by John Marrs
As she gradually came round, Mandy couldn’t fathom out where she was or why the smell reminded her of bleach and mouthwash. She guessed she must be in a bathroom until she turned her head and squinted through the window. As her eyes focused, she recognised the built-up landscape outside. She had been here before, she recognised that view. Both times she’d lost her children, she’d been here. She was in a hospital.
Suddenly, a rising sense of panic engulfed her. She moved her hands under the sheets to her pronounced belly. It was much flatter than before. No, please not again, she prayed helplessly.
‘Is somebody there?’ she croaked, her throat bone dry, but she was alone in the room. Mandy tried to pull herself up in the bed and lie back against the metal frame, but a sharp, shooting pain wrapped its way around her stomach. She grimaced and her hand flailed against the side of the bed, looking for the button she knew should be there. She jabbed at it hard.
It took a few moments before a nurse with ponytail appeared at her door. ‘Ah, you’re awake, how are you feeling?’ She spoke in a foreign accent and made her way to Mandy’s side.
‘My baby,’ Mandy mumbled, and tried to clamber out of the bed. ‘Where’s my baby?’
‘Let me get the doctor,’ the nurse said, and left the room.
Mandy’s body trembled involuntarily as she took in her surroundings. The nagging pain in her forehead compounded with the pain in her stomach and wrist made her nauseous. She only just managed to lean towards the edge of the bed before she vomited on the floor. The doctor arrived.
‘I need to see my baby …’ she mumbled.
‘No, no, no, you must stay where you are, Mrs Taylor,’ he replied, as the nurse helped to clean her up. Mandy was too panicked to even notice he’d called her Mrs Taylor. ‘Your little boy is safe and well.’
‘Little boy?’ she asked. Pat’s prediction had been correct.
‘Yes,’ he continued, glancing at a chart which he’d pulled from a hook at the base of her bed. ‘You gave birth prematurely to a boy five days ago. Four pounds, four ounces. He’s safe and healthy and just down the corridor.’
‘What happened to me?’
‘We were told that you fell down a flight of stairs. You sustained a head injury and a fractured wrist along with a minor swelling to the brain, which put your body into shock. You’ve been kept sedated for the last few days and your baby was born by caesarean section as a precautionary measure. Now you need to take it very, very easy for the next few days. You’ll be of no use to him if you try to rush these things.’
‘When can I see him?’
‘I’ll ask one of the nurses to bring him to you in the next few minutes.’
‘Thank you.’
Mandy’s leaned her head back against the pillow and she sighed with relief. She could just about remember tumbling down the stairs during her confrontation with Pat and Chloe, but could recall little else. It wasn’t the ideal way for her baby to come into the world, but he was here nonetheless and he was healthy. It hurt her head to smile and cry but she did both regardless. She was a mother.
However, her delight quickly turned to concern when she saw the doctor’s face when he returned minutes later.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Griffiths. It appears your son is elsewhere in the hospital with your family at the moment. They’ve probably just taken him for some fresh air around the grounds.’
Mandy’s eyes widened. ‘My family?’
‘Yes, they’ve been here most days waiting for you to wake up. They’ve been spending a lot of time with him.’
‘Who? Who is it exactly that has him?’
‘Your mother and sister, I believe. They called the ambulance that brought you in.’
Mandy’s body filled with an ominous dread before she grabbed the perplexed doctor’s arm.
‘Call the police right now,’ she growled.
Chapter 87
CHRISTOPHER
The rear entrance to her ground floor flat was shabby. A dusting of fallen rendering was scattered across the pavement below and cracked putty held the window frames in place.
But the age and the lack of maintenance to the property were an advantage to Christopher, as it meant little had been updated or replaced in the last twenty years. For a man of his experience, the basic two-lever mortice door lock was easy to pick.
Two clicks of the barrel and he was inside, quietly closing the door behind him and familiarising himself with the layout of the apartment. He’d last visited Number Thirty some weeks earlier and she’d changed nothing since. A smell of damp still lingered in the air and the street light outside illuminated the cheap, flat-pack assembled furniture.
Christopher’s thirtieth kill should have been something for him to celebrate; a target that at times seemed insurmountable was now, against all odds, within his reach. Thirty corpses, thousands of newspaper and magazine column inches, television documentaries and appeals featuring dramatic and wide-of-the-mark reconstructions, and all because of his efforts. And still no one was any the wiser as to who was behind it or their motivation.
However, Christopher was in no mood to commemorate his achievement or rest on his laurels. He just wanted to get his last kill over with, leave his mark on the pavement outside and return home. Then tomorrow night he’d be curled up by Amy’s side and in her bed, his arm draped over her chest and holding on to her as if there was nobody else in the world.
They could move forward and lead their lives doing the same things other normal couples did. Once his fantasies only stretched to killing strangers; now they were about spending his weekends with the woman he loved, wandering through garden centres and National Trust estates, deciding how to decorate the home they’d buy together, running together or cuddling up on a sofa watching box sets and eating junk food. He used to revel in being different, but not any longer. Everything that had been alien to the psychopath before he met Amy now appealed to him because she had made him feel normal.
Christopher paced silently around the flat and wondered again if one day he might tell her the truth about who he had been and who he’d become because of her. But since being part of a couple he’d learned relationships didn’t need truth to make them work, they just needed one of them to possess a heart large enough to beat for both of them.
The muffled sound of a radio emanated from beneath the door of Number Thirty’s bedroom. Christopher took up his position in the hallway and removed his familiar white billiard ball and cheese wire from his backpack. The final time he would do this. But he had neither the time or the inclination to be sentimental. He threw the ball against the wall and, with the taut wire in his hands, he felt almost apologetic for what was about to happen. His heart had long since left this project and he would gain no pleasure from her death.
But despite his noise, the bedroom door remained closed. Christopher assumed she must have fallen asleep. This was no problem; it’d happened before with Number Eighteen. But as he went to pick up the ball and repeat the process, he felt two sharp pricks to the back of his neck. He turned quickly and felt a massive electric jolt tear through his body. He immediately dropped to the floor in pain.
The last thing he saw before the crippling convulsions pushed him into unconsciousness was Amy’s face.
Chapter 88
JADE
Susan and Jade glared at Mark, awaiting further explanation.
‘What do you mean you’re my Match?’ Jade asked, shaking her head. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Mark?’ asked Susan, puzzled. ‘What’s going on?’
Mark hung his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. ‘Kev and I did our tests at the same time, and the results came back on the same day, when he was in hospital for one of his early chemo sessions,’ he explained quietly. ‘I opened my email and I’d been Matched with you, Jade, but Kev, he didn’t have anyone. Mum, you remember how desperate he was to know there was someone out there for him after the diagnosis?’
Susan nodded.
‘I deleted his email and told him he’d been Matched but I hadn’t. I just wanted him to be happy. So I paid for your contact details, Jade, and sent them to his phone, so he never saw the original email. You should have seen the look on his face when he realised you existed, even if you were thousands of miles away. It was back when he still looked like the old Kev, remember Mum? He even begged the doctors to let him fly to England to visit you, but they wouldn’t allow it and he couldn’t get the insurance to cover the trip.’
Jade could see Susan nodding, remembering when this had happened.
‘As the treatment got into full swing, it was so awful to watch him starting to lose his hair and weight and become a brother I barely recognised. But I knew what I had done was worth it when I’d see the old Kev reappear in his eyes and watch him smile when he got your texts and your calls.’
Jade thought back to the day she had first received confirmation of a Match. The notification had come through during her lunch break at work and she’d been so thrilled that she’d paid for her link’s details without giving much attention to his name. Almost immediately, she’d received a text from Kevin introducing himself and, from their first conversation, she just assumed he was her Match. She liked his warmth and enthusiasm, and immediately warmed to him. It was a stark contrast to her feelings of failure for having a job she hated and living with her parents.
‘We just started talking and hit it off,’ Jade said quietly. ‘I didn’t think to check it was the right name.’
Jade felt her mother-in-law’s disappointment dissipate, but, for her, her anger only grew.
‘I’m so sorry, Jade,’ Mark said. ‘But believe me, I know how hard it’s been for you over the last few weeks. From the moment I opened the front door to you, I felt those explosions they talk about. And I hate that I’ve hurt the one girl in the world I love.’
‘You have no idea how much you’ve hurt me,’ Jade replied solemnly, and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hands to hold back her rising temper.
‘I do know, honestly … hearing Kev talk to you on the phone every night and watching him in the lounge grinning as each of your messages came through, knowing it should have been me reading them and not him … it was hell. I’d wonder what you were saying to each other and what you felt about him, and I couldn’t say a damned thing. But I never expected you to actually turn up at the house. And then when you did it was both my worst nightmare and the best thing ever at the same time. Suddenly here you were, the one I was supposed to be with, on my doorstep and staying under my roof, but it was my brother you were here to see and he was head over heels in love with you.’
Jade could feel her eyes pooling and she blinked the tears back, trying to keep a handle on her emotions. Part of her wanted to slap Mark, but the other part wanted to hold on to him for dear life.
‘You lied to me … you lied to Kevin … you lied to the people you say you loved – how could you do that?’ she asked. ‘I’ve spent weeks trapped in this nightmare, beating myself up over why I wasn’t in love with him and thinking I was this selfish, heartless bitch. And you watched me going through absolute shite but you didn’t say a word. You didn’t even try to hint that all wasn’t as it seemed – you just let me deal with this all by myself. If you’d just given me a clue and let me work it out, then I could have at least decided if I wanted to go along with it or not. But you took the choice away from me. You used me, Mark, and that’s what hurts the most.’
‘Please try and understand why I did it.’
‘I do, and that’s the only thing stopping me from punching you right now. I get it, you had to put Kevin first. But it takes me a long time to trust someone and, no matter what my body feels for you, I don’t think my head or my heart will ever trust you again.’
‘Please don’t say that,’ Mark begged. ‘Just give us a chance.’
‘I’m sorry, I really don’t think I can.’
Jade hurried out of the lounge and back to the guest house, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her, along with all the feelings she’d ever held for her Match.
Chapter 89
NICK
After another night of fitful sleep permeated by dreams of Alex, Nick left the spare room and made his way into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Sally was already sitting at the breakfast bar, pushing a partially eaten chocolate croissant around on a plate. The hem of her T-shirt was no longer able to cover her pregnant belly.
‘Morning,’ he mumbled, and made his way to the coffee machine.
‘Hi.’ She winced and shuffled from buttock to buttock.
‘Can’t you get comfortable?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s been like this all night. The baby’s either been pressing on my bladder or kicking me.’
‘Has your headache lifted?’
‘Not really, no. There’s nothing I can take for it but the occasional aspirin and they’re doing little to help.’
‘Is it worth mentioning to the midwife this afternoon?’
‘Probably not. She’ll only tell me it’s high blood pressure or chronic hypertension again and that I’ve got to chill. You try relaxing when there’s a jackhammer going through your head.’
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘A herbal tea would be nice. One of those lemon and jasmine ones in the cupboard.’
Nick put the kettle on the stove and they sat quietly, both staring ahead at nothing in particular while they waited for it to whistle.
Five months had passed since Nick had left Alex; the letter saying he was choosing Sally and the baby. It was long and heartfelt, and he hoped that he would understand the decision he’d made. He’d known how much it would hurt him, but he’d tried to tell himself that if Alex had been in an identical situation with his ex-girlfriend Mary, he’d have done the same thing. This hadn’t done much to assuage his guilt.
It had been the hardest thing Nick had ever had to do, much tougher than admitting to Sally he had fallen in love with a man. This unborn baby he had sacrificed everything for would grow up having no idea what its father had given up for it.
Nick reluctantly moved back into their apartment, although now he spent his nights in the spare bedroom. He hoped that a clean break from Alex, rather than a painful, lingering one, would be easier to handle, but he’d been fooling himself – barely an hour passed without him dwelling on his lost love.
A handful of days before Alex’s departure, Nick had found himself on Alex’s doorstep, apologising.
Alex had given him a frosty reception, berating him for being such a coward. But he couldn’t maintain his animosity for long and they agreed to enjoy their last few days together.
However, no matter where they went or what they did, their relationship was no longer the same. The intense feelings remained but gone was the laughter, the spontaneity and the fun, all being replaced with an eye on the clock as they watched and waited as it counted down to the day Alex would leave Nick’s life.
And when that day arrived, it was even worse than Nick could have ever imagined. He insisted on accompanying Alex to the airport but, at the last minute, a distraught Alex changed his mind, begging to be allowed to go alone. Their goodbye consisted of a long, silent embrace until they could no longer ignore the taxi driver blowing his horn. Then, when the cab turned the corner out of sight, Nick sat on the steps outside Alex’s apartment and sobbed. He only returned home when his eyes were so tender he couldn’t cry any longer.
He cancelled his sabbatical from work and returned to the advertising agency a week later, his colleagues none the wiser as to Nick’s heartbreak. He threw himself into his work to busy his mind and, at weekends, he and Sally would shop for baby-related necessities as if they were any other expectant couple. He accompanied her to Lamaze classes, stayed at home for health visitor appointments and massaged her feet and ankles when they were swollen.
To an outsider, Sally and Nick’s life resembled what it
had been like before they’d known about Alex’s existence. But in reality, the shadow he left continued to loom over them.
‘Have you spoken to Sumaira recently?’ Nick asked. ‘How are the babies?’
‘I texted her yesterday,’ Sally said with little enthusiasm.
‘Something’s definitely gone on between you two that you’re not telling me about. She had them four weeks ago and you still haven’t been to visit.’
‘I told you before, we’re good. I’m just giving her time to settle down.’
‘You barely saw her while she was pregnant. Is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘Nick, my head hurts and I’m tired. I’m not in the mood for this.’
Steam blew from the kettle’s nozzle and brought both of them back to reality. Nick dropped a teabag into Sally’s cup and filled it with boiling water, but a dripping sound somewhere else in the kitchen caught his attention. He examined the bottom of the mug to see if it was cracked, but then a sharp intake of breath made him turn his head.
‘My waters,’ Sally began nervously, ‘they’ve just broken.’ Her pyjama bottoms were wet and a look of fear warped her face.
‘But you’re not due for another fortnight?’ Nick replied.
‘Try telling the baby that.’
Chapter 90
ELLIE
Ellie was suffocating. She felt as if someone was kneeling on her chest, restricting each breath and refusing to allow fresh air into her lungs. Each of her body’s ten pulse points vibrated like the woofers in a stereo speaker. But the only noise in her office was the echo of Matthew’s confession.
Pull yourself together, Ellie, she told herself. He’s lying.
‘What does it feel like, knowing you’ve been duped?’ Matthew asked softly, like a therapist would to his patient. He arranged his fingers in a steeple-like formation in front of his mouth to add to the fake sincerity of his question. ‘How does the puppet master feel having her strings pulled by someone else?’
