Page 42 of The Psychopath Next Door

‘What?’ Lucy’s eyes flashed with anger.

Fiona didn’t want to enrage Lucy so she said, ‘I went by their place, took a look at them. Saw them go out for a walk with their daughter. They don’t look like they’re going anywhere, so there’s plenty of time. Once I’ve finished with—’

‘No! That could take forever. And what if you get caught when you’re feeding people poisonous cookies or whatever you’re planning next? Then there’ll be nobody to get them back for me.’

‘I’m not going to get caught.’

‘Fiona, I can’t wait. You know how hard it is being stuck in here for the rest of my life, knowing those two are walking around enjoying their lives? I need you to destroy them. The daughter. If she went missing, her body never found ... That would be perfect.’

Fiona sighed, irritated. ‘All right, all right, I’ll think about it. I’ll figure something out.’

‘You do that. Now, tell me your address. I’m going to have someone drop something off.’

‘What?’

‘Something that allows us to communicate.’

Reluctantly, Fiona told her. Then it was time to leave. Everyone was getting up, saying their goodbyes. Fiona stood and Lucy stood too.

‘Make sure you report back to me,’ Lucy said. ‘Oh, and Fiona? This child. The neighbour. Be careful.’

14

Monday morning, I found Rose in her bedroom, playing with her Barbies on the floor. It surprised me that she still played with dolls and I had been expecting her to lose interest for ages, especially as she was constantly reminding me that she was no longer a baby. When we’d moved into this house she’d insisted on having neutral, ‘grown-up’ colours in her bedroom: white and cream rather than the pink and purple she’d preferred in our old place. Most of her cuddly toys and her My Little Pony collection had gone straight to a charity shop. She had stopped watching Nickelodeon and TV shows about mermaids, and now preferred old sitcoms likeFriends, though I noticed she watched it with a serious face, like it was a documentary about the past rather than a comedy.

Her Barbie dolls were the only accessories she had kept from her childhood, and she didn’t want me to read her bedtime stories anymore. As Emma always reminded me, you had to let them grow up. Rose would be entering puberty soon. She’d be a teenager before long. If popular wisdom was to be believed, that was when the true nightmare would begin.

The Ken doll was lying on his back, Rose making him writhe around, choking noises coming from his throat. One of her Barbies was standing over him, watching.

In her Barbie voice – which had taken on a bizarre Cockney twang – Rose said, ‘What’s wrong? Ken?’

In return, the Ken made more choking sounds, then lay still.

Her Barbie doll sobbed and threw herself on to the carpet. ‘Oh Ken, Ken.’

‘Rose?’

She whirled around. ‘Don’t do that! You made me jump!’

‘Sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay? It looks like poor old Ken here just kicked the bucket.’

I picked him up and she snatched him from me, but didn’t say anything.

‘What was wrong with him?’ I asked.

She turned him over in her hands for a little while before saying, ‘He had an allergy. An aphyl ... apyhlantic ... anaflac ...’

‘Anaphylactic shock?’

She nodded.

‘Was he stung by a bee or something?’

‘He ate a peanut. And he couldn’t find his special pen.’

‘His EpiPen.’ I paused. ‘Do you know someone who’s allergic to peanuts? Oh wait, Fiona is, isn’t she?’ She had mentioned it at the barbecue. ‘Are you worried about her?’

‘Why would I be? Fiona is careful, and she always carries an EpiPen.’

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