Something had to be done. Greg’s wife deserved better than to arrive home and find her husband in bed with a dirty little whore. “Oh, Colin, I need to run out. Can you let anyone know if they ask? I’ll be back in ten,” Jessica called over her shoulder as she ran to the exit.
I smiled. Jessica would be out for ten minutes and her colleague, Miranda, in HR was on holiday. I put my coffee down in my office and walked up the stairs to the HR department. Their office wasn’t big, and there was no window in the door, so I knew I wouldn’t be seen.
Pushing the door open, I peered into the office. As I thought, it was empty. I stepped inside and closed the door. I had seen the employee filing cabinet from my appraisals, so I knew exactly where to look. I pulled the bottom drawer open and flicked through to Christy’s file. Her address told me she wasn’t far from my house—just a twenty-minute drive. I memorized the street name and number and put the file back.
My heart raced as I closed the drawer and stood up. The top floor was small and home to only HR and the managing director, Bruce. I hadn’t seen Bruce this morning, but he often flitted in and out when it suited him. I reached for the door handle when the door swung open.
I froze momentarily. “Bruce, good morning.”
“Hello, Colin. Do you know where Jessica is?”
“She just popped out, she’ll be back soon.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I wanted a holiday request form. I forgot Miranda was off until I got up here.” I smiled and shook my head—Silly me.
He nodded and rubbed his bulging stomach once. “Ah, yes. The South of France she went to, wasn’t it?”
“I think so. Lovely place. Have you been?”
“Can’t say I have. I prefer to sit by a pool and drink a cool beer myself. Well, I’ll see Jessica later.” He nodded his head and walked out. I sighed in relief and left the office, closing the door behind me.
***
I knew dinner would be ready very soon, and I hated to be late, but I had to prepare for tonight. My duffel bag was open on the bed and already contained a body bag, thick rubber gloves, and cleaning products. My stomach turned at the thought of entering Christy’s house and punishing her, but someone had to. This was her fault, not mine. You’re only taking control of a situation before it worsens. Yes, that was all I was doing, taking care of something that needed to be controlled.
I combed my hair and repeated Christy’s address in my head over and over. I’m not weak. I can do this. Mother is wrong. Mother is wrong. Placing the comb back on my dressing table, I straightened my shirt and walked down to the girls’ room.
***
“Good evening, Flowers.”
“Good evening. How was your day?” Poppy asked. Rose looked up at me and beamed. Her blue eyes glistened in the light. I tore my gaze from Rose and smiled at Poppy.
“Very good, thank you. Although I have something to do after dinner.” I sat at the table opposite Lily. “And how are you?”
She bit her lip. “Fine, thank you.”
“Here,” Poppy said, placing my dinner in front of me. “Roast beef. One of your favorites.”
“Yes it is.” I smiled. Poppy was an incredible woman. She was caring and thoughtful, taking the time to get to know someone. I was proud to have her as part of the family. She had never disappointed me. I looked around the table and swelled with pride. All of my girls were beautiful, especially where it mattered, unlike that whore Christy.
***
I left my car in the parking area outside a nail salon; it was a thirty-second walk to Christy’s house. She lived at the back of the butcher’s, set off from the road. Aside from an old house that was currently being turned into flats, hers was the only residential property along the road. That meant, thankfully, I shouldn’t have any interruptions tonight.
I folded my arms over my chest. The January wind was bitterly cold, and I longed to be back at home with the girls. Lowering my head, I threw my bag over my shoulder and quickly walked toward her house.
The only light in her house came from upstairs. It was a small house, and the upstairs looked like it was in the loft space. Although it wasn’t a cottage, it had that feel to it. The house didn’t suit Christy. It was warm, homey, and inviting—three things she was not.
Either side of the pinewood front door were faux olive trees, and not very good ones. They looked cheap and out of place. I lifted the right one up and sighed. Lying beneath the terra-cotta pot was a door key. Oh dear, Christy, you really don’t help yourself. I stepped closer to the front door and heard Robbie Williams playing through the house. Mother used to put on her favorite music while getting ready to go on a date with Dad. I used to sit on the bed and watch her sing into the mirror as she applied her makeup.