Coming Home by Alice Foxall
I tripped stepping into the front door and the shopping clattered to the ground. Swearing, I gathered it up in my hands and shut the door with my shoulder. Tonight was Fajitas and I had a habit of overdoing it on the vegetables. Red and greens scattered across the counter as they spilled out from the carrier bag. Out came the knives and chopping boards. Once again, I’d forgotten to wash the only Tupperware with matching lid, so I’d have to reorganise which step came first. My mind always seemed to be all over the place.
In the middle of chopping an onion, the doorbell rang. Once, then twice. Then over and over until one ring wasn’t separate from the last. I hurried to the door. Amazon parcels didn’t usually arrive this late. Or so forcefully.
Olivia was at the door. But this Olivia wasn’t like one I’d ever seen before. Blood plastered her face and had dried dripping down her neck. The red made the whites of her eyes shine like a car’s headlights. They shone so bright because they were unblinking.
“Olivia…” I started, but I couldn’t find the words to continue.
“Can I come in?” Her voice had no tone to it. As if she was just a vessel and the words were in control. I moved aside to let her in, being careful to avoid her staining my clothes.
She showed herself to the living room and sat without asking. I could see the onion still sat on the chopping board. It would brown by the time we were done here. Such a shame to waste food.
“Olivia what’s happened?” I still hadn’t seen her blink yet.
“I was… On a date. I was supposed to meet him at this hotel,” she was staring past me to the corner of the room. “And I got there and there was someone else with him.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t see their face,” she answered like she was following a script. “As soon as I got in, there was just blood. And then I couldn’t see anything, and my head hurt. When my eyes opened there was still the blood. But now there was a dead body lying in it.”
“Your date?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.” We were meant to tell each other everything.
“We should call the police Olivia.” We had both been thinking this for some time, but I figured the ball was in her court regarding the subject. Minutes passed before she fumbled through a response.
“They’ll think I did it.” Of course, this thought had occurred to me too. With no other eyewitnesses and only her own retelling of the tale, her odds didn’t look good. However, in my experience, the truth got a whole lot less believable when you avoided telling it in the first place.
“You have to tell them Olivia. Otherwise they’ll find the… body and put their own story together.”
She nodded again but didn’t move from her seat. She’d be staining the sofa by now. I hoped I had baking soda left over to get rid of it.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I couldn’t stare at her bloodied face anymore. When my husband demanded we get whitewash clothes instead of black like I wanted, I compromised. As I often did. He did have a point; white did have a stronger sense of elegance but white stains so damn easily. I wished I’d fought my point harder now.
I wiped at her face as gently as I could, but the blood was so dry now I had to scrub somewhat on her face. Perhaps it would act as a face mask and clear up the blackheads she was always complaining about.
“So how did you meet this guy?” She hadn’t spoken in far too long and the silence was suffocating.
“Friend of a friend.” She was a terrible liar even in a state like this.
“Had you seen him before this?”
She hesitated. “Yes. A few times.”
“And did you like him?”
She hesitated for longer. “Yes. A lot.”
I smiled at her pityingly. It made it worse she actually liked him.
“Did you see a future with him?” A noise came from her throat I didn’t recognise, it was as if she was choking on something.
“I’m not sure.” She remained silent then and I watched her eyebrows work themselves out as she came up with a thought. “You haven’t asked his name.” I didn’t respond. “Most people usually ask the name of the people their friends see. It’s the thing they ask first.” She blinked suddenly, as if needing to make up for keeping her eyes open for so long. “Why haven’t you asked his name?”
My face sank as I realised what she’d finally figured out. She saw the drop in my face and her eyes resumed their widened stance.
“You know… Don’t you?”
I waited a second to see if there was any way I could avoid the admission. “Yes, I know. I’ve known for some time.”
“Why did you never say anything?” Tears formed in her eyes. Hurting my feelings was clearly something she could emotionally process. Death was not.
“I was hoping one of you would eventually tell me.”
“I’m so so sorry.” She picked up my hands and held them in hers. There was still blood under the fingernails. “It all happened so fast. I didn’t want to do it, but I just couldn’t stop myself.”
“You said so yourself. You liked him. I can’t fault you for that, I mean I did too.” I chuckled lightly to myself.
“I did,” she looked away again. “I really liked him, and I shouldn’t have let it get so far. I should have told you and now he-” her cut off embodied a real-life full stop. “He’s dead. If you knew then, are you ok?” she said on instinct, then began to process the incidents that had happened since she entered my house.
“You knew that too.”
I remained silent. I didn’t feel a response was necessary.
“Your husband is dead, why aren’t you…?” She trailed off as the pieces finally came together. “No. No, you didn’t. You wouldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t hurt a fly.”
She was waiting for me to deny it, but I no longer had the energy to play along with this façade. “How could you?” She was standing now, pulling her hands out of mine like an eel out of water.
“It was only meant to be a confrontation,” I admitted. That had been the plan when I got there, but I knew there would be a chance I would have to carry out some self-defence. Or that I’d get carried away.
“We’ve all been friends for years. You were married to him for years. How could you do that to him? How could you do that to me? You could have killed me!”
The words dawned on her as soon as they left her mouth. I could have killed her once, and I could try again. She moved faster than I’d anticipated and went for the knife I’d been using to chop onions. I held my hands up in surrender. She hadn’t known what I was capable of and given all she’d just found out I didn’t know what she was capable of either.
“Olivia calm down. You can’t blame me for being a little upset.”
“Upset! You killed a man today and you don’t even seem sorry,” she had a point. That was mainly due to the fact I wasn’t sorry.
“I loved that man with all I had. I loved you too. You both did this horrible thing to me and if that wasn’t bad enough, neither of you had the decency to come forward and tell me. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?”
“So, you turned to murder?”
I didn’t reply. I watched the cogs turn in her head, working out her next move. The back door creaked. A look in her eyes appeared. If I don’t kill you, you might kill me, they said.
Before I could talk her down, she lunged at me, knife arm out and fear in her eyes. A body slammed to the floor with a deep thump.
“Police! Surrender you weapon!” Olivia had been so focused on my next move; she hadn’t noticed the armed forces approaching behind her. “Ma’am are you ok?” He looked up from me with his hand on Olivia’s neck. I clutched my necklace and fell back, tears pricking my eyes.
“I was so scared,” I whimpered, thankful Olivia’s eyes couldn’t meet mine.
“She’s not going to hurt you anymore.” He gave me a hopeful smile and I tried to mimic it, adding a dash of innocence. Olivia screamed under his body.
He was right. No one was going to hurt me anymore.
Written by Alice Foxall
Hi I'm Alice, I'm a 21-year-old biomedical science student living in London. I have a passion for science, breaking stigmas and maybe a cheeky story every once in a while. I love hash brown fries and if you haven't tried them you're missing out.