‘Em?’
She sighs and steps away from him. ‘Okay. Look, it’s a long story …’
‘Well, we’re not going anywhere.’ He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl next to the kettle and bites into it with an ‘I’m listening’ expression.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth earlier,’ she begins, then tells him everything.
Nearly everything.
The tension between them is almost palpable. Without speaking, he throws the barely eaten apple into the bin. Then he stands with his back to the counter, his eyes flashing.
‘So, let me get this straight. Louise gave you the idea for this praying-mantis murderer and you just made up a story around it?’
‘Yes,’ she lies. She can’t tell him that the truth is even worse.
‘And it just happens to be a real-life serial killer?’ His expression darkens. ‘How did Louise know about the case?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she says truthfully. ‘Maybe through work. I don’t know.’
His eyes narrow as he assesses her and she feels herself blush. ‘And now she’s been killed with the same marking on her ankle.’
She nods miserably.
‘For fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘I’ve only recently found out.’
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. ‘I – I don’t actually know what to say to you. This is huge and you’re only telling me about it now?’
‘El …’ She blinks back tears.
She can see he’s trying to suppress his anger.
‘I can’t talk to you right now.’
‘But –’
He storms out of the room before she can say anything else.
She goes to bed early, leaving Elliot brooding in front of the football. She taps out a message to Ottilie asking to meet tomorrow. This isn’t a conversation she wants to have over the phone.
Already? Can’t get enough of me, I see, Ottilie types back immediately with a winky emoji. The three dots show she’s writing another message. Soon enough she adds, Sure. I’ll come to Richmond. Our usual café at 11?
Emilia replies with a thumbs-up. She can’t bring herself to write anything else. Her emotions oscillate from fury to sadness.
When Elliot comes to bed she pretends to be asleep. His voice, when he eventually speaks, shatters the silence, reverberating around their bedroom. ‘I know you’re really awake.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ she replies softly, her back to him.
‘You know I hate lies.’
She turns to face him and props herself up on her elbow. ‘Now you can be disappointed in me. You now know I’m a fraud.’
‘Em,’ his voice is soft, but it’s too dark to read his expression, ‘you could never disappoint me and you’re not a fraud.’
Her eyes fill with tears but she doesn’t say anything. She suddenly feels totally and utterly sad.
He reaches over and gently wipes away a tear. ‘I don’t want you to feel you can’t tell me things because I’m going to judge you in some way.’
She nods, not sure if she believes him.
‘And what about the other storyline – the stuff with Daisy and her boyfriend, Ash? Was that all from her too? Or was that yours?’
She doesn’t want to lie to him again, so she ignores the question. ‘A serial killer who brands his victims has been done before. I’m not the first to write about it.’
‘Yes, but this is very specific, isn’t it?’ He sighs. ‘It’s odd Louise told you that particular story in the first place, don’t you think?’
Yes, yes, yes, she wants to scream. It’s all she’s been able to think about. Why did Louise tell her this story if it was true? What had been behind her friend’s decision to do that?
‘We were just bouncing ideas off each other. It was probably somewhere in her subconscious.’ She knows she’s not being totally honest with him and it’s like he can smell it. ‘Anyway,’ she rolls away from him, ‘it’s getting late.’
He moves closer to her so that he’s spooning her. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?’ His breath is hot on her ear.
She thinks of Ottilie and the letter. She’ll tell him tomorrow after she’s spoken to her. She’ll make sure not to be alone with her. For once she actually feels afraid of her friend and that, despite meeting when they were just children, she feels she doesn’t know her at all.
‘I’m sure,’ she lies. ‘Now goodnight.’
43
Daisy,
2005
It was him. Her instinct had been right. Why had she tried to fight it? But she knew why. Ash. How could they be together now?
After seeing the doodles in the margin of the newspaper, she couldn’t get her thoughts in order and sat at the kitchen table in a daze while Ash and Stef buzzed around her. She had to pretend she had a headache so that they would stop asking her why she was being so quiet, which just resulted in Stef rummaging in cupboards until she had found some paracetamol and fussing even more.
She needed to broach it with Donald. She had to get him on his own, away from Ash and Stef, to confront him. The weekend was nearly over, and they were both returning to university tomorrow – she was running out of time. But it was difficult because Ash hardly left her side. On the rare occasions they were apart, Donald was always with his wife. They seemed close and still to be very much in love. Could this man not only be her mother’s murderer but also a serial killer? Her dad had told her about the other women killed after her mother. Daisy had looked up serial killers in the local library, and had been shocked to discover some were charming, handsome even, like the one she’d been reading about from the USA called Ted Bundy. Is that who Donald is? she wondered. The UK’s version of Ted Bundy? She shuddered right there at the kitchen table despite the heat of the Aga.
‘Are you okay, Daise?’ Ash asked, staring at her with concern. From the kitchen window she could see Donald at the edge of the garden, puffing at a cigarette, hunched against the wind, the smoke blowing out into the cloudy skies. This was her chance to speak to him alone.
She pushed back her chair, which scraped across the terracotta tiles, causing Stef to look around from where she stood dolloping cake mixture into two round tins.
‘I just need some fresh air,’ Daisy said, unable to bear it any longer. Part of her wanted to run to the safety of her father’s house, and never look back. She wished she’d never gone to Exeter. But the other half knew she had to grab this opportunity while she could. For years she’d been dreaming of coming face to face with her mother’s killer. It was down to Fate that she was here, eight years after her mother’s murder.
‘It’s really windy outside,’ said Ash, getting up. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No!’ It came out too harshly. ‘I’m sorry but I just need some – some time by myself.’ She hurried out into the hallway, grabbing her coat and shoving her feet into her wellies, and almost ran out of the front door. She stood on the path lined with bushes, her heart racing and her throat dry. She imagined it would be idyllic here in the summer even though she knew she wouldn’t get the chance to see it. Now she was certain that Ash’s dad was the Doodle Man she would have to end things.