Page 1 of Her Deadly Promise

PROLOGUE

Sunday, 15 May

Billie saunters and smiles while reading from her huge lemon-coloured book of tales that sits on the purple lectern. My heart jumps as her hands slap together to make the sound of the snapping crocodile. She is the storyteller extraordinaire, and the children love her. While watching her work her magic, I can see the attraction of the children’s entertainer. Some people naturally have this magnetism, but it’s something I’ve never had. I guess if I’d worked as a holiday park entertainer or indulged in acting classes, I’d be far more confident. She sparkles when she enters a room, and everyone’s attention is on her. She makes people happy and warm inside with her sickly-sweet voices. I say voices, as she is a woman of many while she is putting on a show for the children. She is also a woman of many secrets of which everyone here knows but everyone is too polite to mention. Polite society, don’t you just love it?

As she reaches her crescendo in the story about the mean crocodile who eventually befriended a warthog, every child in the garden is transfixed. She places the book down, not needing it for the big finale and she gives each child a glance, not missing one out. They all love her, I can tell. Her crocodile costume starts to slip as she gives the tail a flick before getting her glittery wand out and declaring the end of the story. She winks at her little boy, Kayden, who is clearly in awe of his mother. It’s his birthday and she’s making it as special as she can.

The easy-to-please crowd of five-year-olds clap and laugh as Billie takes her final bow. Parents, drunk on Pimm’s, cheer. The dads can’t keep their eyes off her and the mums all want to be her. If ever there was a person who was perfect, it was Billie. So bloody perfect, alluring and beautiful. Only her secret tarnishes her perfect image but we all have secrets, me included.

I spot the top of a head above the back fence, then I see a wide eye peering through the slit of a gap. A prickling sensation tickles the back of my neck and I wonder how many seconds will pass before the watcher realises I’ve spotted them. Who’s watching us and why? With scrunched brows I hurry over, slipping past the trampoline and alongside the shed. I must see who it is. What if they’re watching the children or one of us? It’s an eerie feeling knowing that someone was looking on as we partied away. What do they want? Stepping between the flowers at the border of the garden, I lean up and peer over, just catching the watcher as they turn a corner. They’re gone and I don’t know what to think. All I know is this uneasy feeling is churning in my stomach and it isn’t down to the summer cocktails.

It’s a sweltering day and the sweat patches under my arms are testament to that but I’m left with a shiver. The watcher must have been there for a while and when I approached, they scurried off, not wanting to be seen. One thing I’m certain of is, if I see them again, I’ll recognise them. The cat thuds onto the fence and I drop my glass of Pimm’s. The glass catches a rock and shatters onto the earth below. Heart banging, I gaze around. People are looking at me and my cheeks redden.

One of the mothers hurries over. ‘Are you okay?’

I nod. ‘Yes, it’s just the heat.’ I sigh. Maybe the watcher was just a curious passer-by who heard Billie acting. It was nothing, so I paste on my hugest red-lipped smile and rejoin the party. I shake the thought of that stark staring eye away. Whoever was loitering had now gone.

I glance across at the men as the barbeque is lit and all I see is my friend Nadia’s husband, Ed. His gaze falls on Billie as she enters the house. The expression on his face tells me that he could be angry or maybe I’m seeing jealousy? It’s hard to tell, especially as he slips his sunglasses on. Nadia turns to see her leering husband too, then she glances at me. I feel her pain but now isn’t the right time to talk to her about it. She wouldn’t thank me, not with all these people around. Our other good friend, Meera, has had a few too many glasses of Pimm’s. She giggles like a little girl as she asks for a top-up. No one else sees it, but I can see that Nadia is crying inside.

The whole situation feels wrong, like we’re all acting a part in a play, just like Billie was when she read her story. We’re all characters delving into our motivations and our feelings while we assess how the next scene will go. One thing I don’t know is how it all ends, but I know it’s not going to be pretty. It’s going to be explosive.

ONE

Wednesday, 15 June

‘Dev, it’s time to go.’ Dev’s mummy, Meera, rushes out of the house holding a lunchbox.

‘But, Mum. I want to play with Kayden.’

Kayden glances back at his own house as he steps out of Dev’s plastic car and onto the patchy bit of grass out the front. He doesn’t want Dev to go to his grandma’s. They were playing, having fun. The dark path between their home and Dev’s looks like a mouth that wants to swallow him up. Mummy uses it to wheel the bin from the back garden and it’s always damp. His house is a bit grey and it’s patchy. Mummy said it was from a drippy pipe. Dev’s house is bright, and his mummy puts baskets of flowers that hang beside the door. Yellow, purple and pink; all bright colours and some of his favourites. Kayden’s forehead is sticky wet, so he grabs the end of his T-shirt and wipes it dry. Mummy doesn’t like him dirtying his clothes but it’s okay, it’ll dry.

‘You can play with Kayden tomorrow but right now you know we have to go and take this food to Grandma’s before it gets cold, so let’s go, now. Damn, look at you.’ Dev’s mummy shakes her head and pops the lunchbox on the wall. She kneels to tie the laces on his trainers, her long black hair falling forward and brushing Kayden’s leg like a tickly spider. ‘How’s your mum, Kayden? I haven’t seen her for a while.’

He picks up his football and shrugs, lips pressed tightly together. Mummy’s been weird, she keeps putting him to bed early and telling him he was never to come down until she said he could. That’s when he’d hear the noises that scared him. When she’d come back up to check on him, he’d lie there pretending to be asleep or if he got scared, he’d hide in his wardrobe. ‘She’s okay.’ Mummy wouldn’t want him to talk to anyone else about the noises.

‘That’s good.’ With a final pull, Dev’s laces are tied, and his mummy holds out her hand to lead him to the car. ‘I’ll watch you go into your house. Tell your mum I’ll see her later at Nadia’s, if she’s feeling better.’

‘Okay.’ He wants her to strap Dev in the car and go. He’s going to have to step into the dark alleyway that smells of bin. Mummy said he couldn’t come back in until she came out and since he’s been playing with Dev, she’s still inside. The curtains are shut, and he knows not to knock on the door. He stares at their dull red front door, wondering if he should peer through the letterbox.

‘See you later,’ Dev calls out, so Kayden bites his bottom lip and waves.

‘Well, go on then.’ Dev’s mummy straps his friend in and slams the car door. ‘I’m not leaving until I see you go in.’ Dev’s mummy’s eyebrows are dark and thick, like they’re painted on and while she stands there, they don’t move.

He doesn’t want her to leave but he also doesn’t want Mummy to be upset with him, so he takes one step, then another. The further he gets into the creepy alley, the cooler he feels. There is a smell of bin, which makes him feel a bit sick. He likes that it’s cool but not that it’s dark. As he passes the creepy cupboard that Mummy said used to be used to store coal, he leans against the wall and takes a few deep breaths. There is nothing to be scared of. He can see the back garden shed and the front garden. The sun is shining, and Mummy said there is no such thing as monsters but that doesn’t stop his mouth from going dry as he hugs his ball and presses his shoulders into the damp wall.

The car growls. As soon as it’s gone, he runs away from the alley monster. He is alone. The street is quiet as most people are still at work. He sits on the kerb, ball between his legs, and he plays with a piece of loose thread on his top, twirling it around his fingers, pulling it longer and longer. School was fun, he did a painting which Mummy stuck to the fridge. She told him how good it was. It was a picture of their house, but he’d put flowers around the door, and he didn’t paint the house grey. It was their house, but it looked nice, like Dev’s.

Minutes had passed and his head was boiling. He holds out his usually pale arms that were now red. His bottom feels like it’s burning on the pavement. When he glances up the road, past the parked cars, it looks like the road is shimmering.

‘Kayden. What are you doing out here alone? It’s dangerous to be sitting by the road like this.’

He looks up to see the old lady in the straw hat. Their neighbour, Joanna, grips the lead attached to her little dog as they stop on the shady side of the path, its tongue sticking out of the side of its mouth. It sits at her feet and pants. Kayden reaches out and strokes the dog’s white curly hair just like he has done many times. Mummy says that it’s okay to touch Digger because Digger is a friendly dog. ‘Mummy said I could sit here. I’m just playing.’ His voice croaks and he’d love a drink of juice or an ice lolly.

‘It doesn’t look like you’re playing. You look like you’re getting burned to a crisp in that sun. You need some sunblock and a drink, my lad.’ The ball slips from his legs and rolls into the road. A car zooms past, bursting it under its tyres. Mummy hates it when they drive too fast down our road and now his favourite ball is ruined. ‘Come on, let’s get you in your house. I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got run over. Drivers like that should get banged up.’ Joanna grabs the squashed ball.

She can’t take me to the door and knock. Mummy said whatever happens not to come in until she called him, and he promised her that he’d be a good boy and do as he was told. She hadn’t called him yet. ‘I can’t go in. Mummy said I must wait here.’

Joanna pulls a face and looks at him in a funny way. ‘Did she now? We’ll soon see about that.’ She throws his burst ball into our garden and holds out her hand, which he takes. She’s a grown-up. He knows that he should do as he’s told. He is hot and Joanna isn’t a stranger. Mummy will understand that he needed to come in. Joanna marches him up to the front door and bangs so loudly, he flinches. There is no answer, so she bangs again. After trying one more time, she treads on the dried muddy front garden and tries to peer through the window. ‘The curtains are closed. Is your mum ill?’

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