Chapter 36
MANDY
Mandy could not get enough of her niece Bella, who sat in a high chair around her parents’ dining table, surrounded by a group of other small children who were all unable to comprehend the celebrations before them.
Bella’s chubby legs kicked with excitement as the lights dimmed and her mother entered the room with a pink birthday cake decorated with a large candle with the number one on. Everyone gathered around to sing Happy Birthday and Mandy caught eyes with her sister Karen, who was trying hard to hold back her happy tears. As Bella’s Aunty Paula helped her to blow out the candles, Bella blew a huge spit bubble and reached out to grab the cake.
Mandy adored all three of her nieces and nephews and she always jumped at the chance to play with them. Since they’d been born, she had spent more on designer label clothes for them than on anything she bought for herself. But she had a secret she was too embarrassed to admit: each time she bought something for them, she also purchased an identical one for the child she hoped to have. She had two suitcases and a holdall under the bed in her spare room crammed full of tiny outfits that would never be worn.
However, lately she was finding it increasingly difficult to be around the children – the thought of not being able to have a child with her DNA Match, as her sisters had, made her feel physically sick. Even if she soon met someone to start a family with, he would never be Mr Right because Mr Right was dead. She worried she wouldn’t be able to love a baby she’d had with someone else in the same way she might have loved a child she’d made with Richard. And she was quietly beginning to resent Paula and Karen for having everything she dreamed of. If Kirstin could find a nice girl to settle down with, she’d be next, and the wedge that separated them would expand yet further.
‘Right, missy, come with me,’ Paula said and grabbed Mandy firmly by the arm, frog-marching her out into the garden, and into the plastic Wendy house that belonged to Bella. Inside, they crouched to sit on the small furniture and Paula produced a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Just what are you playing at?’
Mandy feigned innocence, though she knew exactly what her sister wanted to know.
‘Richard, your Match. You promised we’d get to meet him today. Then at the last minute you suddenly say he’s “busy with an urgent personal training booking”. Who needs a personal training session urgently? Come on now.’
Mandy swallowed hard. She’d told her family almost everything there was to know about Richard with one exception – that he was no longer alive. She stared at Paula, unsure what to say.
‘It’s been two months since you met the love of your life and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.’ Paula blew smoke out the open window. ‘So what’s wrong with him?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with him,’ Mandy said and took a deep drag. She hadn’t realised she’d needed a cigarette that badly until she felt the smoke hit the back of her throat.
‘Is there a massive mole on his forehead? Tattoos all over his body? Is he missing a limb? Is he a foot shorter than you? Is he black? You do know that even our old racist grandfather could get his head around Richard’s colour if he knew you were happy—’
‘No, no, it’s none of those.’ Mandy wished it were that easy.
‘You think we’re going to scare the poor boy off, don’t you?’
‘Well, you girls can be a bit full-on sometimes …’ Mandy wasn’t ready to share the story just yet, so said, ‘He’s quite shy. I’ll introduce him when I think he’s ready.’
‘OK, fair enough.’ Strangely Paula seemed satisfied with the explanation. ‘But let’s not leave it till Bella’s second birthday before I get to meet my brother-in-law-to-be.’
‘No, of course not,’ Mandy said, aware that her lies had an expiration date.
Chapter 37
CHRISTOPHER
Christopher wasn’t sure how to react when Amy walked through his front door and threw her arms around him.
He couldn’t read her facial expressions, so he responded by mimicking her movements and wrapped his arms around her in response. It appeared to be the correct move.
‘It’s been a horrible day,’ she began quietly, releasing her grip and making her way through the hallway and into the lounge. She unzipped her boots, discarded them in the corner of the room, and tossed her keys on a circular wooden side table. Christopher straightened each key and her footwear when she wasn’t looking.
‘They found another girl last night,’ Amy began, pouring a large measure of vodka into a tumbler from his drinks cabinet. The splash of tonic was less generous. Wrong glass, he thought, but it didn’t seem appropriate to point that out. ‘South London this time.’
‘Why has this one upset you?’ he replied, and attempted to rein in his fevered anticipation about the conversation to come.
‘Because he upped the ante this time. The poor girl had been beaten to a pulp, her teeth were smashed in, her ribs were broken and bleach poured down her throat. He stabbed her in the eyes.’
It was a necessity, thought Christopher.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d raped her too,’ Amy added.
Christopher was offended by the suggestion. ‘Gosh,’ he replied instead. ‘How do you know all this? I didn’t think you were working on that case?’
‘I’m not, but a handful of us were asked to conduct some door-to-door enquiries today because it’s all hands on deck until they catch him. This was his ninth victim. Can you believe it, Christopher? Nine poor girls.’
They’ll find Number Ten soon, Christopher thought and folded his arms in satisfaction.
‘Before we talked to her neighbours, the DI leading the case showed us the pictures of the girls. I’ve never seen so many bodies relating to one case.’
Christopher only just contained a smile at the thought of how the police were discussing the fruits of his labour. And, even better, they were being discussed with someone he was close to.
‘All the others had just been strangled,’ Amy said. ‘But this attack was personal, like he knew her … like he really wanted to make her suffer. It’s totally changed our psychological understanding of him.’
That wasn’t the plan, thought Christopher, but it’s a useful little diversion.
‘In what way?’ he asked.
‘Well, there’s no doubt that he’s an evil fuck up,’ she replied, making Christopher bristle. ‘But now it appears he’s a vindictive one too. Not only does he focus on women, but it seems that he has a deep, ingrained hatred of them as well, which is why this attack was so vicious. I don’t know, maybe his mum abused him as a child or something.’
Christopher forced himself to keep a straight face – she couldn’t have been further from the truth. He identified himself as a primary psychopath, one who had been born with the condition – or gift as he’d come to think of it – as opposed to being a secondary psychopath and a product of his environment. His environment had been perfectly suburban, with two parents who often told him they loved him, even if he couldn’t actually feel it.
He dealt with their premature loss to cancer and heart disease as matter-of-factly as losing a pet rabbit. He remained in sporadic contact with his brothers, specifically Oliver, the eldest. Try as he might, Christopher never got to grips with the importance of money and it was Oliver who’d assisted him with his share of the substantial inheritance each son received. With the correct investments, it gave Christopher a regular monthly income that was enough for him to take on graphic design work only when he wanted to.