‘I want you to tell the fucking rozzers that I had nothing to do with Selena’s death. Then I’ll leave you and your family alone.’
‘But why would they listen to me?’
He grabs me tighter – I’m worried he’ll break my ribs. ‘They’ll listen to you.’
‘They’ve found your letters,’ I splutter. ‘They know you were blackmailing her.’
‘I didn’t fucking kill her,’ he growls. ‘She was already like that when I found her.’
I’m tempted to tell him I don’t believe him but that would be stupid. I need to play along if I’m to get out of this unscathed.
‘I’ve seen that police officer skulking around. That pretty redhead. You can tell her.’
‘Okay. I will. I will.’
‘I needed money. I’m in debt. But she wasn’t playing ball. She wasn’t stupid.’
I keep quiet. I don’t want to say anything antagonistic. But he must take my silence for rebellion because, in one quick move, he’s turned me round, grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the shed so hard that I’m winded. ‘Please,’ I squeak.
Then something glints in the faint moonlight and I see that he has a knife. ‘I’d love to cut you up so bad,’ he says, his mouth pulled into the familiar snarl, his flinty eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve always hated you.’
I want to tell him I’ve always thought him a nasty piece of work, but I can’t breathe.
‘You tell the police I had nothing to do with Selena’s death. I don’t care what you say. Make it up. Convince them. I’ll be watching you. And those daughters of yours. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to their pretty little faces, now, would you?’
I hate him so much that I could cheerfully plunge that knife into his heart. He presses his fingers deeper into my windpipe. ‘Are you fucking listening?’
‘Yes,’ I rasp. ‘I’ll convince the police. Please, let me go.’
He releases me and I slump to the ground, trembling all over. He bends down and I scrunch myself into the foetal position. He touches my cheek with the point of the knife and runs the tip along my skin, as though he’s doing nothing more than drawing a line on paper. It hurts and I cry out.
‘Remember what I said. I’ll be watching you. All of you.’
I put a hand to my cheek. There is blood on my finger. I think about screaming loud enough for my next-door neighbour, Mr Collins, or my family to hear but decide against it. If they hear me they’ll come running, and then what? Dean will feel cornered. He’ll attack them. I can’t risk that. ‘Okay, please, I’ll do what you say,’ I whimper. My chest feels so tight that I can hardly breathe. ‘Asthma,’ I tell him, as I sit up and reach into the pockets of my jeans. Then I remember I left my inhaler in the bedroom. Panic makes my airways close even further and I clutch my chest. Dean grins: sinister, disturbing, full of menace. He stands back and watches me gasping for breath on the ground. Then he does that weird salute and turns on his heel, as if he’s on parade. I watch in disbelief as he jumps over the wall that separates our garden from the graveyard, then everything goes black.
Someone is shining a light in my eyes. ‘Kirsty. Can you hear me? You’ve had an asthma attack. But you’re okay now.’ A paramedic is leaning over me. She says something to the man next to her who’s also wearing a fluorescent jacket. I’m shivering uncontrollably. I have an oxygen mask over my face and I take deep, grateful breaths. Someone has thrown a blanket over my shoulders and I pull it around me. I can’t get warm.
‘Can you stand up?’ asks the paramedic.
I nod. ‘I think so.’
It’s then that I notice Mum and Adrian hovering uncertainly to the side of me.
‘Thank goodness,’ says Mum, and Adrian wraps his arms around me, helping me to my feet. I’m feeling desperate. I need to tell them about Dean, before he gets away.
I pull the mask away from my face despite the words of protest from the paramedics. ‘It’s Dean,’ I say to Adrian, between gasps. ‘He was here. He grabbed me. He cut my face – he ran off. You need to tell the police.’
‘What?’
‘Dean. Here. Call the police,’ I rasp, before the male paramedic – a young guy with very short hair – forces the mask back over my face. They lead me towards the house, as if I’m old and infirm. Adrian has broken away from us and is speaking urgently into his mobile. I hope it’s not too late.
I’m on the sofa tucked up in one of our spare duvets, Amelia and Evie on either side of me. I’m so happy to see them that I can’t stop hugging them. Amelia, for once, isn’t trying to get away but burrows into me. I feel calmer now, my breathing more even. The paramedics wanted to take me to the hospital but I refused to go. They could see that their suggestion was upsetting me so they gave me a stronger steroid inhaler and made me promise to go straight to A and E if my breathing got worse. In normal circumstances, I would have done exactly as they’d asked and gone to hospital but I can’t leave the girls here, knowing Dean is out there somewhere. Luckily the cut to my cheek wasn’t deep so they’ve just put a big padded plaster over it. I’m told it looks worse than it is.
Mum is fussing. She’s brought me a cup of tea and is perched opposite, urging me to drink it. ‘It has sugar in it,’ she says. ‘For the shock.’
Adrian sits with Ruby on the other sofa. I notice Nigel has disappeared. He must have felt a bit out of place while the drama was unfolding.
Ruby is watching me with wide, round eyes. She looks petrified.
