Why?
If he really was a psychopath, why did he want her at all? Why, in London, had he been so obsessed with her safety? Psychopaths were controlling, but only in as far as other people were pawns, to be moved dispassionately about the board. They didn’t care about anyone but themselves. Yes, they often had partners, but only to service their needs, not because they believed in any such thing as a soulmate. Psychopaths didn’t have souls.
‘People don’t fit neatly into boxes,’ Karla used to say. ‘No two people with the same condition will present in the same way.’
She’d been talking about people with conditions like PTSD, anxiety disorders, depression . . . but maybe that also applied to psychopathy? Maybe some psychopaths could feel things for other people, become attached to them, obsessed with them?
She pressed her shaking foot to the accelerator.
He’d been obsessed with his father. And killed him.
The third mug, the third bowl and spoon on the table had been there because Nick had been there.
Because Nick had killed them all.
26
Maggie - November 1997
Maggie was scared shitless that Duncan was going to give the game away. So when Nick got back from school, after he’d disappeared up to his room, she suggested that Duncan have a nice long bath while she made dinner.
‘But I want to spend time with Nick. This could be . . . could be the last time . . .’ Tears filled his eyes.
‘Course it’s not!’ Maggie puffed, jiggling Isla in her carrier. ‘Once we’re settled, you’ll be back to sort him out.’ Would he ever! ‘We need to act like everything’s normal. If you go mooning around after him, he’s going to suspect something’s up. Go and have a bath.’
When Duncan was safely shut away in the en suite, Maggie picked Bunny up from Isla’s cot, took him downstairs and pushed him to the back of one of the kitchen cupboards, the one with cleaning products which neither Duncan nor Nick was ever likely to open.
On the morning of D-Day, as Maggie was thinking of it, they ate a late breakfast together, during which Duncan sat gazing across the table at Nick like a big numpty. Hopefully Nick was putting Duncan’s strange behaviour down to his new, conflicted feelings about his son after the little bastard had tried to kill Isla.
But Nick was putting on the charm, jumping up helpfully to get milk from the fridge or cereal from the cupboard, smiling at Maggie, acting like nothing had happened.
Or not quite. He was acting like he was turning over a new leaf.
It was almost like he knew.
It was almost like he was showing Duncan there was no reason to leave. That Nick had seen the error of his ways and was reformable, like all those kids at The Phoenix Centre. Like Maggie herself.
Maggie was washing the breakfast dishes at the sink with Marigolds on her hands. She planned to leave all the clean dishes from yesterday in the dishwasher, so it would look like no one had had a chance to unload it before disaster struck.
As Nick finished his cornflakes and brought his bowl and mug to the sink, he gave Duncan a sad smile. ‘Can I just say again how sorry I am? I know what I did was really, really silly and dangerous. I know I need to address some . . . some troubling behaviour.’ He gave Maggie a wee grimace. Oh aye, he was good. ‘I was thinking. You know you use that horse therapy thing, Dad, with some of the kids in the programme?’
This was a new initiative where the yob was given responsibility for a horse at a local stable and had to clean out its stall, look after its tack, groom it and feed it. The results had been promising, apparently, with one of them even talking about becoming a stable lad.
‘Maybe I could do that,’ went Nick. ‘I think you’re right and I’m not dealing with Mum’s death too well. I think it could help me.’
‘Okay,’ said Duncan heavily, not meeting Nick’s eye.
‘We can talk about it tonight,’ said Maggie, sneaking Nick’s unwashed mug into the empty sink along with hers and Duncan’s. ‘We don’t have time for this now. Carol will be here in ten minutes to pick you up, Nick.’ Fifteen, actually, but she needed Nick out of here, and not just because of the effect he was having on Duncan. It was important that Carol didn’t set eyes on Maggie, Duncan or Isla. ‘She’s picking you up from the bottom of the drive, aye?’
She was, because Maggie had made sure of it. She’d called Carol last night to tell her Nick would be waiting there as usual.
Nick turned to her. ‘Are you worried I’ll go psycho with the horses, Mags? Like those sickos who go round at night maiming animals in fields?’