‘You cut me, you fucking bitch.’ His eyes burn as they move over my body. Lust or hate? Both, I imagine.
I’m calculating distances and force, but a well-aimed kick tohis crotch might just make him angry. I have to find another way. I need to switch him from one mode to the other.
‘I can get you five grand,’ I say.
‘I don’t want your money, I want to hurt you, like you hurt me,’ he says, climbing on top of me. His weight crushing me, petrol fumes choking me, and blood dripping down onto my face.
‘I’ve thought about this many times,’ he says.
‘I know you have, Owen,’ I say, ‘and so have I.’ A good magician must distract their audience effectively and I make some flattering remarks while my hand slips into his jeans pocket and pulls out the small rectangular box.
He tries to force his knee between my legs. I know I have one opportunity. As he’s off balance, I raise my knee with as much force as I can and connect with his crotch. He shrieks in pain and tumbles onto his side.
I jump off him, and in a single sharp movement, strike the match. The teardrop of red sulphur bursts into flame. His eyes take half a second to work out what’s happening. He tries to get up, words and arms flailing, but I’m not going to give him a second chance.
I drop the match. It tumbles through the air and, instantly, flames engulf the bed, along with Owen O’Donnell.
Part TwoRecalibrate
If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear
Mary Shelley
Chapter27Laughter
Saturday, 23 November
We gather at Sable d’Or, a pretty café on the Broadway with excellent pastéis de nata. Sophie smiles and doesn’t notice a blob of guacamole drop onto her top. Tor stares at it, visibly distracted, her expression straining against her Botox-assisted forehead. We’ve discussed ‘the fire’, but no one has walked around to see which road or house it was, as yet. It was the talk of the Broadway this morning, and the acrid smell of smoke still hangs in the air like a low fog.
‘How’s Cait?’ says Sophie, scraping the guacamole from her lapel and into her mouth. ‘She’s not responded to my texts.’
‘Oh, she dashed home last night to collect things for the girls and headed off to her mum’s for the weekend,’ says Tor. ‘It’s easier for her there, I think.’
Easier for you, I want to say, but I suspect Cait’s decision to relocate was also to avoid seeing me again, as she says her eczema flares up whenever she hears my name. I suspect that the fire brigade will have found Cait and relayed the unfortunate news. Poor thing, she’s having a real time of it.
‘What’ve you been up to, Lalla?’ says Sophie, tapping my arm.
‘What do you mean?’ I smile, wondering if I smell of petrol.I showered three times and had to throw away another set of clothes. Murder is so expensive, people probably don’t realize.
‘You’re all glowing. You look like you had mind-altering sex all last night,’ says Sophie, with a playful nudge.
‘Yes, the sex is pretty non-stop at the moment,’ I say with a coy smile. Sophie claps her hands in joy, as Tor curls her lip over her coffee.
Obviously I haven’t had any sex at all. Despite Aimée’s valiant effort at flirting (she tried to strike up an intimate conversation about the fruit on his muesli), Stephen was glued to his phone when I tried to seduce him after the trip to Cait’s house left me feeling quite excited.
Tor puts her cup down. ‘Surprised you two can concentrate on anything but your Adams letter. I’d be going round the bend.’
Aisha leans towards me and holds my arm. ‘Did you call them?’
‘No, I’ve not called.’ This is a lie. I’ve called so frequently that they no longer pick up when they see my number.
‘It’s so odd you haven’t heard anything,’ says Tor, tossing her thinning hair with a twisted little smile. ‘I don’t know how you can be so patient. Hero was bouncing off the walls till the letter came yesterday.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be there on Monday,’ I say, and try not to judge Tor too much – being married to an MP, she is reduced to getting her pleasure at someone else’s expense.
‘Well, I really hope she’s not been rejected,’ says Tor.
‘She’s not,’ I say firmly, and imagine pushing Tor’s taut face into Sophie’s dip. ‘Anyway, if the letter doesn’t turn up, I’ll see the headmistress on Monday.’
