‘I’m thinking about taking a second job,’ she said. ‘You know, outside the home?’
‘Such as?’
Her mind raced but came up blank. She felt shocked, worthless. ‘Anything really, so that I get to meet more people and earn a few quid.’
‘What did you do before you were married?’
She’d gone into the police force from school, but recounted her sister’s resume. Her mouth felt dry.
‘Shop work might be a good option in the short term as there are a lot of vacancies and you could work part-time.’
‘Uh huh.’ She struggled to keep the conversation going. ‘Do most widows cope well with going back to work?’
She watched him nod, wished that she didn’t fancy him quite as desperately.
‘I’ve known women return to their jobs within a fortnight, particularly if there was no one to cover for them. Others actively choose that option as they don’t want to stay home and grieve.’
‘Oh, right. So, does it shorten the grieving process?’
‘Unfortunately not. The feelings invariably surface. I had one widow who came to me three years after her husband died and she’d only started crying that month. She’d taken on three part-time jobs immediately after his death, filled every waking hour. In the end, she ran out of energy and went into emotional meltdown. It was as if he’d died the previous day.’
‘I haven’t done that. I mean, I had to spend a lot of time at home during the pregnancy.’
‘I know. I don’t think that you’re looking for short cuts, Olivia. You’ve simply made a fast recovery because you’re a survivor. You’re coping brilliantly.’
He saw her as strong, self-assured, whereas she felt as if she was not waving but drowning, that she had no one to cling to, no one who really cared.
‘So it’s OK to keep trying new things? One of the other clients at the bereavement centre hinted that I was doing too much.’
‘You’re doing just the right amount. No one else has any right to judge you,’ Adam said, then smiled at her encouragingly.
Olivia forced the corners of her mouth upwards, though she remained deflated, her future bleak.
They talked about other ways that she could profitably spend her time and she heard her voice, laughing and joking, coming from somewhere above her head. Every so often she glanced at her watch, willing the hour to be up, for this baptism by fire to be over. She wanted to go home, hide under the duvet and cry like a wounded animal. She longed to be alone.
At last the session ended and he walked her to the door.
‘Next week at the same time?’ she asked jauntily.
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
She would dread it, but had no option if she were to keep her job.
Thank goodness that Olivia had gone quietly, acted like a grown up. He was seeing Susie later today: she was his four p.m. appointment, his last of the afternoon. He’d taken care to give her a time when they wouldn’t be interrupted – with luck, she’d agree to go out for an early dinner and he could really turn on the charm. No one else had ever understood her dyspraxia so he could be her hero, the only person who truly got her, her soul mate. He’d be the guru, she the willing acolyte.
He polished the furniture with a quality lavender spray, showered and shaved with especial care before her arrival. He also reread everything that he could find about her condition in his textbooks and thought about strategies which might prove helpful, which she could easily implement. Not that he wanted her to become too independent: no, he had to remain the strong one, the one in charge.
She was ten minutes late.
‘Sorry, my taxi didn’t arrive.’
‘Several of my patients have told me that. Apparently there’s an influx of new drivers from Bristol who don’t know the area.’
‘Is that what’s going on? I’ve been let down twice this week.’
‘It must be expensive for you, not being able to use buses.’
He knew that she’d struggle to find her way about on public transport, would probably avoid it like the plague.
‘It is.’ She smiled at him gratefully. ‘People don’t realize just how poor my sense of direction is. I used to try taking a bus to someplace new but, if I missed my stop, I’d end up completely disorientated. Once I was walking about for four hours in a new district, desperate for the loo!’
‘And it compounds the problem that you can’t read maps,’ Adam said. ‘But you shouldn’t let it affect your self-esteem as you have a high IQ.’
‘No one ever told me that before I saw you.’
‘We aim to please,’ he said lightly. ‘Talking of which, I’ve sorted out some more tests which will help me ascertain how your brain works. Just tell me what’s missing in the following pictures, please.’
As he’d suspected, she answered that nothing was missing, yet there were omissions in every one of the drawings. Unfortunately he wasn’t allowed to tell her the right answers as she might be given the test by another professional at a later date.
‘So, what can you do for me, doctor?’
The honest reply was ‘very little’ but he had no intention of letting her escape from him so easily.
‘I can help build your confidence in other areas. A short course of cognitive therapy would be ideal.’
‘And with regards to my work?’
‘I can write to your employer and explain that you are intelligent and motivated but can’t put a dental drill back together – or we can look at where your strengths lie and find you a more suitable job.’
‘I think the latter,’ Susie said thoughtfully. ‘I mean, I don’t want my boss thinking that I’m substandard.’
‘You’re hardly that, just wired up a little differently.’
‘So what do you think that I would be good at?’
Lying on your back and spreading your legs wide and . . . He fought back the thoughts. Instead of answering, he glanced at his watch.
‘Gosh, these tests took longer to administer than I thought so we’ve gone over our appointed time. I missed lunch so I really need to eat, am just popping to a little bistro about ten minutes from here. You’d be welcome to join me. My treat.’
‘I’d like that.’ She stood up, all long legs and flat stomach and perky little breasts with attitude. God, he was going to enjoy sliding between her thighs.
‘I think they do a vegetarian option,’ he said as they strolled along the road.
‘Oh, I eat meat.’
Better and better. He couldn’t wait to have her lips wrapped around his dick.
They ate. They drank. They talked from six until ten that night.
‘I’ll walk you home – can’t have one of my patients getting lost!’ he said lightly.
‘Do you take all of your patients out to dinner?’ she asked as he paid the bill.
‘Normally, no. Obviously most of them have mental health issues and are vulnerable, so I’d be breaching my ethical and professional code if I met up with them privately. You’re obviously not in that situation, are a very capable professional woman. I’ve enjoyed our evening and hope that you have too.’
‘Oh, I have.’
He took her hand as they walked along the road and she didn’t pull away.
‘I’d like to see you again,’ he said softly.
‘No problem.’
‘What’s your ideal date?’
‘Going round a maze,’ she said, and they both laughed. ‘Seriously? I love nature and the countryside.’
‘So maybe we could have lunch on Sunday in a little country pub then go walking?’
‘Sounds perfect – you can be my Sherpa.’
She was very receptive to his suggestions – would she put out tonight?
When they reached her front door, he slid his arms around her waist and moved in for the kill. It was, he thought, an unfortunate expression. He wanted this one to live: she might well be a keeper. He wanted to see how far she would go.
He kissed her lightly but w
hen he tried to increase the pressure she pulled away.
‘Adam, it’s too soon after my separation.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’ll be chaste from now on.’
Would he hell – he was so hard that it hurt. He’d drug her at the first opportunity and have his way, otherwise he’d never be able to concentrate on wooing her. He’d fuck her in the pussy rather than the ass so that she wasn’t sore when she woke up, would phone her for another date the next day. If she mentioned that her mind was a blank, he’d tell her that she’d been drinking, would carry on the relationship from there. It hopefully wouldn’t be long before she forgot about her ex-husband and actually wanted him, Adam, and they could enjoy nightly sex.
‘So, a platonic lunch on Friday?’ he asked.
She giggled. ‘Not platonic, exactly – but no tongues.’
‘My tongue and I will be on our best behaviour. Scouts’ honour.’
She laughed again. ‘You were never in the Scouts.’
Responding to her jokey manner, he shook her hand. ‘Thank you for your company, madam.’
‘My pleasure, sir.’
It would be his pleasure next time, he thought, as he limped home with his erection digging into his stomach. His libido – and his ego – was going to be very, very pleased.
FORTY-THREE
Something was going to give, Brandon thought. He stared at the two fuckwits who had had the temerity to bring him into the world. How dare they ruin his life with a single comment?
‘But I’ve always planned to go to university.’
It was the only thing that kept him going, his way out, his freedom, his new start.
His father leaned forward in his chair. ‘But you haven’t been going to school, son.’
Well, he had. He’d been walking in the front door after his mother dropped him off and sneaking out of the back, so technically he’d been there. He always went to the seafront, walked for miles, just dreaming about a more solitary, independent future.
‘So? I’m way ahead of the others. I can still pass.’
‘They’re thinking of excluding you for non-attendance.’
‘I can be taught at home, then, or go to a different school.’
‘We just don’t think that you’ll be ready to leave home at eighteen, so, unless you shape up soon, we won’t be prepared to pay your fees or living costs.’
It was apparent that the old man had dug his heels in and that his mother, a weak woman at the best of times, wasn’t going to contradict him. Thanks for nothing, Mum.
He glared, made his voice extra-cold. ‘I have the right to my independence – I’ll get a flat or a bedsit.’
‘Oh, and how will you pay the rent?’
‘I’ll get a job.’
‘Not if you’re acting like this, you won’t, Brandon.’ A lengthy sigh. ‘Son, you have to go back on your medication.’
‘You can’t make me.’
‘Of course we can’t – you’re becoming a young man and we can hardly force-feed you. But remember how much better you could concentrate when you took your pills, how your performance improved in school?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it did,’ his mother said softly. ‘We’ve been talking to Dr Neave on the phone and he agrees.’
‘Isn’t there doctor-patient confidentiality?’
His father shook his head. ‘Not when you’re a minor.’
‘We’re just worried, Brandon,’ his mother cut in. ‘You can hardly blame us for that.’
Yes, he could. He blamed them for being so fucking dull and unimaginative that he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as them and he blamed them for colluding with his shrink. He also blamed them for having the nerve to think that they could tell him what to do.
He fought an almost overwhelming urge to lunge at his mother, grab her by the neck . . . but, if he did, his father would probably knock him to the ground or physically throw him out of the house forever. The man had backhanded him a few times when he was younger and it had really hurt. No, he had to get them in separate rooms before he killed them. They would permanently stand between him and his freedom, so they had to die.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ his mother said.
Excellent. He was almost sorted.
‘I’ll set the tray,’ he said and she smiled at him gratefully.
‘Thanks, Brandon,’ his father said, closing his eyes.
He followed his mother into the kitchen, shut the door. She’d already turned on the tap to let it run for a moment. She always did that – something about getting rid of rust in the pipes. Going into the cutlery drawer, he selected the largest knife, quietly tiptoed behind her and stabbed it through the back of her neck.
He watched as her hand came up, felt the handle, let go. She turned around and stared at him, her mouth frozen in a gape, like a trout at the fish counter. He selected a second knife and prepared to thrust it into her breastbone but she crumpled to the floor and lay there, inert.
Way to go – apart from the shockwave as she hit the ground, she hadn’t made a noise. It was almost too easy. His father would be harder, so it would be best to disable him quickly by striking at his head. Fortunately the man kept a heavy wooden club under the marital bed, ready to scare off any intruders. It would make serious inroads into the average – and below average – skull.
Brandon fetched the club and held it behind his back as he re-entered the lounge. He felt almost joyous as he saw – and heard – that his father had fallen asleep. He walked behind him, lined up the wooden block with its target and brought it down with full force. There was an audible crack, after which his victim grunted, jerked spasmodically and began to rise. No, no, no, no, no! Heart speeding, Brandon hit him on the back of the head this time, and he pitched forward. Standing over him, he bent down and used the club another three times.
Game over. Walking back into the kitchen, the teenager turned off the tap. He didn’t fancy a cup of tea but he could murder a cola. After changing out of his lightly-spattered T-shirt, he took money from his mother’s purse and walked jauntily to the nearest shop.
FORTY-FOUR
Tonight’s the night, Adam sang to himself. Well, it was this afternoon, to be exact, as he was taking the delectable Susie for a pub lunch. He was driving her out to a country tavern, would slip the Rohypnol into her drink at the end of the meal. He’d get her back to his car before she became drowsy, would drive her to her place and have his oh-so-wicked way.
He wondered if her nipples were pink or chocolate brown, if she had a Brazilian or a forest of pubic hair. It was like unwrapping a mysterious present, discovering new textures, sounds and scents. You slid into some girls like the proverbial knife into butter, whereas others opened up slowly, centimetre by centimetre, as you pushed your cock in.
She was waiting outside her flat when he drew up. That was fine by him – in a couple of hours from now he’d be making himself at home in her currently celibate bedroom. He hoped that she had a double or a king size as some girls got restless on Rohypnol, tended to roll around and moan.
He got out of the car and handed her the flowers that he’d bought, proper ones from the florist rather than the garage shop. First impressions mattered. She hugged him briefly and he breathed in the lovely scent of Tunisian jasmine. He’d find out the name of her favourite perfume at a later date.
‘Thanks – they’re beautiful. I’ll just pop back into the flat and put them in the sink for now.’
‘Do you have enough vases?’
‘Uh huh – I’ve got six.’
She’d had other suitors, then, or a very attentive husband, albeit one who had now fled the coop.
He remembered having the same conversation with Helen on their second date, and realizing that she was one of life’s unloved when she admitted that she didn’t have a vase or urn amongst her possessions. It meant that no one in her recent history had given her flowers, that she’d probably fall h
eavily for the first man who did. He’d wanted to woo her quickly and marry in haste before she saw his true colours, so had sent roses or orchids every week.
He smiled at Susie when she returned.
‘I’ve booked us a table for midday.’
By mid afternoon, he’d be thrusting for England.
‘I love the Somerset countryside, especially after living in London for so many years.’
He turned the key in the ignition. ‘Presumably you couldn’t go on the tube?’
‘No, but there were lots of local shops and schools so I was able to walk everywhere or else Phil took me in the car.’
‘You’d probably find trams less daunting as they’re slower and it’s easier to see where you’re going. Whenever I’m in Manchester I take one to China Town.’
‘Do you go to Manchester a lot?’
‘Every two or three months, for a change of scene. I like the casinos.’
‘Oh, Phil used to play but I usually just joined him later for the meal.’
‘Mmm, they’ve got some good restaurants – silver service.’ He’d take her to a couple of the best London ones and she’d hopefully be impressed.
He drove, chatted, listened actively and made all of the right responses. When they reached the pub he nosed carefully into the car park, determined that nothing would go wrong with the day.
‘They do a good carvery here, including a vegetarian option.’
She’d said that she ate meat but some women were lapsed vegetarians, appreciated a man who wasn’t an all-out carnivore.
‘Oh, I love turkey.’
‘Same here – as an added bonus, it gives your serotonin a boost.’
‘Do I look unhappy?’ she asked, and giggled in what sounded like a flirtatious way.
He grinned widely back. ‘No, but you’re atypical – my office sees more than its fair share of depressives.’
‘Including turkeys, if you’re encouraging your patients to eat them,’ she said and giggled again.
Was he actually going to need a date rape drug? She might just come through for him without it. There again, why take the chance? He hated being left frustrated, both physically and mentally, loved being fully in charge.
Extinction Page 21
