‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ Regardless of my desperation for Nathan to come home, I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice.
He plonks himself down on the bar stool, slumping his upper body across the shiny black marble worktop covering the island, his head buried in his crossed arms.
Bloody hell, now what?
I hear words, but they are deadened by his jumper.
‘I can’t understand what you’re saying,’ I say, irritably.
He lifts his head and looks directly at me. ‘I said, I miss you.’
My heart suddenly feels like it’s tumbling. ‘I miss you, too.’ My voice crackles and breaks. Does this mean the other woman is no longer an option for him? Or is he having a minor wobble and will leave after he’s unloaded his guilt?
‘Do you? I mean actually miss me, or do you just miss the company? The knowledge that someone else is here.’ His sad eyes focus intently on mine. I’m not sure I know the answer. My pause seems to have served as a reply, because he leaps up and begins to pace, his hands grabbing at his hair. This is so unlike him. Why has this started happening now?
‘I … I miss you. I miss us …’ I stammer. I want to say the right thing, but I don’t know whether it’s for his benefit, or mine.
‘But you miss Sean more,’ he says. His words aren’t harsh – he’s not accusing me, he’s stating a fact. For the first time, I can see he’s hurting too.
‘Yes. I do, Nathan. Me and you aren’t tied by blood. Me and Sean are. Were. I grew him inside of me.’ I grasp hold of my stomach, remembering the feel of him, the lashing out of tiny limbs, the lurching sensations of his body flipping over in mine.
‘And you think that means you miss him more than I do, that you loved him more?’
I shrug. It is what I believe.
Nathan walks towards me again, his hands outstretched. He takes hold of mine; they’re warm, and my own feel cool enveloped in his. ‘I’m not sure you can love me without him being here, can you? You saw me as the father of your child, and now that role’s defunct. You can’t – or don’t want to – have me just as a husband.’
‘That’s not true.’ I shake my head, not altogether sure I believe my own statement. ‘But the fact I’m no longer a mother has changed me. You’ve changed too. It’s like we have to adapt. To be something different. At the moment, I don’t think either of us are making those changes. But it doesn’t mean we won’t ever be able to. It’s going to take time.’ I slip my hands out from his. ‘Anyway, you’re the one who left. You’re the one who needs to decide whether you want this other woman in your life instead of me.’
‘It’s not as simple as that now.’
I shrug. ‘No. It never is.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Angela
I collapse on the floor, all my energy zapped. I’ve cried more tears than I think possible. My eyelids are heavy, so swollen they are almost closed. I have nothing left.
The lock rattles and the basement door edges open. Through the bleariness, I see my son. The murderer. My mouth is paralysed, no words can pass through my lips. He crouches down in front of me.
‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ he whispers. He looks like he did when he was little. Small. Scared. In need of my love and support.
I reach my arm out. He takes my hand, turning it over in his, studying the red skin. Then he sinks further down until he’s on the floor beside me. He rests his head on my lap, his legs curled up like he’s in the foetal position. Instinctively, I begin stroking his hair at the temple.
‘I’m sorry too,’ I manage to say. And I am. Sorry for a lot of things. Sitting here now with him, I’m reminded of how he’d been such a sweet, loving child. Always keen to help others, cheerful, energetic. He didn’t have lots of friends, but those he did have, he seemed to go all out for. He was loyal. Then he became a teenager; the hormones kicked in. He and his father were continually at loggerheads. The arguments became heated. Then the beatings followed. I didn’t know how to handle it. So I shied away and let David manage things his way.
It was after David left that Tom came out of his shell more. With that came his confidence – but not in a positive way. I could see he was developing his father’s abusive tendencies.
So, despite David finally being out of the picture, for us, Tom and me – for our relationship – it was too late. By the age of sixteen, he had realised I was weak. He took over where his father left off. Just as I’d told Connie.
See, I did tell some truths amongst the lies. I wasn’t trying to bury all the real facts. Hide away from them, maybe; twist them to make them easier to bear, perhaps.
Rather than ignore Tom’s behaviour in the hope it was a one-off, which clearly it’s not, I’ll have to help change him. It’s obvious to me now. Although I can continue to seek some kind of redemption, Deborah isn’t going to be the one to give it to me – it’ll have to be through my group somehow. Maybe if I help Bill through his grief, that will be good enough – as close as I can get. I can no longer make things right with Deborah, but I can with the father of Tom’s second victim. Because it is Isabella. I can feel it. And the way Tom is being now only confirms my fear.
Being Alice helped me. Gave me some redemption.
And this Wednesday I’m going to be Alice again.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Connie
Connie pushed her hand deep inside the envelope – there was no accompanying note. She stared at the pay-as-you-go mobile, half-expecting it to suddenly ring despite currently being switched off. She swallowed the lump in her throat and reached for it, gently handling it as if it might explode.
Someone had hand-delivered the package, meaning they knew where she lived. Could this be Scott’s doing? He’d shown himself to be persistent, so it was a possibility this was an extension of the texts and flowers. Deep down she knew this wasn’t the case. It felt different.
Connie checked the time. Ten-thirty. Surely Lindsay would be home soon. She would wait for her, get her to turn on the phone and find out what it was all about. Connie did not want to do it on her own. She pulled her legs up onto the sofa and lay her head on the arm. Surely it wouldn’t be long to wait.
A crashing awoke her. Connie bolted upright, fear preventing her from moving off the sofa. She’d fallen asleep. She held her breath, straining to hear foreign noises. There was nothing. She felt disorientated, her head fuzzy with sleep.
Connie’s muscles unclenched, her mind relaxed. It must’ve been a dream. Checking her phone for the time, she was shocked to see it was two-thirty in the morning. Why wasn’t Lindsay home yet? She uncurled herself and stretched, her neck stiff from her position on the sofa. She couldn’t believe she’d managed to sleep with all the worry swimming about in her head. She looked to the coffee table, to the mobile phone – its silence, its stillness somehow menacing. It was mocking her. With a sinking feeling, Connie reached forwards and picked it up.
She pressed the power button – her curiosity couldn’t wait for Lindsay. She was obviously tied up with the body that’d been found; she might not even bother to come back now, choosing instead to stay on for the rest of the day. In the meantime, Connie had to find out why the mobile had been delivered to her.
The phone buzzed into life, the vibration sending shocks, like icy shards, across her skin.
When she’d been a teenager, her and her friend Tracey had watched the horror film Carrie. Connie recalled with absolute clarity the moment the scene came on the TV where a girl was standing at Carrie’s grave. Connie had turned briefly to Tracey and said: ‘I bet a hand comes out of the ground now.’ And it did, as predicted. Connie had screamed, even though she’d been certain of what was going to happen. It was the same now: she knew that when the phone started up, a message would be on it. One that would cause as much fear as when Carrie’s hand had burst from the ground. Only this time, there was no friend to join in with the screams; no friend to hold tight in horror. No one to comfort her.
; One new message.
If she opened it here, now, she would be facing its content, and its repercussions, totally alone. She wasn’t sure if it was courage or stupidity, but Connie allowed her fingers to open the message.
Do not go to the police. If you do, those you care for will come to harm. I need to talk to you. You have to come back. Make it happen. Delete this message after reading. K.
She breathed out a long, slow breath. It wasn’t as bad as her imagination had conjured – although the ‘those you love will come to harm’ part kicked her heart rate up a few notches. In reality, however, it was only her mum she had to worry about – her dad was more than capable of looking out for himself. As for Luke, would anyone even be able to track him down? Connie rested back against the sofa. So, Kyle Mann wanted to talk to her, and had gone to a lot of trouble to deliver the message. He needn’t have bothered. Didn’t he realise she’d be dragged into this anyway? His refusal to speak with the police had pretty much guaranteed that.
The question, though, was why? It must be something he felt was urgent – he’d taken a huge risk sending a mobile phone to someone on the outside. Connie turned the phone over in her hand, half-expecting it to ring. Was this single message all there was, or did he intend to continue contacting her via it?
An uneasy sensation ran through her body. Someone else was involved. Kyle couldn’t have delivered the package; he must’ve enlisted help.
And they knew where she lived.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Connie
Connie grabbed the Nokia from the coffee table and slipped it under the sofa cushion as the lounge door opened and an exhausted-looking Lindsay sloped in. It was just after 3 a.m.
‘God, what a day!’ She threw herself on the armchair, her head flopping against the chair back, and yawned widely.
Connie sat up, carefully positioning her legs to conceal the phone’s hiding place. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be home. I heard a body’s been found …’ Connie allowed the sentence to trail.
‘It’s the girl, Connie. Isabella Bond.’ Lindsay’s eyes were dull – through tiredness or the sad news, Connie wasn’t sure. Probably a mix of both. Her usually shiny red hair was matt, unclean – held back from her face in a messy ponytail. When had she last washed it?
‘Yeah,’ Connie sighed, ‘thought it would be. Even my mum left a message about it earlier.’ Damn. She hadn’t rung her back. She must remember to do it first thing in the morning. Well, when the sun was up – it was already morning. She rubbed her temples, the same time as Lindsay rubbed at her eyes.
‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we?’ Lindsay said.
‘At least I’ve had some sleep. How are you still standing?’
‘I’m not, I’m sitting.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Lindsay smiled. ‘I know you worry. About me, about everything. But I’ll be fine. I have to keep going. We need to get to the root of this before someone else gets hurt.’
Connie’s cheeks flushed – the mobile lying beneath her, tucked away, was making her feel guilty. Should she tell Lindsay now? But the warning words: If you do, those you care for will come to harm, flashed in her mind. Lindsay wanted her to go in and speak with Kyle anyway, there was no need to tell her about the mobile at this point. She’d see what he had to say first, find out what other reason he had for delivering the phone to her. If need be, she’d inform Lindsay afterwards. At least now her mind was made up: she was going to go back into the prison.
‘Yes, of course I worry. I care about you. This job has drained you.’ She wanted to add ‘mentally and physically’, but held back. Somehow this wasn’t the right time for Connie to share her concerns about Lindsay’s choice of career – point out how it could be damaging her. That was a conclusion Lindsay would need to come to herself – other people telling her would only make her defensive and push in the opposite direction. And maybe Connie wasn’t the right person to talk to her about it anyway, given her own history.
‘It’s swings and roundabouts, Connie. After this case, it’ll probably be boring again for ages. I’ll catch up with sleep then.’
‘Hah!’ Connie shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Linds, I’m beginning to think we should both have a change of career. How do you fancy running a nice little tea shop by the seaside?’
Lindsay burst out laughing. ‘Us two, in a tea shop? That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.’ She wiped delirious tears from her eyes.
‘Yeah, okay. Possibly a bit far-fetched. But still, I’m getting bloody fed up with criminals and hassle. A quiet life wouldn’t be a bad idea.’
‘I don’t think I could leave all this, even if I wanted to. It has hold of me now. Anyway, I love it, mostly. It still feels great when bad people get what they deserve. I still get pleasure in knowing I’ve helped take another scumbag off the streets and made the place a little safer to live in. No other job could give me what this one does.’
Connie shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t think I’d miss it. Your job, or mine. When I’m more awake, I’m going to be seriously re-evaluating my career path.’
Lindsay stared at her for a while, saying nothing. Then she sat forwards. ‘Mack spoke with you earlier?’
‘Yep. Took me for coffee and cake. Your idea?’
‘Good God, no. The old charmer.’ Lindsay raised an eyebrow. ‘And?’
‘And obviously, yes. I’ll speak to Kyle. No choice in the matter, really.’
‘You’ve always got a choice, Connie. We all have choices.’
Yes, she was right. Everyone had a choice whether to say yes or no, whether to take one path or another. Whatever the factors involved, she did have the option to say no. Maybe a part of her didn’t want to say no because she was too invested now. In too deep. She wanted answers. She could tell Lindsay about the phone. What could Kyle do from inside prison to harm those she loved? Even with outside contacts, the police would protect her and her family. She knew that. Was she taking the easy option by concealing the truth? Life would get very complicated if she confided in Lindsay right at this moment. Connie remembered something fake Alice had said during a session: I went for the easy life, the easy option.
Rather than having to face the upheaval that the truth would undoubtedly cause, and despite feeling ashamed about wimping out, the easy option was exactly what Connie was taking now.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Tom
They’d talked for a long time. Surprisingly, Tom was able to regain some confidence – hope that his mum would carry on protecting him rather than give up on him, hand him over to the police. Her disappointment was evident, but he could get over that. Make her come around again.
She loved him. He was all she had.
He could use that.
She told him she’d stopped seeing the psychologist. Good news for him. The fewer people his mum came into contact with, the less likely his involvement with the murders would come out. Next, he had to cut her off from the stupid support group. The links there were the most dangerous. Apart from physically preventing her from leaving the house though, he was stumped at how he could achieve it. He’d hacked her laptop a number of times, gained a lot of information. It’d been a great source of help. But he didn’t need help any longer. He had to sever his and his mother’s ties with it.
His next mission was to eliminate the enemy. He’d have to think carefully how he could achieve it. It wasn’t going to be easy, there were so many of them. Killing wasn’t an option – far too risky. He’d have to use mental warfare, not physical. It was going to take superior skill. He remembered the time he’d followed his mum into Coleton. He’d seen her there with a fat woman, later finding out it was some loser called Wendy, who attended the group meet-up. Her messages on the online group page were laughable: He’s swearing at me all the time – what should I do? He’s refusing to get help for his addiction – what can I do? He’s threatening to punch me – what should I do?
She was pathetic. Weak. It
was obvious. She’d be easily manipulated.
Maybe he could start with her.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Deborah
I’ve been married to Nathan for twenty-six years. You can’t be with someone for that amount of time and not come to learn how they cope with challenging situations. The way Nathan acted yesterday, here in this kitchen, was out of character. This other woman had thrown him off keel. But how? What crap had she been feeding him? I can’t grasp it, but something isn’t right with this picture. He’d said it wasn’t as simple as choosing between her and me. I should’ve made it simple for him. Told him to go to her.
I didn’t though.
The kettle clicks off and I pour the boiling water into the teapot, remembering the times I did this for Alice. There’s no one here to impress, but the tea always tastes better from my mother’s bone china pot. I wish my mum was here with me, sitting at the island in the kitchen, wittering on about her latest ailment. Listening to her would take my mind off my current worries. She’d loved Sean so much, he could do no wrong in her eyes; she adored him, and he her. To the point I’d sometimes felt jealous. He often confided in her when he wouldn’t in me. At the time, I felt hurt. The fact he didn’t feel able to talk to me in the same way, that stung. Now they’ve both left me, I can see their relationship was how it should’ve been. I take some comfort in imagining them together now. Not enough to stop the pain entirely, only enough to soften the rough edges.
While I wait for the tea to brew, I take the latest newspaper and a pair of scissors. I carefully cut around the story about Isabella Bond, the young woman found dead in Coleton. I’d been there, at the scene on the walkway near the river, but other things on my mind had made me leave, and that’s when I’d seen Marcie – and made a fool of myself for the second time. Looking at the dead girl’s face now, I imagine what she must’ve gone through. The fear, the pain, the hideous realisation her life was about to finish. I hope she didn’t suffer for long, like Sean did.
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