Girl From the Tree House, стр. 84

Chapter Thirty-Two

Lilly: 24 November 2016, Wellington, High Court

Guilty! The jury found twelve members of the New Gateways Council guilty on all accounts. The judge dished out the longest prison terms in New Zealand’s criminal history. Many of them will end their lives behind bars.

“Come on, Kiddo, it’s over. Let’s go somewhere and celebrate.”

I look up to Scott. I want to pinch him and me, to be sure this is real and not just a dream I will wake up from. Did we really put Sebastian Feldman and his disciples behind bars?

We are standing on the steps of the High Court in Wellington. He’s like a rock in the surf letting the stream of people pass us, protecting me and standing by my side, as he has done over the last year. The sun appears undecided whether it should be a good or a great day, and plays hide and seek with a bunch of fluffy white clouds. Even the legendary Wellington wind feels playful today and settles for chasing a few leaves across the pavement.

Scott is still the no-frills-man I met a year ago. We are boyfriend and girlfriend, but we take it slowly. After all, there are kids involved and it doesn’t feel right to kiss when kids are close by. I don’t mind. I’m not in a hurry and we still have a lot of healing to do. Lizette tried to push the sex thing a while ago, but that didn’t go well. I guess for now we are friends without benefits. It’ll happen, in due time.

We spend a lot of time together, like great friends. Some people in Port Somers have commented on our unlikely friendship—why is a mystery to me—and speculated that we would marry.

That’s much too early to tell. We’ve discussed it and agreed that it would be a pity to ruin a brilliant friendship with a hasty marriage. Just because the bad guys are behind bars doesn’t mean all my hang-ups have dissipated like lingering morning fog.

What started out in the beginning as a relationship with a father-child feel to it has become an equal affair. It has become quiet in my inner world. The others don’t come out like they used to, but I feel them when they are close by. Scott can distinguish them in my moods, although he struggles to figure out whether it’s Lilly or Elise. He’s not the only one. We struggle too.

Miss Marple came back to visit and work with the Tribe. Many of the little ones have found peace and have gone to sleep in the far corners of the tree house. A month ago, she discharged us. We asked her once how we would know we wouldn’t need any more therapy and she answered, “When you wake up and feel you have better things to do than coming to see me.”

I’ve got many things to do that are better than going to therapy. Are we integrated as they describe in the books? No. I don’t even know if there exists such a thing as integration. I suspect it’s a myth spread by a bunch of zealous clinicians, who still haven’t paid off their mortgages and need income.

“S’cuse me, Miss Seagar.”

“Annabelle, I forgot we arranged a meeting. Why don’t you come with us? We are having drinks at the pub around the corner. It’s celebration time.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding. It has been very helpful to have you on my team. I don’t know how I would have coped if you hadn’t agreed to write only what I approved. I owe you.”

“Listen, Kiddo, I have stuff to sort out. You two go ahead and have your chat, and I’ll catch up with you tonight. I booked a table at Logan Brown’s.” Scott pecks a kiss on my cheek and walks away.

“He’s an amazing guy.” Annabelle’s glance follows him.

“Without his help, I wouldn’t be here. Let’s go to my hotel.”

We chat lightheartedly as we cross bustling Lambton Quay and Featherston Street.

At the hotel, I order a bottle of bubbly. Celebration it is.

Annabelle takes out her recorder. We sit back and after a toast with the sparkling wine, I close my eyes to concentrate. I promised to give her my story after the court hearing. Where to start? It takes a while for me to sort through my thoughts. Then everything becomes clear as if someone switched on a light.

Lilly: 17 November 2015, Midday, At The Funeral

I’m sitting in this cold, musty church, giving my best impression of the grieving widow Reid. I’m good at that… getting the job done, like a magician who saws a person in half and puts her together afterward. Only, with me, it’s no trick or illusion. What you see is what you get. That’s me, Lilly. I’m one of many who live in the body of Elizabeth Reid. The poor girl disappeared a long, long time ago. I believe she’s dead. It’s us, the Tribe, who keep the body alive. But nobody knows that…

THE END

Excerpt

BEYOND THE TREE HOUSE

Chapter 1

Lilly: 24 February 2017, Morning, Wright’s Homestead

I guess I have to fill you in about what happened. Miss Marple, our therapist, told me people hate it when things are left unexplained. Open gestalts—that’s what she’d called them—are confusing to most. They get irritated when not everything is tied up and explained to the smallest detail. People have an inherent need for closure. They don’t try to be difficult. It’s psychology.

Our story began with Horace Reid’s funeral. We were married to him for…it doesn’t matter. Too many years.

But please, go ahead and forget him. He was a jerk and child molester all his life and his passing was better than the coming down of the Berlin Wall.

Unlike the East Germans we, however, didn’t stage a big revolution. Most of us were too afraid. We were like