Puzzled, I headed for a set of bifold doors and looked inside. The dining room ceiling was also smoke-damaged, and in the living room, the television and furniture still appeared to have bubble wrap and price labels affixed to them . . .
‘Shit!’ I shouted.
My heart almost beat out of my chest when I saw Laura. She was perched on the edge of a sofa, watching me as she held a mobile phone at eye level. Then she gave me a wide smile before her face began to contort. It was scrunched up, and she placed her finger on the tip of her nose and pushed it upwards. I tried to make sense of what she was doing, but the woman was clearly insane.
She remained on the sofa and I could just about make out a noise coming from her. I edged closer to the glass until I was millimetres away from it. Finally, I realised what she was doing.
She was making the face and sound of a pig grunting.
Insane or sane, I no longer cared. All that mattered was finding an object heavy enough in her garden to smash my way through the doors. I was going to kill her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LAURA
I’d expected Ryan to appear at my house once he discovered who the last person was to view his flat.
Judging by his fiery expression and the way he was trying to break my windows, he hadn’t appreciated the porcine present I’d left him inside his wardrobe.
First thing in the morning, Effie had removed the pig foetus from her science lab’s freezer and passed it to me in my car outside the school. She didn’t question why I wanted it or ask what was on the memory stick I pressed into the palm of her hand. I gave her strict instructions as to exactly what she must do with it.
Later, and alone in Ryan’s bedroom, I’d swiftly removed the now semi-defrosted piglet and beaker of ‘blood’ I’d whipped up from water, sugar, red food-colouring and cocoa powder. I poured the contents onto Charlotte’s wedding dress and the piglet, then quickly shut the door.
Of the many approaches I could have taken to antagonise Ryan, I knew this would cut straight to the core. I had to make him understand that whatever he was plotting next, from here on in, I would always be one step ahead of him. I didn’t care how far I needed to go, how dirty I had to play or who I used to get there, he would never beat me.
I’d watched from behind the blinds as my scruffy nemesis, dressed in his running shoes, jeans and a Nirvana T-shirt, darted up the drive, searching for a way to gain entrance to my house. I predicted he’d try the rear next, and as I positioned myself in the living room, I poured myself a glass of Chianti, took out my phone and made myself comfortable on the sofa. I checked my text messages and was pleased Effie had confirmed a time and place to meet me tomorrow. Once again, I suggested she keep it from her father.
A few minutes later, when Ryan came into view across the playing fields, I switched the phone to video camera mode and turned the mic off. The bifold doors were locked tight and the slight tint would make it harder for him to see inside without getting up close.
When eventually he spotted me, I must have scared him because he jolted backwards, almost falling to the ground.
While anger had brought him to my home, it was pure rage that I needed. One more little push was all it would take. And while I know grunting like a pig was a little childish, it had the desired effect. The phone’s mic was turned back on when he began making more threats.
‘You fucking bitch!’ he yelled. ‘Open this door now!’
‘Please, leave me alone!’ I shouted back. I was sure to make my voice tremble and my camerawork shaky.
‘Let me in!’
‘Oh God, please just go away! I’m begging you!’ I replied, and blew him a silent kiss. ‘Whatever you think I’ve done, it wasn’t me.’
‘You’re a liar!’
Again he banged his fists on the doors with all his strength, making the double layers of glass shudder in their frames. Then he turned to scan the garden as if trying to find something to break the glass with. Eventually he found the brick I used to wedge the garden gate open, drew it back over his shoulder and hurled it. The glass cracked. I backed away nervously as he repeated the action.
The doorbell sounded and I hurried out of the living room towards it.
‘Thank God!’ I sobbed and yanked it open. ‘Please help me!’
Suddenly, the window in the other room shattered and I heard Ryan’s footsteps pounding across the wooden floors. But as he turned the corner to find me, he was tackled to the ground by two burly police officers.
I’d dialled 999 the moment the cat jumped from the windowsill, alerting me that someone was approaching the drive. Bieber thought it was Tony but I knew it would be Ryan.
Ryan yelled more expletives as he was restrained. His arms were twisted behind his back and handcuffs clamped around his wrists.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ I repeated over and over again to the officers. ‘I thought he was going to kill me.’
‘You should be arresting her!’ Ryan spat, squirming and clearly in pain. ‘She killed my wife and now she’s trying to ruin me!’ But the police weren’t listening. One read him his rights, while the other called for back-up on a radio.
‘Sir, I need you to calm down,’ the officer continued, his knee on the base of Ryan’s spine, pinning him to the floor.
I shed my crocodile tears as Ryan was pulled to his feet and bundled out of my house, into a police car and driven away.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RYAN
I was handed a transparent plastic bag containing my car keys, mobile phone, belt, some coins and my shoelaces, and asked to sign for them by the duty desk sergeant.
Johnny remained by my side until the paperwork was complete. I’d called him twice in the last two days – once to tell him I’d been arrested and needed a solicitor, and a second time to inform him I was being released on police bail. I begged him not to worry our mum and dad by telling them what I’d done. Judging by his heavy brow and refusal to make eye contact with me, he was furious. He wasn’t alone. My enforced timeout made me as angry at myself as he was at me.
We left the grounds of the police station and I skulked several paces behind him as we made our way towards the pay-and-display car park across the road. It wasn’t until we entered the car that I spoke.
‘I’m ready. Let me have it, both barrels. Tell me what an idiot I am.’
Johnny said nothing. He removed his glasses and wiped them with the sleeve of his hoodie.
‘Tell me I’ve fucked up,’ I said. ‘Tell me I’ve put my job at risk. Tell me I could get a criminal record. But just so long as you know, I’m aware of this already.’
‘You smell,’ he replied.
‘So would you if you’d been wearing the same clothes for two days.’
‘You told them what she did to you though, didn’t you? Charlotte, the baby, stabbing you, the dead pig?’
He flew off the handle when I didn’t reply.