“Margaret, you don’t understand,” said Catherine, her voice trembling. “This woman is amonster.”
“Catherine, that’s unkind,” said Margaret. “What happened to Christian forgiveness? I thought better of you.”
“What were you doing in my room, Catherine?” said Carol quietly.
“I’ve seen your box.”
“As the actress said to the—”
“Geoffrey, shut up,” snapped Catherine. “Carol, you—you need to be locked up.”
Carol felt exposed. How dare she? “Those are my private things.”
“I can see why you’d want to keep them private,” said Catherine.
Margaret had a question. “What’s in the box?”
“Brad Pitt. From that film, what was it?Seven.What’s in the booooox?”
“GEOFFREY! SHUT UP!” all three ladies shouted in unison.
“Sorry, I’m a little stoned, would you believe?”
“Margaret, you won’t like this, but I’ve been reading Carol’s diaries,” said Catherine.
“You’re right. I don’t. I’m not sure there’s anything more sacrosanct than the privacy of a woman’s diary.”
Carol was sure she’d seen Margaret’s diaries for sale in a Waterstones before.
Catherine threw a journal at Margaret. It landed at her feet.
“I’m not reading it.”
“Read it.”
Carol found herself admiring Catherine’s power. The yoga-and-granola lady had some spunk. She was planted, broad-shouldered, ready to fight.
Margaret picked up the journal and opened it, unable to disobey Catherine’s instruction.
The room awaited Margaret’s response. She retched. Well, that’s unflattering, thought Carol.
“What bit are you reading?” asked Carol.
“You’re biting off a man’s nose.”
“There’s a context to that.”
“Oh, yes? What’s the context?” asked Catherine.
“He was a total shit.”
“Carol, this is horrifying,” said Margaret, unable to stop reading.
“This is…” Carol found the injustice of it all upsetting. “This is, well, it’s just unfair. This was a period of my life. It was a hobby. We’re judging people for their hobbies now, are we? That’s okay, is it? I’m sorry, I know we’re all of a certain age, but you lot need to do some reading. This is—I believe it’s what the youngsters call kink-shaming. Catherine, I don’t judge you for your yoga, do I? Or your swimming? Besides, and I cannot stress this enough,this was all in the past.You allknewI’d been a killer. What were you expecting to find in my old journals?”
“I was thinking of you as more of a cozy-crime killer, if I’m honest,” said Catherine. “I thought you were like someone out of a Richard Osman novel. Those diaries, they’re more Stephen King.”
Margaret was still leafing through the diary. “Carol, you ate someone’s liver?”
