Page 8 of The Psychopath Next Door

Eric guffawed and Fiona was about to do it, she was going to bang their heads together, when Albie said to Eric, ‘Come on, let’s go. I’m bored. Let’s get away from this paedo.’

He started up the dirt bike and Eric ambled away, taking his dogs with him. But before Albie set off on the bike, he nodded towards the staring Dylan and Rose and said to them, ‘Next time you might not have your bodyguard with you.’

He drew a finger across his throat, then sped away across the fields, letting out a whoop as he went.

Fiona turned to Rose and Dylan. ‘Are you okay?’

Dylan was shaking like the dog he was holding. He’d gone so pale that Fiona thought he might vomit. ‘We’re fine.’ He kissed the dog’s head. ‘Aren’t we, Lola?’

Fiona turned to Rose. ‘How about you?’

She didn’t reply straight away. She was watching the two boys retreat across the fields. The contempt was still there on her face but Fiona could see something beneath it. A familiar look. The same one she was sure she’d seen the other day.

‘I’m good,’ Rose said. She sounded surprised with herself, as if she didn’t understand her own reaction. The anger that burned instead of fear.

Fiona understood it very well – and, understanding what it might mean, she had to fight hard not to let her excitement show.

4

Friday afternoon, after work, I found Emma in the garden. The sun was out and she was pulling up weeds from the flower beds and depositing them in the garden bin.

‘Look what I’ve got,’ I said, holding up my phone. ‘Two tickets to see Pulp.’

I had driven home in a state of excitement, eager to see the look on her face. Pulp was her favourite band, and she’d had a thing for Jarvis Cocker back in the day. When we were first dating she’d said I reminded her of him, a southern version, and I wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or not. Jarvis was skinny with pasty skin and terrible eyesight. But hewasa kind of sex symbol – albeit the type you’d only find in England – so I was happy to be compared to him.

‘How much did you pay for those?’ Emma asked.

‘Nothing. One of the regulars gave them to me as a thank you for finding him this record he’s been after for years. He was meant to be going but his wife is sick so they can’t make it. Said he’d rather transfer them to me than tout them.’

‘So thereareperks to running a record shop.’

I had always dreamed of opening my own record shop, even though vinyl was already on its way to being phased out and replaced by CDs when I was a teenager in the early nineties. I was the only person I knew who kept his turntable when everyoneelse replaced theirs with a CD-only system. I kept buying vinyl when Napster and LimeWire almost killed the music industry. And I watched the revival, even as everyone adopted streaming, as middle-aged men tried to rediscover their youth, buying all those albums they’d grown up with, and teenagers discovered the joys of owning something tangible, something you could collect and display.

Rebel Records, based in a quiet street not too far from the centre of Croydon, had opened when Rose was a toddler and Dylan was only six, and we were living in a tiny house in West Wickham. Emma had taken a career break and we had very little money coming in – and then I got made redundant from my job in the sales department of a publishing house. The payout was generous, and Emma and I had long discussions about what to do with it. She encouraged me to pursue my dream. I was certain that it was the perfect time to open a record shop. I could see the vinyl revival on the horizon. This would be a shop that catered to both serious collectors and kids looking for limited-edition new releases. There would be none of the snobbery that many people associated with shops like this. Jack Black’s character inHigh Fidelitywould never get a job at my place.

I was worried about taking such a big gamble when we had small children, but Emma reminded me she’d be going back to her marketing job soon. We’d be putting Rose into nursery, although that didn’t end up going well, which was another story.

So in 2014, Rebel Records had been born, and it was still going strong today. We’d had a few wobbles. Okay, a lot of wobbles. I’d had to go cap in hand to my bank manager several times. But we had made it through, and thanks to our friendly policies, regular gig nights where we hosted artists in-store, and the service we provided that set us apart from online retailers and the big high street chains, we had a loyal clientele – plus our own popular website.

Emma took another look at my phone screen. ‘Hang on. It’s tonight.’

‘I know.’

‘So who are you going to go with? You could take Dylan, I suppose.’

‘No, I thought we could go. Me and you. When was the last time we had a night out?’

She thought about it. Thought about it some more. ‘You know, I can’t remember.’

‘It was our wedding anniversary. The one before last.’

We hadn’t been to a single gig together since Rose was born, even though it had once been our favourite thing to do.

Emma sighed. ‘Ethan, I’m knackered. I was looking forward to eating a takeaway in front ofGogglebox. Plus, look at the state of me. My hair needs a wash, I’ve got dirt under my fingernails and – most importantly – we don’t have a babysitter.’

Rose had appeared in the garden during this exchange.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Why are you talking about babysitters?’

---