Page 7 of The Serial Killer's Sister
Ross remains close with his mum, dad and brother – their relationship is unlike anything I’ve ever had, so I don’t fullygetit. I’ll always be an outsider looking in, which has caused some friction in the past. They’ve tried so hard to welcome me into their family, knowing I’m lacking in that department, but it’s not easy, and so avoiding family gatherings is my way of managing the situation. I think Ross would prefer it if I spent more time in their company – his regular attempts at hosting a murder mystery night at ours have thus far been unsuccessful. I have the feeling after this morning’s visit from DI Walker that he might well stop trying, now there’s an actual murderer in the midst.
The staffroom door swings open and snatches me out of my thoughts.
‘Morning, hun.’ Serena, looking whimsical in a boho dress, flounces in, heading straight for the cupboard. ‘How come you weren’t at the rendezvous point this morning?’ She stretches up, then rummages inside. ‘Thank you!’ she whispers, removing a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. ‘I had a bad feeling Beaumont had found my hiding place.’ She turns, twisting open the packet, and smiles as she dunks a biscuit into my cup.
‘Hey!’ I shake my head but let her do it. A trail of brown drips follow the biscuit towards her mouth. ‘I was running a bit late. Sorry.’
Serena swallows, then shrugs. ‘Never mind. I was just itching to give you the lowdown, that’s all. I was going to call you, but by the time he left it was almost midnight and I didn’t think you’d appreciate it. Seeing as you’re in bed by ten these days.’ She flashes me a wide grin, bits of biscuit still visible between her teeth.
‘Are you mocking me?’
‘Moi? Of course not.’
‘So? Did he exceed your expectations?’ I ask, trying to sound as enthusiastic as usual. Serena’s love life is more entertaining than any soap opera and I look forward to the daily instalments. But I feel as though I’ve already lived my own episode today, so I’m not as eager. I don’t let that show, though. I live vicariously through her these days – the excitement of new love, like getting high from drugs, is addictive; but I’ve forgotten how it feels now. After eight years, mine and Ross’s relationship seems to have settled into a gentler, slower and more comfortable groove. It would be different again if we had children.
‘It was … interesting,’ she says, a coy look on her face.
‘Interesting in a good way? Or interesting in aweirdway?’
Serena dips another biscuit in my mug, then slowly puts it in her mouth, prolonging the suspense. ‘In adifferentway, I guess.’
I get the sense she wants me to ask more, but I don’t know if I want to hear the sordid details of her sex life right now. I stare into my mug, feeling slightly nauseous at the sight of the floating bits of soggy biscuit, and when I look back up, Serena is standing with her hands on her hips and peering at me curiously.
‘You seem a bit … distant,’ she says. ‘You’re not worried about the report, are you?’
‘Not really. A bit. Oh, I don’t know, Serena.’ I cup my chin in my hands, let out a long sigh. She’s my best friend. I want to be able to let it all out – tell her what I’ve been told this morning. Maybe sharing it would help me process it, make sense of it. But what will she think of me? It plays out in my head:Oh, hey, Serena – guess what? A detective came over to my house and told me my brother is a wanted serial killer. He’s murdered five women. How mad is that?And I immediately know I can’t let any of those words leave my lips. Somehow, I’ll be guilty by association and my quiet, happy little life will blow up.
What are you doing, Henry? Why punish me now?
‘I know you were nervous about the report, but honestly, you’ll have come out on top, there’s no doubt in my mind. You always do.’
I smile. It wouldn’t be entirely disingenuous to let her think I’m worried about how I’ve come across in the assessment because until the knock on my door earlier, thatwasall I was concerned about.
‘You know me,’ I say. ‘Just want my kids, their families, to have the best possible version of me.’
‘You give them your everything. Everyone knows that. If a bunch of assessors couldn’t see that during their limited time here, then they’re useless and should be fired.’
The staffroom door flies open again, the appearance of the head teacher extinguishing the conversation like water on flames.
‘Here you are,’ Mr Beaumont says, his cheeks flushed. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ He’s not directing his line ofsight, or his speech, to either of us in particular but I’m so sure it’s me who he’s speaking to, I jump up.
‘Oh?’ I say, my eyes flitting to Serena, whose wide-eyed look makes my pulse judder. Mr Beaumont’s tone isn’t his usual light and breezy, ‘everything is good’, one. It’s his panicked ‘something is very wrong’ one, and we both know it. I can almost sense Serena’s desire to retract her statement about not having any doubt in me. Was my assessment that bad?
‘In my office now, please.’ He turns without making any eye contact, a terrible sign, and strides out. Being summoned, or more often dragged, to the office was a regular occurrence for me at Finley Hall. I never thought I’d relive those times as an adult, though. My palms sweat as I head to the door, not daring to look at Serena. As I hurry along behind him my heels clonk across the parquet floor of the hall. He walks so fast I can’t keep up, like he’s on a mission. A thought invades my mind: I’m assuming he wants to see me about the report, but what if it’s not that at all?
What if DI Walker has been sniffing around here? Christ. If Craig Beaumont so much as links me to something so terrible, he’ll probably sack me. Having the sister of a serial killer as his senior teacher would not be the image of his precious school he’d wish to portray. And who could blame him? I glance outside the windows to the car park as I pass by, craning my neck to see if a police car is visible. I can’t see one, but I suppose he might have already left.
Beaumont’s office door is closed by the time I get to it. Bloody power play. He wants me to feel uncomfortable; wants me to stand here uncertain. Should I walk in becausehe summoned me and knows I was behind him, or should I knock? Irritation makes my muscles twitch as I hover with my hand raised, debating what to do.
I give two sharp knocks and enter without waiting for a response.
He’s seated, tapping away at his keyboard, and I stand in front of his desk, my knees knocking beneath my skirt while I attempt to keep my eyes on him. I can’t let them wander around because that would make me seem nervous. The room is stuffy, the air within his dark-wood panelled office stale. He never so much as cracks a window. I don’t know how he bears it all, trussed up in his three-piece suit. He’s all pomp and show. I ball my hands by my sides and try to slow my breathing down. I can’t lose this job, it’s everything I’ve worked for. These kids are my life. I won’t let Henry take this from me.
‘This isn’t the conversation I wanted with you today,’ he says, not looking up. ‘Well, not any day, of course. But specifically not today.’
His pause doesn’t mean I should speak, so I allow the moment of silence to expand. I must let him fill in the gaps; I need to learn how much he knows. I have to ascertain what I can get away with here. He shakes his head, steeples his fingers in a way that makes him seem much older than his thirty or so years. The fact he’s reached this position at such a young age is something of a mystery, and despite our best detective skills Serena and I haven’t managed to prise this information from him yet. But the rumour among some of the other teachers is simply that the previous head was his uncle and pulled some strings. I’m more inclined to believe that because Mr Gally left so abruptly six months ago, they had little opportunityto advertise and then interview a suitable replacement. Beaumont was in the right place at the right time, so they got him into position quickly to prevent the governors kicking up a fuss.
His eyes haven’t left his computer screen, which is unnerving – I want to lurch forwards, grab a hold of his face in my hands and force it upwards. He can’t even look me in the eye. But then, since the Christmas party he’s not been too strong on eye contact. I shudder as I remember how he’d stared at me the whole night, making me feel uneasy, then just before the evening ended, I called him out on being ‘a bit letchy’, in front of the entire staff. So I probably shouldn’t read too much into how he’s avoiding my gaze now.
