The name Trevor ran through her mind. The harder she thought, the less she came up with. She stared at her email hoping that the florist would hurry with her reply. Another message pinged up.
Mum, I thought you were going to come and visit soon. I haven’t heard from you for a couple of weeks and Gracie keeps asking about you. Please don’t let her down. Hannah.
She buried her head in her hands, she’d forgotten completely. She had promised to call the previous weekend but with all that was happening, it had slipped her mind. Again, she’d failed in her motherly duties. Since Hannah had moved, she’d missed her granddaughter more than she ever thought she would. As soon as the case was over, she was going to visit. She quickly replied, telling her daughter she’d call her soon.
An email pinged up.
Hi Gina,
It’s not something we like doing but I don’t like the thought that someone has used my service to harass you. I like that flowers and chocolate make people happy, not cause them anguish. I took the liberty of taking a screenshot when I looked for their details. I was curious myself, curious to know if my CCTV system was up to standard. I’ve attached a photo of Trevor for you. Be warned, it’s not clear at all. It’s grainy and a little blurred but if you know this person anyway, that might not matter.
Hayley – Blossom’s Bouquets.
Her finger trembled as she clicked on the file. How dare he? Through the grain and blur, there was no mistaking who was sending her these gifts. She grabbed her half-eaten sandwich and threw it across the room, lettuce escaping everywhere. She called Briggs. ‘I know who sent me the flowers and chocolates.’
Fifty-Three
The abyss – Aimee was climbing and clawing her way up and out. But where was she going? She squinted but however hard she tried to focus, all she could see was black. As she turned, her shoulder wedged into a cold wall. Dampness seeped through her top, she shivered. Cold, so cold. Through chattering teeth she let out a small squeak. Why couldn’t she say what she wanted to say? She wanted to call out for help.
Nothing to grab onto, nowhere to go, nothing to see. Breathing laboured and shallow. She reached out, grabbing for anything but there was nothing to grab. Was she still asleep?
A memory filled her thoughts. ‘Hello,’ Aimee called. ‘Rhys? What happened?’ She was at home. Nicole, had she left for work? Her house, there was someone outside. The dog was barking but then she remembered someone knocking at the door.
Her pounding head, arid mouth and growling stomach sickened her. It felt like she’d been drinking. But she didn’t really drink, it wasn’t a part of her clean eating routine. She fought to lift her hand to her sore head. Wet and stinging. She flinched. Senses returning, she tried to grab, hit. It was as if she was in a box, a tiny stone box. She shuffled slightly and punched the wall behind her, nothing except her own cracked knuckle. Above her – when she tapped, the sound was different, like wood. Hyperventilating, she began to scream and yell. ‘Get me out.’ Breathe, she couldn’t breathe. Buried, she was in a hole, in a wall, in a grave. Oxygen, no oxygen. Fighting with everything she had, in all directions was fruitless.
Breathe, breathe. Her head was awhirl with no sense of space or time, nothing to see. Cold but hot. Clammy but parched. Nothing, the abyss, her grave—
She closed her eyes, focusing on the patterns forming in her confused mind. She slipped down, like a feather floating from a bird perched in a tree, swaying from side to side and upside down through tempestuous wind pockets, finding freedom in the night skies. No stars and no moon, just floating in empty space. ‘I can’t breathe—’ she spluttered. That’s when the loud, rhythmic clunking monster began to take chase. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Don’t look back. Never look back. She closed her eyes.
Fifty-Four
Diane lay on the settee as she stared at the paracetamol next to the toast she’d made several hours ago. Water glistened in the glass as a ray of sun emerged through the cloud, shining through the dirt on the lounge window. She listened to the children as they laughed and played on their bikes outside her house.
She’d stared at the phone all day but still the caller hadn’t tried to make contact again. There was no way Samantha would ever remain out of her life for this long if she were alive. So many years had gone by and she’d lived in hope that one day, the woman she thought of as her daughter would walk through the door. A tear slipped down her cheek, landing on the arm of the settee.
The back door rattled and was followed by a loud knock. She forced her head off the damp patch, almost screaming out as she un-wrangled her stiff body. She snatched the painkillers and threw them in her magazine rack, hiding them out of the way. No one could know of her plan, they’d have her committed and that would spell the end of her, or worse, they’d try to stop her.
Hobbling through the house, she spotted her brother staring through the window, raising his eyebrows and pointing to his watch. Always in a hurry, nothing had changed there.
As she turned the key, she caught sight of herself in the window. That bedraggled image was soon replaced with her brother’s angry face. On unlocking the door, he shoved his way in with a small bag of groceries.
‘God it stinks in here. I don’t know how you can live like this. No wonder you’re always miserable and depressed.’
She sighed and fell into a chair at the kitchen table. She was depressed because of the pain, because of Samantha. A few dirty dishes and a pile of clutter were the least of her problems. ‘If you’re going to go on at me, bro, you may as well just walk back out that door now. I’m not in the mood.’
He ignored her and placed a casserole dish on the side. ‘Stew, not your favourite I know, but it’s what we had for dinner last night and I don’t expect you to be grateful anyway.’
‘I don’t ask you for this. I don’t ask you to come here, make me feel like shit and leave food I don’t like. You make me miserable. You! I’m sick of it.’
‘Why don’t you just hurry up and die, for heaven’s sake. You’re such a moaning cow. After all that I do for you. How would you live if you didn’t have me? Think about that one. I’m the only person who visits you, the only one who helps you and this is how you speak to me. Do you think I want to be here all the time, coming back and forth? I should be enjoying my life now but no, I’m stuck looking after you all the time.’ The veins on his neck protruded through his tight skin. How could he be so cruel? She remembered the sweet little brother he’d once been.
‘You know something, you ungrateful sod, I should have been enjoying my teen years but no, I was bringing you up after Mum died.’ Had she just said that to him? Her bottom lip quivered as she waited for his comeback.
He sucked in a deep breath and fixed his wide-eyed stare on her as he sat on the chair next to her. ‘Is that what you call it? Bringing me up. Whoring around is what I call it. Just like your friend Samantha, you were both a pair of whores. I can spot people like you a mile off now, that I thank you for, but the rest…’
Tears filled Diane’s eyes. ‘I had no choice. I did it all for you. We needed to eat and all the jobs I had, they weren’t enough. I made sure you had shoes for school, days out with your friends—’
‘And I had to listen to how you earned all that money through our thin bedroom walls, every single night. Those men – to them you were nothing more than a piece of meat. You get what you ask for and that’s what you deserved.’
