Pat paused before she spoke. ‘Not necessarily,’ she said. ‘Come with me, I want to show you something.’
As Mandy followed Pat along a steep path and up a hill, she wondered what she meant. After ten minutes or so, they stopped and squinted across the horizon.
‘You can see the whole of the town from up here,’ she began. ‘Do you see that steeple right in the distance? That’s the village where Richard Senior and I married – in St Mary’s Church. And down there? That’s where my Richard went to primary school. Then if you look over to the right, next to the large chimneys, that’s the Fox and Hounds pub where Chloe got her first weekend job when she was studying for her A levels. So much of my family’s life is wrapped up in this one little viewpoint.’
‘It must be important to you.’
‘It is to all of us. Richard in particular loved it up here; he’d come up on his mountain bike and stay for ages. This is where we scattered his ashes – so they were free to blow across the town that made him. Not all of them though; the rest we scattered at our cottage in the Lake District.’
‘That’s lovely.’
Pat turned to her and looked her in the eye. ‘But just because Richard’s no longer with us, it doesn’t have to mean it’s the end of my boy though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve told you before, Richard always wanted children of his own. Like you, he was a natural with kids, probably because he was a big kid at heart.’
Mandy nodded. He sounded so perfect for her.
Pat continued looking out over the vista before them. ‘Well, when he found out he had testicular cancer, we didn’t know how bad it was going to be. So he went to a sperm bank, just in case further down the line he couldn’t have a family the natural way. He had to give three or four samples – I remember he joked about it being more enjoyable than a visit to a regular bank. Mandy, the samples are still in storage.’
She turned her head to look at Pat, who continued to stare into the distance.
‘I think you understand the opportunity I’m offering you,’ she continued. ‘If you would like to have my grandchild – Richard’s baby – then I’m giving you that chance.’
Chapter 42
CHRISTOPHER
Christopher watched Amy’s shoulders rise and fall as she slept in his bed.
He disliked having his personal space intruded with spooning and cuddling, so the moment she drifted off to sleep, he moved his arm from over her waist, slid his body to his side of the mattress and lay on his back with his head turned. Observing her as she slept was one of the headiest experiences he’d ever had with another person.
In the faded light, he could just about make out the bright tattoo of a butterfly that rested below her neck, something he detested almost as much as her taste in cheap rings and bracelets. But those things aside, there was little about Amy he’d change. By this stage of a relationship, he’d have normally found a multitude of reasons to have called time and cast her adrift. However, he had another plan for Amy.
Slowly, Christopher’s arm reached the edge of the bed and his hand stretched to the floor below. His fingertips silently felt around until they connected with the wooden handles of his cheese wire where he’d purposely left it for this very reason. He gently pulled it over the soft bristles of the carpet, up the side of the mattress and onto the duvet. With both hands on the handles, he held the wire above him and stretched it as taut as possible. He turned his body to its side so he was again spooning Amy and slowly lowered the wire parallel to her neck. He could feel his heart beating stronger and stronger with every centimetre he drew it closer to her skin. Finally, when it reached a position he was familiar with, he let it rest.
Christopher had gained an incalculable amount of pleasure since his killings began, but he’d always chosen strangers. The closest he’d come to those on his list were generic messages via UFlirt. ‘Banter’, as they insisted on calling it, would pass to and fro until he’d cajoled them into giving him their telephone numbers. None had the forethought to understand that, by willingly offering up their digits, they were handing him a key that unlocked the door to their entire identities.
Amy interrupted his recollections with an audible, post-coital sigh, and Christopher wondered what she was dreaming about. He never dreamed, or at least if he did, he never remembered them. He was sure he wasn’t missing out though because dreams were unattainable; what was the point in doing anything if there was no chance of success?
The sex between Christopher and Amy was unlike anything he’d experienced before. He’d had no substantial urge to pleasure the seventy or so women he’d slept with since losing his virginity at the age of twelve; it was – and had always been – only about his own gratification. But Amy was an exception and he revelled in the fact that he was the one who could make her groan and who could take her to the edge, only to pull back until he was ready for her to succumb. He relished being in control of her orgasms, but then he also readily gave into her taking charge and not allowing him to climax until she gave him permission. He had never relinquished dominance like this in any aspect of his life, yet it felt perfectly normal to do so with Amy.
This left him conflicted – normal was not something Christopher aspired to be; he believed his brain was wired in such a way that was much more powerful than ‘normal’. It was a gift that enabled him to do anything he wanted to, without fear and – to date – without consequence.
He moved closer towards her so that there was barely anything between his nose and the back of Amy’s head. He inhaled deeply and took in the lemon-seagrass-scented shampoo she’d used the night before. That was his favourite – he liked it when she smelled of citrus.
With one swift manoeuvre, the wire would be wrapped around her neck and she’d be clawing at it like all the others had.
‘Why are you so fidgety?’ Amy mumbled, to his surprise.
‘Sorry, I thought you were asleep.’
‘I was, but I sensed you weren’t. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I just can’t sleep and got to thinking about those women you’ve been investigating.’
‘The victims.’
‘Yes.’ He swallowed, still finding the word distasteful.
‘And what were you thinking about them?’
He wanted to say that he could recall every different scent and brand of shampoo each girl had used as he jolted their heads backwards once the wire was wrapped around their necks. And how since he’d begun all this, he understood a person’s beauty was transient because within just a few days of biological decay they all looked identicaclass="underline" bloated, discoloured and eaten inside and out by their own bacteria.
‘I was wondering what went through their heads when they knew they were about to die,’ he replied. ‘What would you think about?’
Amy paused before she answered. ‘Probably all the things I wished I’d accomplished while I’d had the chance. What about you?’
‘The same,’ Christopher lied.
He lifted the wire back above her head and lowered it down to where he’d left it under the bed. Knowing he could strangle her at any given moment gave him more pleasure than would the actual act itself.
But while Christopher was aware he was making good progress in the project he’d began all those months ago, there was a fly in the ointment. He’d met a woman he liked and, for the first time in his life, he was falling in love.