Chapter 29

29

7 December, 2022 7:30 p.m.

I am a ghost in the room tonight. A shadow no one will notice, exactly as it should be. Guests arrive, flowing toward the heat and hum of the glass atrium at the back of the bookshop and I slip in unobserved.

It is easy enough to lose myself here, hovering at the back behind a pillar. I've been paid to melt away into the ether but I doubt they'll be looking out for me.

So why risk coming along at all, what will it solve? I realize I need closure, to make my peace with the memoir, with Eva. I couldn't keep away.

I watch Nate climb the stairs to the balcony for his speech, now a mere stranger. He draws his fingertips through the back of his hair.

My mind spools back to the last time we met here, under very different circumstances. It was just before we began the book, a reconnaissance mission, he called it, to see what was already out there. What to avoid, what to magpie.

"Here you go. My gift to you," he said as we browsed the shelves of Memoir & Autobiography. The Art of Ghostwriting by Alan D. Mackintosh.

"Riveting," I said, opening the first page and reading aloud:

"Ghosts can start out as a friend, muse and therapist, but you need to adhere to strict rules if you want it to stay that way. By the end of the contract, they can be pushed to arm's length, ranking no higher than a nanny or a secretary, or worse."

The quote's earnest tone had made us both laugh. He bought me a copy but I never did bother to finish it. I was irked by Mackintosh's outdated voice, the author's presumption that a female ghostwriter is subordinate, likely to be exploited, then dumped.

His book—our book—is displayed on a table next to me. I leaf through a copy, turning to a random page. Those familiar words and phrases take me back to the endless hours we spent, the perfect collaboration, transmuting his raw experience into gold.

What would Eva think of her life packaged up for public consumption like this? Her true story, her authentic voice extinguished. Nate has made ghosts of us both.

Something in me deflates. I know that it's all over. I walk to the end of the aisle and stop in my tracks. There are Nate and Priya standing just yards away. As I walk briskly past them toward the door, he looks up and our eyes lock. Priya reaches for his arm. He pushes her away, follows me outside.

"Wait, Anna," he shouts after me. I won't wait a second longer. I have spent too long under Nate's skin and now it's time to burrow out.

I take off my heels, stuff them deep into my bag and start to run. Away from him. Still I hear his voice, urgent and cracked, calling my name. I turn a corner and break into a sprint, my bare soles slap the cold wet pavement. Keep going , I tell myself, my breath ragged, my lungs burning.

I turn off Marylebone High Street and weave my way through the smaller streets, each turn taking me farther away from him.

When I reach a small garden square, I lean against the wrought iron railings surrounding it to catch my breath. The sky is inky and starless. A light flashes on in the townhouse opposite and I find myself looking into its kitchen. An elderly woman opens her fridge, starts to wash up, stares blankly back at me.

I wipe the back of my neck, slicked in sweat, turn toward the sound of footsteps somewhere at the end of the street. I could, I should, run but my energy deserts me. I am strangely rooted to the spot. Nate stops until we are facing each other, he's more out of breath than me.

"Anna?"

The woman in the window draws down her blind sharply and Nate's face falls into shadow as he steps closer.

"I know I asked you not to come tonight. I've been furious about what happened, I know you have too. But I've been thinking, we both deserve the truth, one more chance to talk. I'm flying to New York tomorrow and I won't be coming back."

I close my eyes, shake my head. He knows you have the receipt. Don't place yourself in yet more danger. Don't be taken in, not again .

"I can't talk anymore, Nate. It's too late. But not to worry, I won't be going to the police, so your precious career is safe."

"The thing is I'm pretty sure I believe you, everything you told me about your brother. I don't think you were trying to protect him, I think you were genuinely scared. I found something clearing out her stuff just before I sold the house. I need to show you. If it's true, you need to take care..." Cast in shadow, his features look angular, etched with anxiety. About me.

The beat of my heart rings in my ears.

"Nate..."

"We both know Eva was having an affair with Tony. He was with her that night. I know it all, Anna. And I think you know that too." His phone rings. "It's Priya. I have to get back. But can you meet me afterward?"

I hesitate. "Where?" I hear myself saying in spite of myself, lulled by his low insistent murmur. I hadn't realized quite how much I missed that voice. Maybe he's right after all. In the end it is our unconscious that gets to make the most important decisions.

"Back at mine in an hour?" he whispers. "You know the code for the keypad to get in, don't you?"

"Yes, I think so," I say vaguely, even though there's no doubt in my mind. It's 220484. Eva's birthday.

I steady myself, inhale the chill air and watch him disappear, beyond the garden square, back toward the bookshop to meet Priya. I call an Uber and wait. My phone buzzes. Two texts. One from Nate. One from Tony. He's been away traveling for the last few months after breaking up with Amira but now he's back, circling, prying, up to his old tricks.

Nate: There's vodka in the fridge and cigarettes in the usual place. I'm leaving shortly.

I smile into the darkness in spite of myself.

Tony: I know where you snuck off to, Anna. Watch out. It's not safe.

My hand shakes as I press the keypad. I tap in the code, open the door and light sensors illuminate the dark paneled hallway in a sulfurous glow. I realize how much I've missed this house, like a theater set coming alive, purring its way to a final denouement. I'm not sure how safe I feel being alone with him, knowing what he could be capable of, but I'm willing to take that risk, to hear what he has to tell me. To finally find out the truth.