Anyway, I heard about your new teaching job at the university. Aunt Moira visited a few weeks ago and told me. It must be very exciting. I’d love to hear about how you’re getting along there.

Your loving sister,

Phillipa.

Out of the whole letter, the part I fixate most on is, It’s not just me he hurts anymore. He’s started in on Jason and Jack now, too. Tears make my eyes grow watery. I read the next few letters. They mostly detail Phillipa, Jay’s mother’s, struggle with depression and dealing with her husband’s physical abuse. They mention the property developer coming over to the house while her husband is at work on several occasions. I get the sense of their friendship growing until it becomes something more.

Phillipa never mentions his name until the seventh letter. She’s terrified of her husband finding out, but the property developer is keen for them to continue their secret affair. And that’s when she finally does mention his name.

Brian.

I stare at the name for a long time, trying to figure out if it’s just a coincidence, or if this means something. Then I pull out my phone and Google “Brian Scott.” Sure enough, his Wikipedia page details how he came from a lower working-class background and that it’s rumoured he was a loan shark in his younger years before he ventured into property development, shortly followed by the launch of his newspaper, The Daily Post.

Christ.

Jay’s mother had an affair with Brian Scott.

I move on to the next letter, noticing how they become more and more desperate for advice. It seems that Brian is not the fairy-tale prince she originally thought. Apparently, he is now threatening to reveal their affair to her husband if she doesn’t somehow convince him to sign the papers and sell their house. She also mentions that Brian’s girlfriend showed up one day, shouting and screaming at Phillipa to stay away from her boyfriend.

It’s all becoming too much for her.

She tries to get her husband to sign the papers, but he’s a stubborn, greedy man, and refuses to sell the house unless Brian is prepared to pay an inordinate sum of money for it. Brian does not succumb to this. It seems that he, too, is a stubborn, greedy man. Philippa is considering taking what little money she has hidden away and leaving with her two boys. She cannot take much more of what is happening.

She wants to disappear.

And that’s when the letters end. My heart is racing. What occurred between Phillipa’s last letter and her death? Judging from the dates, they can’t have been written very long before Jay’s family died and he went to live with his uncle. I just have to know.

I slip on my shoes and call a taxi, instructing the driver to take me straight to Jay’s apartment. He gave me a spare key a couple of months ago, saying it was only fair since he still had a key to my place. I take the elevator up to the top floor and get out, walking down the hallway and stopping when I get to Jay’s place.

I don’t need to use my key, because the door has been kicked in.

My shock lasts only a moment before I force myself into action, taking out my phone and dialling emergency services. I whisper down the line just in case the person or persons who broke in are still there. The woman on the other end assures me that the Gardai are on their way.

I should go outside and wait for them to arrive. That would be the logical thing to do. But I’m not feeling very logical, it seems, because I step right past the kicked-in door. I still have the rape alarm, pepper spray, and Swiss army knife in my handbag. I dig out the pepper spray, which, might I add, is not exactly legal in this country. And when I say “not exactly legal,” I mean illegal. I had to order it online, deciding that breaking the law was a necessary evil in order to protect myself. There’s that phrase again. Perhaps Jay and I are more alike than I thought.

It’s quiet when I first step inside, but then I hear the voices, loud and desperate. They’re coming from the terrace balcony. Moving through the apartment slowly, I make my way to the door that leads outside, but stop just on the threshold, hiding myself behind the doorframe.

If my heart was racing before, now it’s catapulting into the stratosphere.

Jay is standing just by the railing that surrounds the terrace, and before him is a crazed-looking Brian Scott, a gun held out in front of him aimed directly at Jay.

“Why did you do it, huh? Why?!” Brian demands.

The professional way in which he’s holding his weapon leads me to believe this is not the first time he’s threatened someone at gunpoint. However, there’s a crazed air about him that is far from professional. I have no doubt he’s mad enough right now to use the gun.

“Put that fucking thing down and I’ll tell you,” says Jay, his voice sharp, yet way too calm for the current situation. He looks at Brian, who isn’t putting the gun down, cocks an eyebrow, and goes to sit on a deck chair. “No? All right, then, you keep on pointing it at me if it makes your dick feel bigger.”

“You’ve destroyed my business, my career, my life! I will use this. I swear I will,” Brian yells.

Jay looks at him like he’s a hysterical housewife who just had her clean carpets trodden all over with mucky shoes. “I don’t doubt you, Brian. A man left with nothing has nothing left to lose, right?” he says, and there’s a vicious tone to his words.

Jay pulls a cigarette from behind one ear and a match from behind the other. Striking the match off the side of his boot, he brings it to the end of his cigarette and lights up. He exhales a long puff of smoke as he stares at Brian. When he does this, his eyes are different; his face is transformed into something hard and inscrutable. Undiluted hatred seeps from his pores, all directed at the man standing before him.

I’ve never seen him look like this before. A chameleon that can become someone else with nothing but a change in its facial muscles springs to mind. He looks dangerous. For the first time, I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of the tortured, pained soul that’s been hidden beneath the surface. And it is just as real as the witty charmer I’ve come to know.

“I suppose I should start off with the simple part,” says Jay. “Fields was my mother’s maiden name. Do you wanna hazard a guess at what my birth name was?”

“I don’t have time for guessing games,” Brian spits.

Jay exhales another puff of smoke and flicks off the ash. “No, I don’t suppose you do. My birth name was McCabe. Jason McCabe, ring a bell?”

Brian’s eyes widen, and his hold on the gun falters for a second before he rights himself.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope. You wanted to buy my parents’ house back in the day. Dad was being a prick about it, so you decided you’d start up an affair with my mother, then use it as blackmail to get her to push Dad to sell the house. You didn’t bank on what an evil shit my dad could be, and when he started making demands, you got angry. You wanted to do something that would force my family out of that house, and that’s when your little girlfriend, Una, began whispering in your ear.

“I like to think of her as your own personal Lady Macbeth, but with a much lower IQ. Una was jealous of the time you’d spent with my mother. In fact, she despised my mother for taking your attentions away from her. She wanted her out of the picture, so she convinced you that setting fire to our house would be a good idea. That the fire department would arrive in time to save our lives, but that once the house was destroyed, my parents would sell the land to you in a heartbeat. So, like men who let their cocks lead them the world over, you did as Una suggested. Only the fire department didn’t get there in time, did it, Brian?”

Jay stands now and takes a step toward him, his passion growing by the second.