The Good Samaritan
Page 57
His two female colleagues turned to stare at me. He nervously scrolled through his phone, checking his diary.
‘A young couple with a baby, two gay lads and then some bird. Is everything all right?’
I really didn’t want the woman to be Laura. Life would be so much easier if it wasn’t her.
‘What was her name?’ I asked.
‘Charlotte Smith. Same surname as you.’
Andy opened his mouth and began to say something else, but I was already out of the front door before I could hear a word.
My car’s alloy wheels scraped against the kerb as I pulled up sharply outside Laura’s house fifteen minutes later.
I threw open the car door, and a vehicle I hadn’t spotted behind me jammed on its brakes and stopped just short of knocking me down. I didn’t even turn to apologise as they blasted their horn at me. Instead, I ran across the road and up Laura’s driveway. The window blinds were partially closed as always, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t in. I banged with both fists on the door and peered through the glass, but everything appeared dark inside despite it being daylight.
‘Open this fucking door!’ I yelled, then crouched to repeat my demand through the letterbox. ‘I know what you did, you sick bitch!’ There was no response. In all my life, I had never been angrier than I was in that moment.
My eyes scanned the front of the house to find a way through to the back, and I pulled on a gate but it was locked and too steep to climb. Suddenly, I had an idea. Laura’s house backed on to playing fields. I’d played many a Sunday-league game there in the past. I ran along the street and into a cul-de-sac until I found an alleyway that took me to the grassy fields and then the rear of Laura’s property.
The renovation work made it stand out from the others and easy to spot. It was larger from behind. A modern, double extension turned it into an L-shape and there were dormer windows where the roof sloped, suggesting they’d renovated the attic to create a third floor.
Behind low bushes and a waist-high wooden fence, I could see a trampoline with a torn, patchy net hanging from the side, on a knee-high lawn. Everything in her garden was overgrown and unkempt. It looked like it belonged to a different house. A gap in the hedgerow allowed me to clamber over the fence and into her garden.
I made my way towards the kitchen window first. No lights were on inside so I got up close to the tinted glass and peered in. The work surfaces and sink were clean and clutter-free. The cupboards were dark grey, and the walls close to black. I put my hand above my eyes to minimise the reflection and squinted, before realising the walls hadn’t been painted like that; they looked like they’d been damaged by smoke. I stared into another window inside what looked like a pantry, and it was exactly the same. What had happened in there?
Puzzled, I headed for a set of bifold doors and looked inside. The dining room ceiling was also smoke-damaged, and in the living room, the television and furniture still appeared to have bubble wrap and price labels affixed to them . . .
‘Shit!’ I shouted.
My heart almost beat out of my chest when I saw Laura. She was perched on the edge of a sofa, watching me as she held a mobile phone at eye level. Then she gave me a wide smile before her face began to contort. It was scrunched up, and she placed her finger on the tip of her nose and pushed it upwards. I tried to make sense of what she was doing, but the woman was clearly insane.
She remained on the sofa and I could just about make out a noise coming from her. I edged closer to the glass until I was millimetres away from it. Finally, I realised what she was doing.
She was making the face and sound of a pig grunting.
Insane or sane, I no longer cared. All that mattered was finding an object heavy enough in her garden to smash my way through the doors. I was going to kill her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LAURA
I’d expected Ryan to appear at my house once he discovered who the last person was to view his flat.
Judging by his fiery expression and the way he was trying to break my windows, he hadn’t appreciated the porcine present I’d left him inside his wardrobe.
First thing in the morning, Effie had removed the pig foetus from her science lab’s freezer and passed it to me in my car outside the school. She didn’t question why I wanted it or ask what was on the memory stick I pressed into the palm of her hand. I gave her strict instructions as to exactly what she must do with it.
Later, and alone in Ryan’s bedroom, I’d swiftly removed the now semi-defrosted piglet and beaker of ‘blood’ I’d whipped up from water, sugar, red food-colouring and cocoa powder. I poured the contents onto Charlotte’s wedding dress and the piglet, then quickly shut the door.
Of the many approaches I could have taken to antagonise Ryan, I knew this would cut straight to the core. I had to make him understand that whatever he was plotting next, from here on in, I would always be one step ahead of him. I didn’t care how far I needed to go, how dirty I had to play or who I used to get there, he would never beat me.
I’d watched from behind the blinds as my scruffy nemesis, dressed in his running shoes, jeans and a Nirvana T-shirt, darted up the drive, searching for a way to gain entrance to my house. I predicted he’d try the rear next, and as I positioned myself in the living room, I poured myself a glass of Chianti, took out my phone and made myself comfortable on the sofa. I checked my text messages and was pleased Effie had confirmed a time and place to meet me tomorrow. Once again, I suggested she keep it from her father.
A few minutes later, when Ryan came into view across the playing fields, I switched the phone to video camera mode and turned the mic off. The bifold doors were locked tight and the slight tint would make it harder for him to see inside without getting up close.
When eventually he spotted me, I must have scared him because he jolted backwards, almost falling to the ground.
While anger had brought him to my home, it was pure rage that I needed. One more little push was all it would take. And while I know grunting like a pig was a little childish, it had the desired effect. The phone’s mic was turned back on when he began making more threats.
‘You fucking bitch!’ he yelled. ‘Open this door now!’
‘Please, leave me alone!’ I shouted back. I was sure to make my voice tremble and my camerawork shaky.
‘Let me in!’
‘Oh God, please just go away! I’m begging you!’ I replied, and blew him a silent kiss. ‘Whatever you think I’ve done, it wasn’t me.’
‘You’re a liar!’
Again he banged his fists on the doors with all his strength, making the double layers of glass shudder in their frames. Then he turned to scan the garden as if trying to find something to break the glass with. Eventually he found the brick I used to wedge the garden gate open, drew it back over his shoulder and hurled it. The glass cracked. I backed away nervously as he repeated the action.
The doorbell sounded and I hurried out of the living room towards it.
‘Thank God!’ I sobbed and yanked it open. ‘Please help me!’
Suddenly, the window in the other room shattered and I heard Ryan’s footsteps pounding across the wooden floors. But as he turned the corner to find me, he was tackled to the ground by two burly police officers.
I’d dialled 999 the moment the cat jumped from the windowsill, alerting me that someone was approaching the drive. Bieber thought it was Tony but I knew it would be Ryan.
‘A young couple with a baby, two gay lads and then some bird. Is everything all right?’
I really didn’t want the woman to be Laura. Life would be so much easier if it wasn’t her.
‘What was her name?’ I asked.
‘Charlotte Smith. Same surname as you.’
Andy opened his mouth and began to say something else, but I was already out of the front door before I could hear a word.
My car’s alloy wheels scraped against the kerb as I pulled up sharply outside Laura’s house fifteen minutes later.
I threw open the car door, and a vehicle I hadn’t spotted behind me jammed on its brakes and stopped just short of knocking me down. I didn’t even turn to apologise as they blasted their horn at me. Instead, I ran across the road and up Laura’s driveway. The window blinds were partially closed as always, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t in. I banged with both fists on the door and peered through the glass, but everything appeared dark inside despite it being daylight.
‘Open this fucking door!’ I yelled, then crouched to repeat my demand through the letterbox. ‘I know what you did, you sick bitch!’ There was no response. In all my life, I had never been angrier than I was in that moment.
My eyes scanned the front of the house to find a way through to the back, and I pulled on a gate but it was locked and too steep to climb. Suddenly, I had an idea. Laura’s house backed on to playing fields. I’d played many a Sunday-league game there in the past. I ran along the street and into a cul-de-sac until I found an alleyway that took me to the grassy fields and then the rear of Laura’s property.
The renovation work made it stand out from the others and easy to spot. It was larger from behind. A modern, double extension turned it into an L-shape and there were dormer windows where the roof sloped, suggesting they’d renovated the attic to create a third floor.
Behind low bushes and a waist-high wooden fence, I could see a trampoline with a torn, patchy net hanging from the side, on a knee-high lawn. Everything in her garden was overgrown and unkempt. It looked like it belonged to a different house. A gap in the hedgerow allowed me to clamber over the fence and into her garden.
I made my way towards the kitchen window first. No lights were on inside so I got up close to the tinted glass and peered in. The work surfaces and sink were clean and clutter-free. The cupboards were dark grey, and the walls close to black. I put my hand above my eyes to minimise the reflection and squinted, before realising the walls hadn’t been painted like that; they looked like they’d been damaged by smoke. I stared into another window inside what looked like a pantry, and it was exactly the same. What had happened in there?
Puzzled, I headed for a set of bifold doors and looked inside. The dining room ceiling was also smoke-damaged, and in the living room, the television and furniture still appeared to have bubble wrap and price labels affixed to them . . .
‘Shit!’ I shouted.
My heart almost beat out of my chest when I saw Laura. She was perched on the edge of a sofa, watching me as she held a mobile phone at eye level. Then she gave me a wide smile before her face began to contort. It was scrunched up, and she placed her finger on the tip of her nose and pushed it upwards. I tried to make sense of what she was doing, but the woman was clearly insane.
She remained on the sofa and I could just about make out a noise coming from her. I edged closer to the glass until I was millimetres away from it. Finally, I realised what she was doing.
She was making the face and sound of a pig grunting.
Insane or sane, I no longer cared. All that mattered was finding an object heavy enough in her garden to smash my way through the doors. I was going to kill her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LAURA
I’d expected Ryan to appear at my house once he discovered who the last person was to view his flat.
Judging by his fiery expression and the way he was trying to break my windows, he hadn’t appreciated the porcine present I’d left him inside his wardrobe.
First thing in the morning, Effie had removed the pig foetus from her science lab’s freezer and passed it to me in my car outside the school. She didn’t question why I wanted it or ask what was on the memory stick I pressed into the palm of her hand. I gave her strict instructions as to exactly what she must do with it.
Later, and alone in Ryan’s bedroom, I’d swiftly removed the now semi-defrosted piglet and beaker of ‘blood’ I’d whipped up from water, sugar, red food-colouring and cocoa powder. I poured the contents onto Charlotte’s wedding dress and the piglet, then quickly shut the door.
Of the many approaches I could have taken to antagonise Ryan, I knew this would cut straight to the core. I had to make him understand that whatever he was plotting next, from here on in, I would always be one step ahead of him. I didn’t care how far I needed to go, how dirty I had to play or who I used to get there, he would never beat me.
I’d watched from behind the blinds as my scruffy nemesis, dressed in his running shoes, jeans and a Nirvana T-shirt, darted up the drive, searching for a way to gain entrance to my house. I predicted he’d try the rear next, and as I positioned myself in the living room, I poured myself a glass of Chianti, took out my phone and made myself comfortable on the sofa. I checked my text messages and was pleased Effie had confirmed a time and place to meet me tomorrow. Once again, I suggested she keep it from her father.
A few minutes later, when Ryan came into view across the playing fields, I switched the phone to video camera mode and turned the mic off. The bifold doors were locked tight and the slight tint would make it harder for him to see inside without getting up close.
When eventually he spotted me, I must have scared him because he jolted backwards, almost falling to the ground.
While anger had brought him to my home, it was pure rage that I needed. One more little push was all it would take. And while I know grunting like a pig was a little childish, it had the desired effect. The phone’s mic was turned back on when he began making more threats.
‘You fucking bitch!’ he yelled. ‘Open this door now!’
‘Please, leave me alone!’ I shouted back. I was sure to make my voice tremble and my camerawork shaky.
‘Let me in!’
‘Oh God, please just go away! I’m begging you!’ I replied, and blew him a silent kiss. ‘Whatever you think I’ve done, it wasn’t me.’
‘You’re a liar!’
Again he banged his fists on the doors with all his strength, making the double layers of glass shudder in their frames. Then he turned to scan the garden as if trying to find something to break the glass with. Eventually he found the brick I used to wedge the garden gate open, drew it back over his shoulder and hurled it. The glass cracked. I backed away nervously as he repeated the action.
The doorbell sounded and I hurried out of the living room towards it.
‘Thank God!’ I sobbed and yanked it open. ‘Please help me!’
Suddenly, the window in the other room shattered and I heard Ryan’s footsteps pounding across the wooden floors. But as he turned the corner to find me, he was tackled to the ground by two burly police officers.
I’d dialled 999 the moment the cat jumped from the windowsill, alerting me that someone was approaching the drive. Bieber thought it was Tony but I knew it would be Ryan.
