't let him take the blame for something he hadn't done. I love him too much.

I waited until the sun rose to get dressed. I chose the dress I wore on the night we first kissed, the night our relationship changed forever. I wanted him to look at me and remember that there was something he liked about me once, because I had no idea how he would react once I had told him the truth. He might hate me, he might be furious, he might never want anything to do with me ever again. The last option is likely anyway, once he reconciles with Sofía: I can't imagine she would want me hanging around him after knowing we had been intimately close, and he had shared his deepest secrets with me and only me. But I couldn't bear him hating me, and the dress was my only way of softening the blow of the truth.

Once the sun was fully up I retrieved Harry's iPhone from the pocket of his bag and carried it up to the cliff top. I intended calling the police straight away, but the longer I hesitated the harder it became, and selfishly I just wanted to look at him one last time, and he at me, before he learned the truth and the police turned up and carted us both away. When he finally came to find me it was so much harder to face him than I imagined. Not telling him straight away meant lying by omission, and above anything else I despise liars and cowards. Knowing I would only have a small window of time to make the call, I sent him to collect the rest of our things from the beach on his own, and as soon as he was out of sight I switched on the phone and with trembling hands; made the call before I could change my mind. Once I started talking to the operator I found I couldn't stop. The story poured out of me, like poison out of a wound, and I barely heard her telling me the police were on their way and to stay where I was, so great was my relief.