I tell myself I don’t need to open it. I don’t need to know. I could call the police right now and let them deal with it. But I do need to know. I steel myself and push the door open.
‘Jesus Christ.’
I turn and throw up. Without even thinking about it. A reflex reaction. I remain, bent over, saliva spooling from my mouth, for several minutes. Trying to regain control of my stomach, trying to stop myself from screaming.
Finally, I straighten and turn back to the room. A body lies on the double bed. Or what remains of a body. Much has soaked into the mattress, bodily fluids pooling on the floor. The rest is a barely identifiable mess of rotting flesh and stained clothing. Pyjamas. Strands of tangled dark dreadlocks.
Saffron Winter.
She must have been dead for at least a couple of months. Not much mystery as to how. The wall behind the bed is stained with a pattern of dark maroon flecks and splodges. On the floor, I can see a sharp knife, similarly stained russet.
He killed her while she slept, I think. Slaughtered her. How many times did he stab her?
I need to get out of here. I need to call the police. I need to … A floorboard creaks behind me. No. I turn. Seconds too late. Something heavy crashes into my skull. So hard my spine cracks and my legs buckle. A moment of blinding pain. A realization that I am in big trouble. And then, darkness.
FIFTY-FOUR
A babysitter. Flo fumes. She lies on her bed, listening to Nine Inch Nails thrash in her ears. Mike Sudduth is downstairs. She presumes. She hasn’t been down to see him or say hello. Why should she? She doesn’t want him here. She doesn’t need him here. Whatever her mum might think.
She knows that she has let her mum down, but she still feels furious. Screw this place and this shithole village. Screw Rosie and her inbred cousin. Screw her mum for bringing them here and screw you too, God.
She messaged Wrigley again, but he hasn’t replied. She feels sick and angry about that too. Is he ghosting her? Is he embarrassed? Maybe his mum won’t let him. Or maybe he is just like every other boy, who goes cold after they get their way – not that he got his way, but she had hardly been unwilling.
She thinks about going on to Snapchat and chewing Kayleigh’s ear off about it, but right now she doesn’t really want to reveal just how crap her life has become. That’s the problem with social media. It’s not designed for negatives. It’s all about people showing their best side. Posing with filters, creating some sort of fake perfect life. But what do you do when life isn’t perfect? When everything feels shit. When you feel like you’re sinking into a deep black hole and you can’t crawl your way out. LOFL.
And then her phone buzzes with a message. She grabs it up. Yes. Wrigley.
‘How r you?’
She smiles and messages back, ‘Okay. How’s your ankle?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Good.’
‘R u grounded?’
‘No, but Mum thinks you’re a jinx!’
‘Maybe she’s right.’
‘No. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘Still feel bad. My idea to go up there.’
‘I wanted to go.’
‘I really like you.’
‘I like you too.’
‘Is your mum there now?’
‘No. But her boyfriend is here, keeping an eye on me.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘Not really. Just a friend.’
‘Okay. Well, hang tight. I’ll see you soon.’
He signs off with two black hearts.
She stares at the phone, feeling kind of warm inside. Okay, maybe all this would work out after all. She sits up and realizes she feels hungry. She missed breakfast and lunch and it’s almost five o’clock.
She switches her music off and climbs off the bed. She opens the door and pads downstairs. She can hear Mike talking on his phone in the kitchen.
‘Two bodies. The next village. Christ. Well, it’s not strictly my … well, yes, I get it. I am just down the road. But I’m kind of in the middle of something right now. What d’you mean “what”? Writing up the story about the skeletons in the well!’
She walks into the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table, laptop open in front of him, a cup of coffee steaming at his side. Make yourself at home, she thinks.
He glances up as she walks in. ‘Look, I’ll call you back.’ He puts his phone down and smiles at her. ‘Hi. How are you?’
She stares at him. It occurs to her that Mum could do worse. He’s kind of good-looking in an old, craggy kind of way. Stubble. Dark hair that’s a bit long and streaked with grey. Lines radiating from pale blue eyes.
‘I’m fine.’ She walks past him to the fridge. ‘But I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘I’m sure you don’t. But your mum asked me for a favour and I still owe her one for helping me out the other day.’
She notices him glance at his phone.
‘Not keeping you from anything, am I?’
‘No, no. It’s fine.’
‘I heard you on the phone. Something about more bodies?’
‘Eavesdropping?’
‘You have a loud voice.’
‘Okay. The newspaper wants me to go and cover a story.’
‘A murder?’
‘Yeah. Two pensioners in the next village.’
‘Wow. It’s all kicking off in Nothing Happensville.’
‘There’s not been this much murder and mayhem since someone sabotaged the prize marrow at the Chapel Croft village fair.’
She can’t help a small smile. ‘You should go.’
‘I promised your mum.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘No.’
‘Look, why don’t you text her and ask?’
‘I’m not sure.’
She pulls her own phone out of her pocket. ‘Shall I do it?’
‘No. I can do it. It’s not like I’m scared of your mum or anything.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, maybe just a bit.’ He picks up his phone and types a message.
Flo grabs some cheese, tomatoes and butter from the fridge and starts to prepare a sandwich. She hears his phone ping with a reply.
‘What does she say?’
‘She says she’s on her way back. Ten minutes away. So I don’t need to hang around if I need to go.’
‘There you are then.’ She glances over her shoulder. She can see he’s debating with himself. ‘I’ll be fine for ten minutes.’
‘O-kay.’ He closes his laptop and slips it into his bag. ‘But I want you to promise you’ll keep the door locked, and don’t open it to anyone you don’t know.’
‘I’m not stupid.’
‘Far from it.’ He slings his bag over his shoulder and grabs his coat. ‘Tell your mum I’ll call her later, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Lock the door after me. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’
She sees him out of the front door then locks it firmly behind him. Jeez. She walks back into the kitchen and pours a glass of orange juice. She takes it over to the table and sits down with her sandwich. She’s just about to take a bite when there’s a knock at the front door. Seriously? She puts her sandwich down. It’s probably Mike, she thinks. He’s probably forgotten something. Still, she should check.