‘I shall make an allowance for your injury just this once.’
Miles leant down and grabbed Sinead under the shoulder. She clasped her left hand around his forearm. He braced himself and then pulled her upwards. Concentrating on the task, he hadn’t noticed Sinead’s right hand until it was too late – coming out of her jacket pocket and swinging up towards his neck. A glinting silver point jutted from her clenched fist.
The sharp object pierced his skin, plunging deep into his neck tissue. Miles yelped; his eyes widened as shock exploded inside. His hand released Sinead, but she held his forearm tight.
Pain shot through his nervous system like a cannonball.
Miles looked down and saw her wrist turning like a corkscrew. She pulled back and he saw the stainless-steel nail file protruding from her fist, dripping with blood. His blood.
His jugular was erupting like a fountain. Sinead stabbed him again. Miles dropped to his knees, clasping a hand across his neck. He punched the back of Sinead’s good knee and she buckled over, crashing down next to him. He tasted the metallic tang in his mouth. The torrent was spurting from his neck, splashing back onto his cream shirt, raining down across the lino, dousing walls and furniture. In his peripheral vision, Miles saw his blood splattering Gwen as she writhed in the chair.
Miles lunged at Sinead and grabbed her arms. They grappled on the floor, but he felt the strength rapidly vanishing from his body. He reached up to her neck, fingers clawing desperately until they fixed around her throat. Her hands immediately locked around his wrists: her angry face, pebble-dashed with his own crimson blood, staring back at him. Miles throttled Sinead with all his power. Only nothing was happening. She kept fighting him, struggling, yanking his hands away.
A black curtain swept in front of his eyes. His fingers slipped away from Sinead’s throat. A spasm jerked through his upper body and he knew then his heart was stopping. The last sensation he ever felt was Sinead’s fists pounding on his chest, pushing him away.
34
The metal detector beeped and flashed its red light when Sinead passed through the archway and she was directed to stop and stand in front of the machine. The female security officer pointed to the silver pendant, tucked inside Sinead’s T-shirt.
‘Take that off and walk through again for me.’
Sinead slipped the chain over her head and handed it to the woman. She went back around the outside of the detector and stepped through a second time. No beeps or red lights. The officer returned the necklace and gestured for Sinead to go and collect the hard plastic tray that was now rolling through on the luggage scanner’s conveyor belt.
Gathering up her backpack, laptop and trainers, Sinead went over to a nearby seat. She sat down to put her trainers back on and felt a sharp twinge in her left leg. The bone had healed well, but occasionally it liked reminding her of its presence. The cast had been removed four weeks ago and, with gentle exercise, the surrounding muscles had slowly regained their strength. She had been wearing an orthopaedic boot until three days ago, when the doctor approved her for a long-haul flight.
Sinead ambled away from Gatwick North Terminal’s security zone and into its duty-free area. Browsing through the selection of malt whiskies, she chose a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch that looked like the kind of thing John would drink. Then she found a couple of huge Toblerone bars for the boys and a rhubarb-and-vanilla-infused gin for Abby.
At the till, the cashier asked for her boarding pass and checked it before he began scanning the shopping. If he did recognise the face and name, he gave no acknowledgement.
‘Singapore – lovely. Are you going for a holiday?’
‘Just two nights. It’s a stopover, on the way to Auckland.’
‘Very nice. I’ve always wanted to go to New Zealand. It’s so far away, though, isn’t it?’
Reluctant to engage in any more small talk, Sinead nodded and smiled. She took her debit card from her purse and waited for the man to finalise the total cost before inserting it into the card reader.
With over an hour to kill before the scheduled boarding time, Sinead bought a coffee and a blueberry muffin, found an empty place at one of the long rows of black cushioned seats, sat down and checked her phone for messages. There were two. The first was from Dylan: Have an amazing time in Hobbit Land. Make sure you send us a postcard. D x. Sinead fired off a quick reply, keeping the tone light and friendly. When they had eventually met up again there had been some initial awkwardness, but both agreed that nothing was going to happen between them. Not because of Miles’s sabotage, but because Sinead wasn’t in the right headspace to get involved with anyone.
Of course, he’d repeatedly apologised for believing Miles’s lies about her, but Sinead pointed out that his gullibility had probably saved his life. She told him he didn’t owe her anything, but nevertheless Dylan had given some much-needed platonic support during the media frenzy which had followed her ordeal that final night in the bungalow. She would always be grateful to him for that.
The second text was from Magz: Stay in touch mate and just holler if you need anything. Miss you.
One of the strangest things to happen in the aftermath was Magz getting back in touch. The other two had kept their distance. Joel had called her once, but Sinead had immediately hung up on him. Magz reaching out was definitely a big surprise, though. She told Sinead she felt bad for the way she’d treated her, saying it was nothing personal, and blaming it on the drugs. They both knew that wasn’t entirely true, but it was as close to an apology as Magz could get and Sinead appreciated the gesture. They had met for coffee a couple of times. Magz confessed it freaked her out thinking she might have been home when Miles came to the house and planted the knickers. The whole business had disturbed Magz so badly she’d actually given up taking Class As – at least for the time being.
Magz also mentioned how Heidi had liked to bitch about Sinead behind her back, stirring up trouble between her and Imogen. Magz said she tried to stay out of it, but had ended up taking the path of least resistance. Despite everything that had happened, somehow it was still shocking that her best mate turned out to be a total back-stabbing bitch. Sinead accepted she’d never hear from either Heidi or Imogen again, and came to the conclusion that it was for the best. Miles had been right about one thing: Sinead had outgrown her friends. Sinead looked at Magz’s message and couldn’t think of what to write. She fired off a smiley emoji and left it at that.
As she finished her coffee, Sinead caught a young guy looking at her. He quickly looked down at his phone. Did he recognise her from that article in the Guardian, or was he checking her out because he fancied her? Looks from strangers had increased dramatically over the past weeks, and Sinead had grown tired of her unwanted fame. Her photo, downloaded from Facebook before she had a chance to change her privacy settings, had appeared in the papers, the internet and on the television many times since the story broke, but being recognised for killing a serial murderer was attention she could do without. Returning to her old job was never going to be an option once people recognised her face. The irony wasn’t lost on her that the watcher had become the watched.
Mostly, she’d kept herself hidden away in the room the council had found for her in a bed-and-breakfast place, living off money her dad had transferred to her. Four newspapers and two TV news channels had tried to get an interview with her, but, despite being broke, Sinead had rebuffed them all. Getting caught up in a media circus held no interest for her. The only goal that made any sense was to put it all behind her and move on.