Vicky shivers. This bloody house is always cold.
‘Here,’ says Tricia, holding out a bottle of Smirnoff. ‘I got it down the road. Might help.’
The vodka burns down Vicky’s throat.
‘OK,’ she says.
*
Down in the front room, William Harper is on the camp bed, snoring. Vicky hesitates at the door, but Tricia pushes her forward. She stands by the bed for a moment, then pulls back the bedspread. Harper is only wearing a vest. A vest and socks. His shrivelled genitals hang against his thigh.
‘Go on,’ whispers Tricia.
‘It’s disgusting – I’m not touching that.’
‘Just get on with it, will you – he’ll probably come in a nanosecond anyway.’
Vicky reaches out and takes Harper’s cock in her hand. His eyes open at once and for a moment they’re frozen there, staring at each other. His lips move, but no sound comes.
‘For fuck’s sake, Vicky,’ hisses Tricia.
Vicky tightens her grip and Harper’s eyes widen. ‘Priscilla?’ he whispers, cowering back. ‘Don’t hurt me. I didn’t do anything. Please don’t hurt me.’
Vicky drops his cock. ‘I can’t do this.’
Tricia comes forward and pushes her roughly aside. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, do I have to do every sodding thing myself?’
Vicky retreats to the door as Tricia climbs on to the bed, straddling Harper’s knees. She has a plastic bag in one hand.
‘Right,’ she says, ‘you nasty old paedo. Let’s see what you’re made of.’
Vicky turns and goes out into the hall.
She can hear the old man crying out all the way up the stairs.
***
AF: OK, Vicky. Let’s move on to June 2015. You’re living in the house in Frampton Road, you’re pregnant, and Tricia is working as Toby’s childminder. Tell us about Hannah. How Hannah Gardiner ended up dead.
VN: It wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it.
GQ: Don’t try and bullshit us that it was some sort of accident because I’m not buying it – there were still bits of her brain on that sodding car cover –
MG: That’s quite unnecessary, Sergeant – my client is being exceptionally helpful.
VN: I’m not bullshitting you. I’m telling the truth.
AF: OK, so what was the plan? Because you did have a plan, didn’t you - you and Tricia? Hannah didn’t stumble into that house by chance.
VN: Tricia had sex with Rob one night when his wife was away and she started saying that he’d be with her if his wife was out of the way but he was too decent to dump her. Stuff like that. I didn’t know what to do – I was worried what would happen –
AF: What do you mean?
VN: I know what she’s like. If she wants something, she gets it. It doesn’t matter who she hurts.
AF: You were concerned enough to try to warn Hannah?
VN: [nods]
But I was terrified what Tricia would do if she found out. To me, I mean.
GQ: Hang on a minute – that call Hannah got the day before she died – the one from the mobile. That was from you, wasn’t it?
VN: [nods]
I didn’t say who I was. I didn’t tell her my name.
AF: So – what? What did you say?
VN: I didn’t say anything about Rob. I just said that Pippa wasn’t really called Pippa. I told her that she’d been living in Clifton Street – that there’d be people there who knew her real name, and she should check up on her. I was hoping she’d find out what Tricia did to that girl at school and they’d fire her.
AF: So that’s why Hannah went to the Cowley Road that afternoon. To find ‘Pippa’.
VN: [nods]
But I don’t think she found anyone to talk to. She can’t have.
AF: So what happened the following day? What was your plan?
VN: I told you, there wasn’t any plan. I didn’t know anything about it. I was upstairs and I heard a noise and came down. And then – and then –
***
‘Jesus Christ, Tricia, what have you done?’
Tricia is standing by the conservatory window. There’s a hammer in her hand, and at her feet, a young woman lying face down on the floor. Blood is thickening her dark hair and she’s making a terrible raw gasping sound. Her hands are moving – clawing at the air – and she’s trying to get up.
Vicky moves a step closer. ‘Oh my God – that’s Hannah –’
‘I know that, you stupid cow – who else would it be?’
‘But what’s she doing here – what the hell happened?’
Tricia looks at her sister witheringly. ‘I told you, you idiot. Remember?’
‘You told me you wanted to get together with Rob – not that you were going to kill her.’
‘Well, you know what blokes are like. They always say they’ll leave their wives and they never do. This way, she’s out of the picture. End of.’
She turns to the shelf behind her and picks up a pair of plastic gloves. There’s a second pair of gloves, a roll of duct tape, a canister of industrial bleach, a dark wig. None of it was there yesterday.
‘Jesus, Tricia, you planned all this?’
‘Of course I fucking planned it. We won’t get away with it otherwise.’
‘What do you mean – we? I’ve got nothing to do with this – you can’t make me –’
‘Oh yes I can. Because if you don’t help me I’ll tell everyone about your nasty little scheme. That brat you’re carrying – how you scammed that poor defenceless old tosser – you’ll get three or four years at least.’
Tears come to Vicky’s eyes. ‘But that was all your idea –’
‘Yeah,’ she says, sardonic. ‘But they don’t know that, do they? So just stop fucking snivelling and help me.’
The woman on the floor groans suddenly and tries to raise her hand. Tricia bends down quickly and yanks her head up hard by the hair. There’s blood coming from her mouth and she’s staring – staring straight at Vicky.
‘Right,’ says Tricia, dropping her hold. ‘She’s seen you now, so you don’t have a choice. So just fucking grow some, will you?’
‘What do you want me to do?’ says Vicky, her voice catching in her throat. Hannah is moaning softly. Calling her son’s name.
Tricia reaches for the second pair of gloves and throws them across. ‘Go out to the car and get the blanket out of the back. And bring the kid in with you.’
‘He’s out there? On his own? What if he starts screaming? What if the old man hears?’
Tricia laughs. ‘The old bastard’s dead to the world. As per fucking usual. I put more sleeping pills in his lager. I’ll give the kid one too just in case.’