Page 26 of The Temp

I nod as a roaring motorbike overtakes us at top speed, slanting as it takes a bend before being sucked into the night. Only God knows what we’re going to do once we get to Zelda’s – that’s if Frank is still alive.

‘Did Zelda say what it was about? Why he hit her?’

I wish Daisy would stop asking me so many leading questions. We’re not in a courtroom. Yet. ‘An old boyfriend texted Zelda, and Frank read it. He knows her password.’

This is true. After Zelda had calmed down, she gave me a summary of what happened – she’d posted a photograph of her and Frank on Instagram, showing off that stupid kitchen foil ring, with the caption ‘He’s put a ring on it and I said yes.’ Chris, her married lover, saw it, bombarded her with texts, pleading with her to break off her engagement, promising to get a divorce and marry her. Trouble is, she was taking a shower at the time and her phone was on the bedside table. Frank read them all. They had a big fight. He grabbed her throat, she couldn’t breathe, thought he was going to kill her – she fished around on the worktop for protection, picked up a silver letter knife, a souvenir from their trip to Monte Carlo, and dug it into his flesh – he staggered into the garden and collapsed on the lawn.

‘Oh, that was a bummer,’ Daisy says. ‘My ex knew my passcode, too. I kept changing it, but he kept finding it out.’ My tension mounts with every kilometre. Please let him be alive. ‘Don’t worry, Bella, it’ll be okay,’ Daisy says, clearly sensing my tension. ‘We’re almost there.’ Reaching over, she gives my hand a good old shake, and I nod, eyes on the oncoming traffic, their headlights like fireballs. If only she knew that my sister may have just murdered her fiancé. Zelda will go to prison if he’s dead and it’ll all be down to me.

Chapter 23

We turn into Zelda’s narrow, tree-lined road. The street is quiet, eerie. Apart from a yellow glow from one or two bedrooms, the rest of the nineteen-thirties semis are in darkness. Everyone’s asleep.

‘Which house?’ Daisy asks, slowing down.

I don’t want her to park too close to Zelda’s flat. Those Ring doorbells can pick up motion from passers-by and record everything. Zelda gave me strict instructions to avoid attracting any attention, specifically the rumble of Daisy’s diesel car. ‘Just pull up here,’ I say, gesturing at the kerb where two wheelie bins have been haphazardly abandoned.

The car stops, Daisy pulls on the handbrake and kills the engine, then goes to undo her seatbelt. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, hand on the metal lever of the door.

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘No, Daisy, it’s fine. Go home and get some rest. I’ll be spending the night with Zelda.’

Daisy shakes her head defiantly. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’ She gestures with a nod. ‘Not with that maniac on the loose. I’ll wait in the car until you’re done.’

‘Daisy, it’s twenty past one.’ I look around the motionless street. Trees shiver in the light wind. Streetlights cast shadows on the pavement. A vixen screams in the darkness. ‘I can’t leave you here on your own. Please, just go home. I’ll call you if I need you.’

‘I tell you what, I’ll lock myself in the car and phone you if a serial killer tries to kidnap me.’

‘Don’t even joke about that.’ I’ll never forgive myself if I put her in danger.

‘I’ll wait fifteen minutes, do a bit of Tiktok, if you’re not back by then then I’ll go home, how’s that?’

‘Ten.’

‘Deal.’

I half walk, half run to Zelda’s, glancing behind me. Daisy’s car lights are on. Damn, she’ll get a flat battery. I pull out my phone and text her. Within seconds her lights go out. Zelda’s front door is ajar. I can hear the wisps of voices as I push it open.

‘Oh, thank God.’ Zelda runs into my arms, face wet, smeared with teary makeup. Linda raises her eyebrows as if to say, what a bloody mess. Then Zelda backs away and wraps her hands tightly around my wrists, eyes feral. ‘You will help me, won’t you? I can’t go to prison. It was self-defence. He was going to kill me. Tell her, Linda.’ Zelda snatches Linda’s lime green-sleeved arm and she stumbles forward.

‘It was an accident,’ Linda confirms, as if she was a witness. ‘He’s having a snooze on the grass. He’ll be fine,’ she says unconvincingly.

‘Shhh,’ I soothe, stroking Zelda’s hair as she sobs uncontrollably onto my shoulder, ‘you won’t go to prison.’ And then mime at Linda - is he dead? Linda shrugs, eyes full of terror.

I hold Zelda at arm’s length. ‘Right, let’s go into the garden and see how he’s getting on, shall we?’ I say, as if we’re going out to check on the progress of her violet hydrangeas that Mum planted for her before she left for Portugal.

We follow Zelda through the kitchen diner to the back of the flat and out into the cold, crisp darkness. ‘There,’ she says, pointing with a tremulous finger. I put my phone torch on. Frank is sprawled out on the lawn. I make my way along the path, adrenalin soaring through my blood vessels. Swallowing hard, I shine the torch on his motionless, limp body. His face looks grey, lifeless. There’s blood on his neck, angling over his left shoulder and onto his blue shirt like a running stream, heading towards the little polo player motif on his chest. But it’s impossible to see where the wound is without cleaning him up. I kneel beside him and try to find a pulse – nothing.

‘Is he dead?’ Zelda asks hysterically, gathering her pink cardie around her.

‘Um…’ I rub a hand over the grass. It’s dewy. Then look at my hand. No blood.

‘Bella?’ Zelda exclaims.

I look at the white bunnies on her pink cardigan. ‘Yes.’ I reply with downcast eyes, doom washing over me like a storm. ‘I think so.’

Linda’s hand flies to her mouth. ‘Shit, fuck. FUCK. I’m going to be sick.’ And with this, she heaves and vomits into Zelda’s hydrangeas.

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