Page 35 of The Serial Killer's Sister
Chapter 23
My grip is so tight on the wheel that by the time I park outside my house, my fingers are locked and I have to consciously unhook them. The envelope sits beside me and in this moment all I want to do is tear it up or burn it, together with the evidence inside. I couldn’t make out the woman’s identity because her back was either to the camera or Ross was obscuring her in every image. But one thing is painfully clear: my husband is having an affair. I want to make it disappear; pretend I never saw them. But then, like an erupting volcano, my emotions spill out and I grab the envelope and storm down the road like a woman possessed.
‘Go on!’ I shout to no one in particular, ‘Film this. Put this on fucking social media.’ I look around, half expecting to see the man from earlier watching my meltdown again. But the pavement is empty. The Right Price estate agency office is up ahead. I feel sick as I approach and look through the window to see Ross leaning over Yasmin: tooclose; too cosy. It all clicks together. It’s Yasmin – “Yaz”, as he likes to call her. Young, pretty, and single. A perfect marriage-wrecker. I launch through the entrance and Ross bolts upright. His face lights up when he sees me, then immediately darkens.
‘What’s happened? Are you okay?’ He brushes a hand through his hair. I wonder how many times it’s been Yasmin’s hands doing that. Touching my husband. Screwing my husband. I give a sharp laugh.
‘Why wouldn’t I be okay, Ross?’ I glare at him, then shoot Yasmin a look I hope reflects the hurt, anger and betrayal I feel. Ross frowns – the deep one – then his jaw slackens when he spots the envelope in my hand. He looks awkwardly towards Yasmin and she gets up.
‘Good to see you, Anna.’ She meets my gaze, as though she’s challenging me, and smiles.
‘Good to know you’re fucking my husband,’ I say.
‘Christ, Anna.’ Ross rushes towards me. I bat his arm away as he reaches it out.
‘Really? Christ, Anna?Christ, Anna!’ I repeat, his words causing heat to travel up through me, and I feel like a pressure cooker with the steam trapped inside it. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’ If he’s chastising me for saying such a thing, I’ll show him just how loud and profane I can be. If he doesn’t like how I’m reacting, he shouldn’t have caused it.
‘Let’s talk in private, shall we?’ He turns to Yasmin, who’s now sitting on the edge of her desk, arms crossed, watching the unfolding drama as though she’s merely a spectator – not the reason it’s happening. ‘Yaz, can you finish up here, please?’
I scoff hearing him call her Yaz. Then a shooting painin my chest steals my breath. I rub my clenched fist in a circular motion over my heart, but it doesn’t help. Ross hastily bundles me out and closes the door. He gestures for me to begin walking towards home, and we do so in silence – all my anger directed inwards. I run through what I want to say, but I know that once we’re behind closed doors none of my rehearsed speech will make it to the final conversation. Things always go so much more smoothly in your mind, when there’s only your own monologue and no interruptions or reaction from the other party.
As soon as we cross the threshold, Ross heads for the kitchen and opens the fridge. He pours two large wines, hands me one and then leans against the worktop.
‘What’s all this about, Anna?’ He glances at the envelope under my arm and I pull it out and slam it on the breakfast bar. We stand opposite each other, the evidence between us.
‘Guess what’s inside there?’ I say, tilting my glass towards the envelope, before taking a large gulp.
‘I’ve no idea,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you enlighten me.’
‘You first, Ross. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on. Get everything out into the open, eh?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Aside from your serial killer brother wreaking havoc these last few days of course.’ He takes a sip of drink, but his eyes don’t leave the envelope. ‘Which has affected you rather badly – as it would anyone.’
I laugh. ‘I see where you’re going here. You’re about to tell me that because of Henry and the fact I’ve been suspended from work indefinitely, that this is allstress. That my behaviour is unreasonable, that I’ve jumped tosome wild conclusion about you having it away with your employee. Is that about it?’
‘Hang on, you’ve been what?’ Ross straightens, giving me an alarmed look. ‘You’ve lost your job?’
‘Don’t change the subject – we were talking about you and Yasmin. Answer my question.’ I glare at him and he seems to buckle under my gaze.
‘I’m not having it away with Yaz,’ he mutters, looking down at his feet as he shuffles them like an embarrassed teen caught out by his parents.
‘What are you doing with her, then?’
He shifts his weight, and then stretches; his spine cracks. ‘What’s in the envelope?’
I can’t play this game with him – I’ve been embroiled in enough of those and it could drag on for hours, so I push the envelope towards him. Watch him closely as he sucks in breath through his nose and holds it while he pulls the photos out. His expression remains neutral, but his jaw clenches as he sees himself pictured on the bench at Dogs In Town café with a woman – who I now know to be Yasmin – their bodies close, arms entwined as they’re captured kissing.
‘This isn’t … it’s not …’ he stumbles over his words. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’
‘Really? According to you, Ross, the camera never lies. Isn’t that what you told me?’
‘These are photoshopped,’ he says, after staring at them a good while. ‘Amazing what they can do—’
‘Don’t, Ross. Please. At least have the decency to tell the truth now you’ve been caught out.’
Each second of silence is like a stab into my pounding heart. He’s trying to find the right words, I assume. Thosethat will cause the least damage. To me and to him. I’m reminded of the time we had Beau, our first and last dog. He’d bought her for me as a fifth wedding anniversary present and we’d instantly fallen in love with her – a rescue black Lab who had endless energy and love to give. We’d only had her for four months when it happened. While Ross was walking her along Teignmouth Beach, another dog had run up and attacked her, causing so much damage the vet couldn’t save her. It’d taken Ross three hours to tell me what had happened, and even then, he struggled with telling me the outcome, building up to it painfully slowly – dragging out the ending because he knew how upset I’d be. His inability to deliver bad news was endearing in a way. Then, at least. Now, not so much. All he’s doing is prolonging the agony.
‘Say it, Ross. Tell me the truth. These photos are not fake. But clearly our marriage is.’ I shrug, a gesture I know appears more blasé than I feel. I snatch the photos from him, slamming one down. ‘You kissing Yasmin on the bench,’ I say. Then I put the next one on top. ‘You and her around the back of the tree with your hand up her blouse,’ I say, my voice rising. Next one. Slam. ‘Oh, you’ve changed it up in this one – moved to your car. Too risky in thecafé gardensfor you, was it? Here’s you unzipping your trousers …’ Tears burn my cheeks. I slam the next one down. ‘You and her—’
