Page 16 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Eight

Rosie

Rosie stood by the kettle in the office kitchen waiting for it to boil. She yawned and leant against the wall. What was that saying? A watched kettle never boils? It was surely the case today, although she welcomed the extended break with it. Another interview and training session, repeating the same things over and over, she was ready to gag herself. Her words had become an echo in her own head, like she could hear the monologue of work. God, if they cut her open, it would be engraved inside her, on her skin or something like that. She’d be a real strange thing if any serial killer ever got hold of her. She laughed to herself.

“Something funny?”

“Just my own thoughts,” Rosie said. Martha, one of the women Rosie worked with went to the fridge to get out a salad.

“What time are you on to?”

“Just six today. Not a late one. You?”

Martha groaned. “I’m on till death.”

“I used to love those shifts. I don’t know, calls always seemed more interesting then. Is that terrible?”

“Yes.”

Rosie tapped Martha in the shoulder. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Martha got herself a mug out of the cupboard and put it next to Rosie’s. “I’ll have a decaf, no sugar while you’re making yours. Just leave it there. I’ll get it in a second. Not really meant to be on a break, but man am I hungry.”

Rosie smiled. “I’ll bring it to you. Get back before they send out a search party.”

Martha saluted Rosie and took her salad and a fork with her, leaving Rosie alone again. She picked up her phone, flicked it on and did the usual mundane scroll. Not that she was sure why. Her friends were all in the States, and the word friends was such a loose term. Maybe people she went to school with who she liked to check on and make sure they were miserable. Especially that Stacey Cooke. What a bitch she’d been. The more miserable, the better.

She yelped when her phone rang. Carly.

“Hey, Carly what’s up?”

“Have you seen William today? Is he okay?”

“William? No. I’m at work. Didn’t he … he had an appointment today?”

“He was due an hour ago. I tried calling him, but he isn’t answering me. I even tried the house phone, but nothing. Is he okay? I mean … I know I’m not meant to call and ask, but I know William. Is he okay?”

It was so hard to tell with William; that was the problem. He was a master at hiding his emotions if he wanted them hidden. She and Carly knew that well, but there were warning signs with him. The more he joked about things, started showing stupid internet pictures, and telling her wild stories, the more there was a chance something was wrong. “He was fine when I left him. He’s worried about his mom coming, but other than that, he’s been fine.”

“Okay.” Then silence.

“Carly? Is there …”

“Do you ever get that niggle? Like something inside you.”

“Yes. Usually it’s me overthinking everything, though.” Rosie doubted Carly was the overthinking kind, but then did therapy work like midwifery? They always said midwives made the worst patients in the delivery suites, so maybe therapists had the worst emotional control because they put all their efforts into helping others.

“Last time he was here …”

“Did he say something?”

“No. But that’s it. He didn’t say anything. Nothing really. Like he was pretending to give me things, easy things, you know? It never clicked at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I can see what he was doing. Giving me easy things to deal with, avoiding others. And he was moving stuff around. He must have gone through an entire bottle of hand sanitiser. He’s not been off with you at all?”

Rosie took in a deep breath. The kettle boiled, but she ignored it. Had he? He’d shown her the room, and that was out of character, but that was her asking, and her pushing. He didn’t offer it. And he’d been his normal self with everything else. Just work. “He’s working on a flyer for an antique fair. I know that isn’t unusual, but normally he storyboards them. The floor gets so littered with papers and sketches. That’s the only thing that’s been different. Instead, he’s tried to just do it straight onto the computer, but he’s just been staring at it.” It seemed so trivial when she said it aloud like that. Imagine going to the police with it. Yeah, my boyfriend is sick. I know this because he didn’t make a mess on the bedroom floor. “I’ll call him. Perhaps he forgot or something. Maybe he’s immersed in what he’s doing.” God, she sure hoped so, though she knew as well as Carly did, William didn’t forget anything … anything at all. He was like an elephant.

“Will you let me know? Just text me that he’s okay. I’ll rebook the appointment for a couple of days. Tell him he can change it if he needs. I know it isn’t on our usual day, and he needs that.”

“I will. Thanks, Carly.”

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