From the Inside

by Collette Heather

  I see the logic in what he’s saying, but I still don’t like it.

  “And what if I refuse?”

  “Then you don’t get your money.”

  “And if I don’t, your wife gets the video.”

  “Sit down, Daisy. You’re making me nervous.”

  Me, making him nervous? I almost laugh at that one. Also, I don’t take kindly to being bossed around in my own home, but I don’t rise to it. I have more important things to worry about, so I sit down, wedging myself against the arm of sofa, a good cushion’s width separating us.

  “That’s better,” he says.

  He shuffles sideways slightly on the sofa and clicks open his briefcase. I can’t see inside, given that the opened briefcase has formed a wall of sorts on his knees, but he proceeds to pull out thick wads of notes that are bundled together with elastic bands. My heart stops, then resumes beating at an alarming speed when he places them on the glass coffee table before us – seven wads of notes, in total.

  “There’s ten K in each bundle. You can count them if you like.”

  I reach over and pluck up a bundle. My heart is tripping. I’m not poor by any means, but I don’t think that I’ve ever seen so much cash before. I flick through the wad of twenties, licking my parched lips.

  But this isn’t about the money. It never was. I put it back down on the coffee table.

  “I trust you.”

  Luke laughs at that, and I can’t say that I blame him. Trust and integrity aren’t exactly fitting adjectives right now.

  “Now it’s your turn,” he says. “Please get all of your electronic devices and bring them to me. And while you’re at it, how about bringing us both a drink? I think we need it.”

  He’s not wrong there. I could murder a bottle of three of wine at this precise moment.

  First of all, I make my way to the bedroom. Once there, I pull out my phone from my jeans’ pocket and press the Facebook icon. I drag up the video file and send it to Tanya under my alias of Claire Brinkley. My heart trips aggressively in triumph.

  Do your worst Luke, I think savagely. Screw you and screw your money.

  That done, I delete Facebook off my phone completely. Then I pick up my laptop where it lives on the dressing table come desk.

  Tucking it under one arm, I carry it into the living-room, and lay it down next to the money on the square coffee table.

  “Do you have any other computers or phones?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you keep a diary? Are you one of those that likes to write down their feelings?”

  Again, I shake my head.

  “How can I trust you?”

  “I guess you don’t have a choice.”

  He smiles – a predatory grin that in no way touches his eyes. “We always have a choice.”

  Do we? I wonder. Because I feel out of my depth, like all my choices have been stripped away from me.

  “What now?” I look at my pc and phone on the coffee table, feeling a sharp stab of loss. “My devices are password protected. What if I don’t feel like sharing that information with you?”

  “Surely we’ve moved past that? We play ball with each other, that’s the deal. Besides, I don’t want your passwords, anyway. I have no desire to delve into your online world, I merely wish to destroy it.”

  I shiver at his words, feeling completely lost. Oh God, what have I gotten myself into here?

  “You forgot the drinks,” he tells me as I hover over him.

  Yes, he’s right, I realise. And I am desperate for a drink. I make my way over to the kitchen area and pick up the half-drunk bottle of red on the side, and grab two glasses from the shelf above the sink. I carry these over to Luke, sitting back down on the sofa and pouring our drinks.

  “I can understand why you wanted revenge on my wife. Does it feel good?” he asks me with that shark-like grin.

  Nowhere near as good as I thought it would, I think sadly. I have no intention of telling him that I’ve sent Tanya the video, anyway. I don’t care if it comes back to bite me on the arse, or if he demands the money back. Which he probably will. This was never about the money, and I’m already ruined. Nothing really matters to me, anymore.

  “I’ll take your silence in the affirmative then, shall I?”

  I shrug. “Take it as you will. You know, for a while there, I thought that I had perhaps fallen in love with you. I realise now that I hadn’t. I guess things got muddled in my mind. They do that, sometimes.”

  “Yes. You’re a mess, aren’t you, Daisy? After you lost your husband and daughter, I think you lost your mind, too, didn’t you?”

  I regard him levelly, a curious detachment descending over me. “Yes. Perhaps.”

  “There is no perhaps about it. In fact, I think you lost your mind to such an extent, that suicide became your only way out.”

  An icy fear settles over me, washing away that sense of detachment.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard, Daisy. I think you should kill yourself.”

  Just him saying those words is like a knife to my heart. I think them every day. In many ways, I think that I am dead already.

  “What, exactly, are you saying, Luke?”

  “I think you should kill yourself. It’s what you’ve wanted for a long time, isn’t it? After Tanya, my wife, took everything from you, I know that it has only ever been just a question of time.”

  I hate how his words resonate deep within me. I hate how he’s speaking the truth, straight to the very core of me.

  I have been Tanya’s cleaner for a total of seven days, and during those seven days, a small part of me fantasised about becoming her friend. I am fully aware how weird that sounds, but it is genuine, just the same.

  I fantasised about slitting her throat, killing her daughter, raising her daughter, and becoming her best friend, all in the same breath. I dreamed about running off with her husband, and, at the same time, meeting a man whom I had a deep connection with – one of Luke’s friends, perhaps – and becoming a valued couple friend.

  So many different scenarios that played out in my mind, none of which made a whole lot of sense.

  And now, here I am, living a whole new scenario. One where the husband of the woman who destroyed my life is asking me to kill myself.

  “I don’t want to kill myself.”

  Don’t I? It’s an entirely valid option in my head. Of all the options – and there are many, some of which are outrageous – it is arguably one of the more logical arguments.

  “Oh, come Daisy, we both know that’s a lie.” I’m going to make this really easy for you. I’m going to give you a choice. You can either take your own life, or I can kill you like I did Beth and Paul.”

  Instantly, I remember the conversation I overheard on the baby monitor between Tanya and the policeman. So Luke killed them. But why?

  “You killed the girl who saved your wife’s life? Why?”

  Dimly, I am aware how melodramatic that sounds, like a line from a B movie. At this precise moment, I feel that my life is exactly that – some substandard drama that is a complete and utter joke.

  “There’s a lot about me that you don’t know, that you can’t even begin to conceive of. No one can. Before I met Tanya, I was a little – how should one say – wild. I liked to hurt girls, Daisy. I used to do so, a lot. Especially prostitutes. Sometimes I hurt them to the point of no return. I killed Beth and her husband because I didn’t want Tanya making friends with commoners like them. Beth and her husband were scum, and the last thing I wanted was for Tanya to share our intimate secrets with a woman like Beth. When I came home from work and heard them cackling together in the living-room, drunk out of their minds, I saw red. So I quickly went through Beth’s handbag which she had left in the hallway and found her address.”

  “What?” at this point I am more shocked than scared. The man is clearly insane, a homicidal psychopath. How c
ould I not have seen this before? “You killed someone because you didn’t want your wife to be friends with them?”

  “In this instance, yes. I have darker needs that sometimes need to be serviced. I keep them hidden from my beautiful Tanya, and I’ve kept my urges at bay for a long time. I didn’t do all the fun stuff that I did with those girls, but it was still fun to kill them. I haven’t gone that far in a long time, and it felt good.”

  “You’ll never get away with it.”

  You’ll never get away with it? Did I really just say that? I sound like some heroine-slash-victim in a kid’s cartoon.

  “But I will, Daisy. It’s perfect. It doesn’t matter if it ever comes to light that you worked for us; the police may find out, they may not, either way, there is nothing to connect me to you. I have never been in your flat because no one has seen me do so. To my knowledge, I have never met you. Apart from our formal introduction this morning, I do not know you. You killed yourself because you were miserable and you hated Tanya for ruining your life.”

  “You just killed two people in cold blood. Of course the police will trace it back to you.”

  “How? It’s not going to happen. I have no motive. I haven’t been caught in the past with the things I’ve done, and I’m not about to be caught now. And I have a rock-solid alibi. Tanya and I had a romantic meal at home. She drank too much and passed out. She would pass every lie-detector test in the land.”

  “But not a drug test, right?”

  He laughs. “Very astute, Daisy. Maybe not at the time. But it’s a bit late for such a test now, don’t you think?”

  I have no answer to that, and I can only stare at him in disbelief. I feel strangely calm, like I have been waiting for this moment without ever realising that I was. I draw an unexpected comfort from this sense of inevitability.

  “I am in the clear, dear Daisy. I am untouchable. There is nothing linking me to Beth and her husband Paul, just as there is nothing linking me to you. And as for Beth and Paul, anyone could’ve killed them, least of all me. I mean, it was painfully clear that they were having financial difficulties, given the squalid state of their flat.

  “When I slit their throats in their own bed, her stupid husband was babbling on about he was going to pay them back. Clearly, he thought I was some kind of loan shark, debt collector. Safe to say that his garage was in a lot of trouble. Once I twigged this, I made them tell me where they hid any savings in the house, so that it looked like I was after their money.” He laughs, and I shiver at the sound. “Poor old Beth, she obviously saw a good thing coming when she rescued my wife from the muggers. She must’ve thought all her Christmases had come at once with her new, rich friend.”

  “You’re insane,” I say, when he has finished.

  “And so are you.” As he speaks, he reaches into the opened briefcase which is still perched on his knees, and produces a little white, plastic pot. “You are insane, dear Daisy, which is why you are going to take these and end it now.”

  I look at him blankly, icy fear wrapping around me and squeezing my chest, making it difficult for me to breathe. Deep down, I know exactly what he is saying, but I am stupefied by my own terror.

  “Inside this Paracetamol pot,” he continues, “are thirty standard sleeping pills, and twenty Paracetamols. You are going to wash them down with a few large glasses of wine, and then all of your suffering will be over for good.”

  “You’re asking me to kill myself,” I say in a monotone voice.

  “There are no flies on you, are there? Is it really so much of a big ask, Daisy? Are you honestly saying that the thought has never crossed your mind? I am merely helping you on your way. This is for your own good. Because no one ever gets over the death of their own child. Not truly.”

  “And what if I don’t?” But I can plainly hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

  He shrugs. “Then we do it the hard way. I get to rough you up, make this look like a home robbery gone wrong. I’ll hurt you like I did Beth and Paul. It’s no big deal. I have my suit in my briefcase, and I’ll get changed back into it somewhere during the journey home, and I’ll also dump the clothes that I’m wearing. No one will see your blood on them when I leave here, as they’re black, and when I go home in my suit, Tanya won’t suspect a thing. So, which is it going to be?”

  I am no longer feeling as scared as I was. Complacency has settled over me, a numb feeling of fatality that almost overrides the fear.

  Almost.

  “Neither. I want neither.”

  Is that even true? I wonder. Because he’s right about one thing – losing Lucy has left me broken. My pathetic act of revenge against Tanya wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying as I thought it was going to be.

  “Take the pills, Tanya. Take them right now, or you’re going to die in agony. Take them, for your own sake.”

  He reaches out and places the pills on the grey cushion that separates us. I stare at the innocuous white bottle, my body trembling and my breathing shallow. My eyes sting and burn with unshed tears.

  So this is it. I think calmly. This is the end of the road for me.

  Luke smiles at me. I used to think that his grin was sexy, but now I see it for what it really is – I see him for what he is. It reveals his cold, heartless nature.

  I reach out for the glass of wine nestled amongst the bundles of notes, my gaze irreversibly settling on the white pot of pills.

  “That’s it, Daisy, you’re doing the right thing.”

  His gentle voice speaks to the very soul of me.

  And I believe him.

  *

  A few minutes later, the pills start working. I am feeling woozy. Luke watched me take them in silence, and together we sit here.

  In silence.

  Waiting.

  “Can you feel it?” he whispers.

  I nod.

  “That’s good, it won’t be long now. Everything will soon be over. You can rest at last.”

  Yes. I can. It’s what I want. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted since I lost her. I can feel myself drifting away on a tide of blissful numbness. It is only Lucy that I think of, now.

  I’ll be with you soon, baby.

  I am joyful, yet morose and melancholy. Euphoric. I am complete. Because I have got my revenge, after all. Tanya is married to Luke, and that is all the revenge I need.

  Dimly, I am aware of Luke sweeping everything into his briefcase. The money. My laptop and phone.

  Everything except the pot of pills.

  His voice drifts to me, as if from far away. “Goodbye Daisy. It’s been a ride.”

  I am fading fast now. The last thing I see is Luke getting to his feet, carrying his empty glass of wine over towards the kitchen. I hear the tap running.

  And then I hear nothing, because the blackness is waiting for me.

  EPILOGUE

  TANYA

  It’s ten a.m. and the cleaner still hasn’t shown up for work. Neither has she called. She doesn’t have my mobile number, and the landline has remained resolutely silent.

  I have tried calling her – her mobile number is scribbled down in my little black book next to the landline in the living-room – but whenever I call, it goes straight to an impersonal, automated voicemail.

  “Back in a sec, baby,” I call over to Bella, who is sitting by the patio doors on her special rug.

  I hotfoot it upstairs, with the intention of grabbing my phone, which I have left on the bedside table. It hasn’t worked since yesterday afternoon because the battery died, and I haven’t bothered to charge it up, as Luke always calls me on the landline, if he is going to call.

  It is probably a fruitless endeavour anyway, seeing as Anne doesn’t have my number. But, in the back of my tiny mind, I think that maybe she has lost it, that there is subsequently a slim chance that she has sent me a message via Facebook, explaining why she didn’t show up today. She’s not my Facebook friend, but I am easy enough to find.

  I carry the dead phone back dow
n the stairs and into the kitchen, where I take it to the charging spot on the sideboard. For all our wealth, we only have the one charger that fits our respective matching phones. It is an unspoken agreement between us that this charger must stay in this exact spot for us to share. It would be bad form for either of us to whisk it away into the abyss of this large house.

  I plug in the phone, waiting for it to come to life.

  “Mum, Mum, Mum,” Bella says, holding out her little arms towards me. Pick me up, Mummy, I’m bored.

  “What’s up, Bella lovely, do you want cuddles?”

  I go to her and scoop her up, holding her tight against me. I carry her back over to the sideboard. There are no missed calls or texts on my phone, from Anne, or from anyone else for that matter.

  Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? a sarcastic little voice sneers in my mind. Because the cleaner doesn’t have this number, remember?

  Clutching at straws now, I swipe on the Facebook Messenger icon. I don’t have any messages. I go on to check in the ‘other’ inbox, where messages land from people whom I am not ‘friends’ with. I see in there that I have a message with an attached file from someone called Claire Brinkley. This person doesn’t have a profile picture, and we have no mutuals. The name means less than nothing to me.

  “Not a chance am I opening that,” I mutter to Bella, deleting it out of sight. It is obviously a virus, some sort of infected file.

  I put the charging phone back down and go over to put on the kettle, thinking no more of it.

  *

  Luke comes home slightly earlier than normal this Tuesday night. Bella has been fed, and is in her usual corner, playing with her building blocks while I chop onions over by the sink for the slow-cook, pork casserole that I am making.

  I am just thinking about Luke, when, as if by magic, he walks through the kitchen door. I am thinking about how it would be nice if he came home a little earlier tonight so that he could see Bella before I put her to bed, as he was out on the town again last night and therefore didn’t see Bella at all yesterday.