There it was, in his outer pocket. Pulling it out, I quickly scrutinised the contacts and messages. There was nothing suspicious at all. Feeling like an idiot, I put it back in his pocket – and felt a buzz. It wasn’t coming from that phone. Dread froze me for a heartbeat. Then I tugged again at the pockets and found the second phone. Cheaper, simpler, not even a touchscreen. The kind people have and chuck away. A burner phone.
Did I have time to check it? Glenn would be back any moment. My fingers were at sixes and sevens in my haste.
Come on! Come on!
There were loads of contacts. I flashed through them, and realised with growing horror that I recognised almost every single name. They were the names of children in the village.
The wine churned in my stomach. A rushing pounded through my head as if I were being enclosed by a tsunami wave. But I forced my shaking fingers to move over the plastic buttons. Find the messages, open them.
Hey, seen u about. My name’s Justin. Want 2 chat?
The message had been sent last night to a little girl called Sally-Mae. You know, Susan and Colin Winston’s youngest. She was only seven, the same age as Roza. She hadn’t replied, thank God.
She hadn’t replied yet.
Yet.
I shoved the phone back into its hiding place. Jumped from my seat and ran to the ladies’ toilets just as Glenn came out of the gents’.
‘Hey, are you… ?’
But he didn’t have time to finish. I slammed the door in his face and vomited into the sink, no time to make it to a cubicle. I heaved and heaved and heaved, bringing up every last thing I’d eaten and drunk that day.
Ninety-Five
For a moment I didn’t know what to do as I stood in the door of the gents and watched Mel go through my pockets. It seemed she had finally figured out that I couldn’t be trusted. Which was both disappointing, that she had seen through me, and also made me think, what took you so long, you stupid bitch?
I was going to have to do something about her. The faster, the better. Luckily I was good at thinking on my feet. I’d get her drunk. Everyone was used to her getting paralytic, then being walked home by me. Good old reliable Glenn. Only instead of our going home, I’d take her to the marsh and dump her corpse far out in one of the deep, hidden creeks. Even if the body were found, people would assume she was so grief-stricken that she had done something stupid. No one would ask questions. And I’d play the grieving friend, berating myself for not looking after her properly. I could just imagine it…
‘If only I’d watched her go inside her house. I walked her right up to the door, but sh… she insisted she was fine and I left her. I should have known better,’ I’d tell people.
I would cry, too, if I could manage it. Sometimes I could. Villagers would rush to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault, that I had done all I could.
But what if she refused to have a drink with me? Became hysterical and told everyone in the pub what she had found?
No one would take any notice. She had been accusing people of all sorts for weeks now. People were sick of listening to her, even though they felt sorry for her. She was pathetic. And I could still play the gent and insist on walking her home; my poor, sad friend who was clearly having a breakdown… Then I’d punch her once we were outside, and carry her to the van. Similar plan as before, same outcome. Anyone who saw me would simply assume she was off her face, as usual.
Perfect. Melanie Oak was good and vulnerable and ripe for the plucking. No matter what she did, I would win.
Ninety-Six
It took me a good five minutes to pull myself together, Beth. To wash my face, rinse my mouth clean and gather my courage. I had no idea how to face Glenn again now that I knew what a monster he was.
In the mirror, my eyes stared from my ashen face. I visibly quaked with convulsive shivers. Hopefully it would be excused as grief.
Eventually I took a deep breath, forced my shoulders back and walked out of the loo and back into the cheery, gentle chatter of the pub. Glenn sat at the table, smiling that cherubic smile of his. Lolling back in the chair, relaxed, no tension in his body at all as he looked at me.
He didn’t suspect a thing.
I walked over to my chair on legs as wobbly as a toddler’s and gathered up my things.
‘I’m not feeling very well,’ I chuntered, forcing myself to look at him but aware that my eyes kept sliding away.
‘Oh, no! That’s awful – but not surprising after everything you’ve been through.’ He stood, concerned, solicitous, extending an arm towards me as if afraid I would fall. ‘Here, let me walk you home.’
‘I’ll… I’ll… honestly, I’ll be fine.’ The blood whooshed in my head again, and I started to feel weak at the knees.
‘Mel, you look dreadful. I insist. I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t see you were safe.’
‘You’re all right, Glenn, I’ve got this.’
I had never been so glad to hear Jacob’s voice. I turned and gave him a dazzling smile that must have seemed totally out of place. Grabbed onto his hand as if he could pull me from my nightmare.
‘You got my text, then?’
‘Yeah. I’m glad you asked me to come and get you – you don’t look well at all. Okay, hon, let’s go home.’
Your dad let go of my hand, but only to put his arm around me.
I saw Glenn’s jaw tighten for a second, but only because I was looking for it. Then the mask slid back into place. He nodded, patting my arm with a concerned frown.
‘You’re in safe hands now, Mel. Feel better soon.’
‘See you, Glenn,’ replied Jacob.
But I remained silent. I clung to my husband and allowed myself to be walked home.
With each step, a killer’s eyes bored into my back.
Ninety-Seven
Befriending Melanie had been a master stroke. Without her, I have to admit, I couldn’t have coped. My need to murder might have overwhelmed me during the past couple of weeks, as the flush of thinking about my first kill wore off.
I had needed a fresh hit of pain and despair, and the only way I could see of getting that was to take another life. There was nothing like that power to give me the ultimate rush. But instinct had warned me not to hurry into another kill. After all, I wanted this next one to be perfect. I wanted to be able to take more time and have more fun – there was so much I had learned from that first time. So, sadly, an immediate murder could not be the solution to my problem.
Then I had read about that idiot, Jacob Oak, smoking marijuana while his daughter was being put in a coma. I remembered him from school. The good-looking, popular newcomer who everyone seemed to adore. Lads wanted to be his friend; girls wanted to date him. I never could stand him. Wanker.
Then I’d remembered he was married to Melanie. I had always had a soft spot for her, had often thought what it would be like to have a bit of sport with her. There was something so sweet and innocent about her that it would be a laugh to despoil. Even as a kid of eight, I’d picked her to play football because she smelled good enough to take a bite out of. Watching her made me think of the delicate birds I would trap and whose skulls I loved to smash.