Page 37 of The Serial Killer's Sister
‘God, Anna.’ He roughly runs his fingers through his hair. ‘I didn’t want you to find out like this, but …’
I hold my breath as I witness Ross struggle to articulate what he needs to say. The fact that there’s more, something extra beyond what’s already been unearthed, throws me into panic. He’s about to add another layer to the betrayal. And there’s only one thing that springs to mind. My blood runs cold and I know that right now I will not be able to bear what he is about to say. Because I already know.
‘You need to leave, Ross. Now.’ I walk away from him, go to the fridge and pull the wine bottle from the lower rack. I pour myself a drink, filling it to the brim, and begin gulping it down. I feel his eyes on me, pitying.
‘Anna, I swear if it could’ve been with you …’
If it could’ve been with me?God, yes – if only. I lay a hand on my stomach, a deep yearning overwhelming me.
‘Go. I can’t look at you,’ I say, choking back a sob. I sense him moving towards the hallway. I’ve given him an easy way out by not making him say the words. By not having to speak of his ultimate betrayal out loud.
When I hear the door slam, I pour a second glass and take another glug. My legs tingle, my head spins a little – I don’t think I’ve even eaten today. This won’t end well. But then, as an image of Yasmin’s swelling belly flashes in my mind, I realise there’s no happy ending to this story for me – that much is obvious.
The world is already tilting around me, the edges of my vision fading and growing fuzzy. I stumble through the house and out of the front door.
‘Well done, Henry! You win this round,’ I shout. I hold my glass in the air in a toast. ‘Come out, you fucking coward – be a man and face me.’ A mother who is walking past with her child tuts loudly and grabs hold of the girl’s hand, speeding up. She glances back over her shoulder, her face filled with outraged judgement. I laugh loudly. ‘This is nothing, love. You should meet mybrother.’ I stagger back into the house and drain the bottle of wine, then slide down the wall into a crouch and break into sobs.At some point, the drink will numb the pain, I think, as the room goes dark.
I’m floating up, my body light. I open my eyes, snapping them closed again when I only see the spinning ceiling lights of the kitchen. The last thing I remember is finishing the bottle of wine while sitting on the cold tiles.
The spinning sensation continues even though I’ve closed my eyes. I’m moving. I’m being carried.
I try to speak, but my mouth won’t work. Suddenly, I’m falling. Not fast, like one of those awful dreams – it’s gentler, and then I feel something firm beneath me. A soft layer of warmth covers me and my mind drifts away. I hear a voice, but it seems so far off that I don’t try to respond. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
Is this what dying feels like?
MAY 12th
One day to go
Chapter 24
My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I pop my index finger in to release it and it comes free with a dry clicking noise. I drag my other arm out from under the duvet and tap my hand over the bedside table, hopeful of finding the glass of water I usually take to bed. My hand makes contact with it and I manage to slowly manoeuvre myself so my other elbow props me up enough to enable me to drink. It’s tepid, and as soon as the glug of water lands in my stomach, it contracts to expel it.
‘Oh, God.’ I practically crawl to the bathroom, stick my head over the toilet bowl and vomit. I feel like someone is ripping my insides out. My heart has been torn out already, so that’s one less thing to worry about. Images flash through my mind, like an old cine film. Each one sends a shockwave through me, and each recalled confession from Ross’s mouth is like a punch to the stomach. Then the memory of throwing him out surfaces, but it’s fuzzy around the outsides. Did I tell him never to set footin this house again? I groan. He’ll have gone to Yasmin’s. Did I send my husband directly into the arms of his lover?
I hear my phone vibrating on my bedside table. It might be Ross. I pull myself up from my kneeling position by the toilet, to standing, the pressure in my head intensifying. As I reach the bed and stretch across the mattress to grab my mobile, I have a strange feeling – like a nervous, butterfly sensation – and with it comes the knowledge that I didn’t take myself to bed last night. Someone tucked me in, said goodnight. I’m sure of it. Ross must’ve come back home despite me telling him to leave. I pick up my phone and see that the new message is from Serena.
Are you OK? I heard about the extended suspension. What utter crap, I’m so sorry. Call me. Come over for a Wine & Whinge night. Love you, Sxx
I tap out a quick response saying I’m angry about it all and that I’ll call her soon. I end the message withRoss is having an affair and has left me– then delete it before sending. I can’t do that over text. And besides, seeing it in black and white gives me palpitations, so I can’t imagine what talking about it might do. I’ll wait until this ticking bomb with Henry is over and deal with it properly then.
If I’m alive then.
I scroll through the other messages. None are from Ross. I clutch my chest – pain crushes it as I remember.
Yasmin’s pregnant.
The horrifying reality slams me hard, and I drag myself up and off the bed, bile burning my throat as it makes its way into my mouth again. Giddiness makes me stumble, and I crash my shoulder into the door frame, hot tears bubbling from my eyes. Ross had told me he would ratherbe with me and not have children, than not be with me but have them.
Liar. Liar. Liar.
I let out an animal-like howl, not bothering to wipe the tears and snot from my face, letting it all run into my open mouth. It’s not until after I’m sick again that I clean myself up. It’s no good acting like a victim. I’ll save that for tomorrow when everything will come to an end anyway, for better or for worse. The thought, dark as it is, somehow bolsters me. One more day to find Henry and stop him. Even though I’m ninety per cent certain I’m going to be the next woman to die, there’s still a ten per cent chance I’m wrong and it really will be another woman’s life he ends tomorrow. His sixth. That we know of.
But there hasn’t been another riddle. No clue, no new location to go to, no treasure to unearth.
‘What’s your plan, Henry?’ I rasp, peering at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and cringing at the sight. I brush my teeth, and with some effort, manage to plaster on some foundation to give my skin some colour – cover the sickly, sallow, hung-over complexion. For good measure, I apply my favourite orange-brown lipstick and immediately feel more myself.
If I’m to face the day – deal with the aftermath of last night and the new challenges in store – I must pull myself together. I make a coffee and break off a slab of chocolate – the best hangover cure known to man. As I stare at my mobile willing Ross to call, it rings and my heart flips. But it’s not Ross’s name that shows on the display.DI Walkerflashes up.
