Frankie’s eyes began to droop… then they pinged open again when she heard a creaky floorboard.Stop it. It’s the house going to sleep. You can do this. You will do this. You’re doing it right now. Hold on to that thought, believe it. One minute. One hour. One day. One week.
In the morning she would collect her dogs, have some company. They’d liven the house up, be something else to focus on. Her life and mind would be full. It was as simple and easy as that.
Frankie yawned and stretched, tiredness, a long day, a full stomach and just enough wine were taking their toll. As she drifted off to sleep, during that moment when the mind floats between reality and oblivion, when the subconscious wanders and uninhibited thoughts have free rein, Frankie made a wish, for Jed to be there. Not for one night, not for a holiday, but always.
14
Ididn’t think it would be as easy as it was. The whole thing went like a dream and afterwards, that explosion of euphoria, like an immense power pulsing inside me was a thrill like no other. I was invincible, victorious. I’d forgotten what it feels like, to take back control and now there’s an added incentive. Revenge, and it feels so good.
It was the look that triggered me, and all my ideas and imaginings simply clicked into place. I had to act on them. The urge was building inside me. I’d been to the surgery to collect a prescription, in and out, no fuss, but as I made my way to the bus stop our paths crossed. I should have averted my eyes but I simply couldn’t. I don’t know what came over me but I goaded her, allowing the hate I have for her and her friends to defy my better judgement. Yet despite what I projected, the festering bitterness that bled from my eyeballs, she just looked through me. She hadn’t a clue who I was. I was of no consequence or significance. It was like I was invisible. I am not invisible. How dare she?
And that was that. I decided to do it, like one decides to have cheese on toast for lunch and watchCash in the Attic. I made my way home and spent the rest of the day putting together a plan. Then I did it. It was glorious. My favourite thing right now, better than food or sex, is going over and over it in my head, moment by moment.
Once I was inside her house I thoroughly enjoyed the thrill of invading her space, like a naughty child wandering around in the darkness, looking through her belongings and taking what I wanted, filling my pockets. She wouldn’t be needing them again. This morning I took a little constitutional and threw them all in the bin by the bus stop, her jewellery hidden amongst scooped up poop and chip-shop wrappers. Nobody will have thought anything of it but I doubt I was seen, that’s the joy of rural life, no CCTV.
I knew where she lived from the electoral roll, too easy. I also knew when she would be home. I’d rang the community centre to check what time the classes were. The woman on the phone bored me to death with how popular they were, and that everyone loved Scarlet’s fitness boot camps. I knew this was where she worked because her stupid smiley face was plastered all over their Facebook page, but I wanted to be sure. Then I factored in travel time and made it look like a break-in. Oh dear, the police would say, she’d left the kitchen window open, an easy mistake, after all it was very warm. I wore gloves from the moment I opened the back gate, those smelly rubber ones, no fingerprints, I was well organised.
Once inside I dressed quickly in the paper suit, covering my own clothes. Then I lay in wait until she got home, all tired and sweaty and unaware. God, I loved it, that she had no idea her life was about to end, a few minutes was all she had left. Her dreams would be snatched away, just like that. Just like mine have been.
Once I’d stashed her tacky jewellery in one pocket I pondered over where I would wait before she met her end. Behind her bedroom door perhaps? I couldn’t get under the bed because she’d rammed too much stuff there. Very untidy too, her housekeeping leaves a lot to be desired, or it did.
In the end I settled for the bathroom. After I’d unscrewed the light bulb, I made myself comfy and sat on the stairs until I heard her key in the door, then I hid. My heart pounded, I won’t lie, but not from fear, it was thrilling. Seeing as she was going to die, I had never felt more alive. Oh the irony.
Then I stepped into the bath and waited patiently behind the shower curtain which was conveniently opaque. Seven minutes passed before the landing light came on and she made her way up the stairs. I had two weapons, a knife and my improvised alternative, the toilet cistern lid, heavy but easy to hold. The idea came to me in a flash, I was most impressed with myself. She went into the bedroom first, the light clicked, the swish of her curtains as the hoops ran along the rail, and humming, that annoyed me a lot, it was out of tune.
Finally my moment came, revenge in all its glory. Come to think of it, the scene reminds me of the one inPsycho. I love that film and the moment a figure appears in the shower curtain. I can see it, in black-and-white horror, and hear the sublime screeching of violins as Norman Bates strikes.
In real life the bathroom door rubbed on the carpet, the corded light switch clicked, nothing, then a tut and more clicks. Silly cow, as if by pulling it repeatedly would make it work. Then she worked it out and stepped forward to check the light bulb. I think she sensed me, or saw a shape in the corner of her eye. It was the last thing she did see before I brought the full force of ceramic down on her head. One blow was enough. It made a lovely thudding crunching sound, like a coconut.
When I stepped out of the bath I crouched and watched as blood oozed from her skull, masking the side of her face. I could see quite well by the light from the hallway. Then her fingers twitched and I heard a groan and that’s when the rage came. I stood and gripped the toilet lid, temper swelling. Oh no, she was not going to live, she didn’t deserve to. This was the end. I was going to take away her life and her dreams. How dare she defy me! She would never look past me again, or down on me, like I didn’t exist, had never existed. I had and I did.
So I stood and hit her again. Once I started, I couldn’t stop, over and over until I was exhausted and splattered by blood and brains and bone. I think that’s what it was, I didn’t examine it, why would I? My job was done. Mission accomplished.
This time I knew she was dead. Nobody could survive without a head, not one in that state anyway. I needed a little sit-down after all that bashing, then once I’d got my breath back I stood and splashed my face with cold water that swirled pink as it went down the plughole, then dried myself with toilet paper and flushed it away. I took one last look at her before I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen.
There in the darkness I removed the paper suit and scrunched it up, pulled the polythene bag from my pocket and stuffed the bloodied garment inside. Next, I opened the back door, leaving it ajar like the window and stepped into the yard and listened. Nobody around. I kept my gloves on until I’d lifted the gate latch and was in the back alley. Then they went in the bag too. The hardest part was getting away from the house and back home without being seen but it was a Wednesday, late and rainy so there was nobody about. I got lucky, unlike Scarlet.
I relish every moment of that night. Forty-eight hours have passed and the police are still chasing their tails. Will they put it down to a bungled break-in where the thief was interrupted and panicked, or something more sinister? Time will tell, but for now I remain calm, and if they do call here I’ll stick to my story and rely on my alibi. And if I get away with it, like I expect I will, I’m going to do it again. I have to, I want to, I need to. Killing is like a drug, it gives you a high and once you come down, life is flat by comparison.
The life I planned has been ruined and it all began with those girls. Because of them I wasted precious years and I will not allow them to get away with it. I can’t waste time though: I have to be quick, stay one step ahead of cancer.
I will try to be patient but I already know where to find the one called Bea. The other one, Frankie, the drama queen who milked her moment on the stand, she might be harder to find, but I will track her down, one way or another, if it’s the last thing I do.
15
Frankie tiptoed downstairs, trepidation in each step, not knowing what she would find on reaching the bottom, yet she couldn’t put it off any longer. The noise of something being knocked over had disturbed a deep sleep. Her eyes had flicked open, wide and staring, ears on alert. Then just as she’d done each day since arriving in France, Frankie reminded herself where she was, got her bearings, then she pushed back the duvet.
Phone in hand, she was almost at the bottom when her foot landed on the middle step causing it to creak loudly. She grimaced, knowing it would have alertedthemto her presence. She’d lost the element of surprise and probably wouldn’t catch them in the act.
The downstairs of her French farmhouse being open plan, she had a good view from the wide pine stairway that cut through the middle of the lounge and dining room. Bending her knees, she observed from the stairs, scanning the huge empty kitchen to the right and immediately spotted the lamp on its side, then stifled a giggle when she saw what was going on.
A loud dramatic gasp then alerted the vandals to her presence. ‘What are you two doing? That’s very naughty!’
When two sets of big brown eyes stopped playing tug-of-war with one of her flip-flops, dropping it immediately to bound across the kitchen floor, Frankie’s heart lifted as she gathered them both up, wallowing in puppy kisses.
Oscar and Belle were as pleased to see her as she was them, and as they wiggled in her arms she scanned the almost bare room for further signs of destruction and little accidents. Frankie was hoping that by the time her new furniture arrived she’d have them under some sort of control because she could deal with chewed up Asda flip-flops, but not chair legs and the stuffing out of her sofa.
She’d read all the advice and warnings about buying two littermates, but was sure she’d done the right thing. Up to now, neither of them had ignored her or appeared jealous of one another. They wanted cuddles all the time and for the most part were learning what the newspaper on the floor was for. It was early days but she was following a step-by-step guide she’d downloaded and Frankie was determined to train the puppies so eventually they’d be a happy trio.
