Darryl had remained in his bedroom for the rest of the day, fearful of falling asleep, but wary of his parents. His head was mixed up. He’d had such courage when he took those women, but when they were dead and gone, it all drained away and he felt scared, insignificant, the weak little loser he’d always been. He spent the afternoon online, clicking through pictures of girls on Facebook, and profiles on Match.com. He was always looking: it was an addiction for him, a habit. He liked long dark hair, and he dragged a few pictures onto his desktop which took his fancy. He was just looking, that’s what he kept telling himself.
He’d only ventured downstairs when he heard the creak of his parents climbing into bed. He found Grendel lying in her huge basket in the boot room, and her tail thumped when she saw him. He took a packet of honey roast ham from the fridge and split it with her, watching her huge white jaws as she chomped it down. He lay down, squashed in with her in the dog bed, and only then was he able to drift off to sleep.
He woke just before five, warm against her soft furry back and wondered if the only person he could feel close to was Grendel; of course, she wasn’t a person. He was relieved to see the front of the tracksuit bottoms he wore were dry.
* * *
Darryl showered and took the early train into work the next morning. The dull routine of the office further comforted him, and the morning moved past unremarkably. He left for an early lunch, choosing to nip to the McDonald’s by Guy’s and St Thomas’s Hospital. When he returned with his grease-spotted bag of food there were only a handful of people in the large open-plan office, and Bryony was the only one in their section, eating alone at her desk.
He sat down and started to unpack the contents of his food, and then looked up, feeling her eyes on him. She was chewing rhythmically, her eyes magnified and unblinking behind her grimy glasses. On closer inspection he could see, and smell, that she’d brought some leftover Indian food in a Tupperware container. He glanced up and smiled at her. A small piece of garlic clung to the top of her downy lip.
‘You didn’t fancy the pub with the others?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m there right now. This is merely a hologram,’ he replied, sweeping his arm over his face. She looked back at him with her blank face. ‘Bryony. That was a joke.’
‘Oh,’ she guffawed, ejecting a little of the chewed onion bhaji onto her chin. ‘Oops, I’m such a pig.’ She blushed, swiping it off with her finger and sucking it off the tip.
Darryl turned to his computer and started to eat his McDonald’s. He logged onto the BBC website and was about to search for details of Ella Wilkinson when he heard her clear her throat behind him. He jumped.
‘Onion bhaji?’
He looked around and Bryony stood behind him with her Tupperware container. It contained a neat row of dark bhajis nestling on a fold of paper towel. There was something childish about the way she held it out, as if she was offering him a crisp during playtime. They smelt good. He looked down at his McDonald’s, which had sweated and gone cold on his way back to the office.
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking one. It was delicious.
‘My dad always orders too much Indian,’ she said, twirling her stubby fingers delicately over the box and picking one.
‘I love Indian; we don’t have a good one near where I live,’ he said through a mouthful.
She nodded sheepishly, taking a big bite and chewing. ‘You didn’t have to worry about using the Internet, so long as you keep it to break times…’
‘It’s all doom and gloom, isn’t it? The news.’
Bryony nodded. ‘Do you want another one?’ She pushed the Tupperware box up under his nose, thrilled that her playground friend wanted her to stick around. He took two.
‘Is that your dog?’ she asked, inclining her head to the photo of Grendel tacked to the bottom of his computer monitor.
‘Yeah.’
‘A he or a she?’
‘She.’
‘She’s beautiful, in an odd kind of way.’
‘Yes. She’s a mix of Staffordshire Terrier and Dalmatian,’ he said, unsticking the photo from the monitor. ‘Her name’s Grendel.’
Bryony wiped her hand on the seat of her jeans and took the photo. ‘Grendel? Is that French?’
‘No. Do you know the story of Beowulf?’ he said, taking the photo out of her greasy grip.
‘Sorry,’ she said, watching him wipe it off carefully with a tissue. ‘I saw the movie, Beowulf, you know, the cartoon.’
‘It wasn’t originally a movie. It’s an epic poem, ancient… Grendel is the monster.’
‘Why would you name your dog after a monster?’
‘Well, not everyone thinks Grendel is a monster. One person’s monster is another’s friend…’
Bryony chewed thoughtfully for a moment and swallowed. She looked back to his computer and the BBC News page where there was a side piece about Ella Wilkinson.
‘I’ve been following that story. Those girls who were killed. I live near Waterloo, close to where the first one went missing.’
‘He wouldn’t go for you,’ said Darryl, taking a bite of his bhaji. Her face faltered. ‘I mean, you’re too clever to fall for some bloke on Internet dating.’
‘I’ve tried Internet dating. Didn’t have much luck,’ she said bashfully. Cos you probably used your own photo! a voice shouted in his head, but he used the silence to shove the rest of the bhaji into his mouth. ‘The first victim sold coffee, but the second one worked in an office job. She even had the same job title as me, Administrator,’ she said, pulling her top down over her backside with a large yet dainty hand.
‘You should keep your eyes peeled. Tell people where you’ll be,’ said Darryl. He imagined trying to kill her, the knife glancing off her blubbery thighs, and a guffaw escaped him. He clamped his hand over his mouth to fake a coughing fit. ‘I’m fine,’ he added, waving her away. ‘Fine.’
Bryony thumped him on the back.
‘Better?’
He nodded and took a sip of his Coke.
‘Darryl…’
‘Yeah?’
‘I saw Beowulf when it was at the IMAX… I got a couple of tickets to the cinema, the IMAX, the one near Waterloo… They were a present for my birthday.’
‘When was your birthday?’ he asked.
‘Today,’ she said, looking down at her feet.
‘Oh. Happy birthday.’ He watched her for a moment, and she quickly seized another bhaji and bit into it.
The IMAX cinema at Waterloo was built on what used to be the Bullring roundabout, near the train station. You could only get to it by going down through one of four dank, dark concrete underpasses, and they were often filled with homeless people. He’d fantasised about abducting a homeless girl. There was something about their desperation when confronted with death… Darryl looked up and realised Bryony had said something else.
‘So would you like to come, Darryl?’
‘To?’