by Amy Bird
‘What did she say?’ I ask.
Adam breathed deeply. ‘She said … she said I didn’t love her. That if I did, I would help her find out who killed Helen. That otherwise, I as good as killed her myself, and all the other innocents the driver will run over.’
I nod. That’s enough to make anyone angry.
‘We were both saying things, it was a silly fight, a marital tiff that got out of hand. Didn’t it, darling?’
Nicole nods and sniffs, but she doesn’t let go of me.
I see Adam have an idea.
‘Look,’ he says, ‘why don’t we call a cab, you can go round to Dan’s, we’ll both calm down, and then I’ll come and pick you up a bit later. Okay?’
Nicole begins to move away from me then. I’ve ceased to be the saviour. I see her notice my naked torso, then the sabre.
Stuck between me and Adam, she looks up at me.
‘It’ll be just like the fair, except more fun,’ I say. I think I see her shudder. ‘And you can get to know me even better.’
How much better, she doesn’t yet know. But even if she suspects, she shouldn’t be able to resist the chance to watch me, find me out, on my own turf for the first time.
‘I can’t promise you lobster,’ I say. ‘But I have fish fingers.’
Nicole smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I can’t eat shellfish anyway.’ She takes a tentative step in my direction.
‘I can even give you a sneak preview of book four, if you like,’ I offer. ‘Sorry. Book three. I meant book three. Getting ahead of myself.’ I mustn’t forget they don’t know what I know. That they can’t be allowed to count the real book three.
Another step towards me. Again, a false smile. This is it. I have lured her in with her desire to know me, what I have done. She has a security blanket, I’m sure she thinks, in Adam turning up. But a lot can happen between now and then.
‘Go on, Nicole,’ presses Adam. ‘Please – for me. I’ll come and pick you up, around ten, when we’re both calm. Let me call a cab.’
Nicole nods slowly and travels the rest of the distance towards me. But her frown, that same old frown, the one that comes with thoughts attached, breaks through her smile.
Adam kisses and hugs Nicole again, before leaving the garden to summon a taxi. Nicole and I stay in the garden. We can see the house that Luke and I viewed, with her, but she doesn’t mention it. She is focused on the now.
‘Why are you here?’ she asks.
‘Fate,’ I say.
She snorts. ‘Why are you here really?’
I decide to be almost truthful. The seduction must start somewhere.
‘I wanted to serenade you,’ I say. ‘With the violin.’
‘And the mask?’
‘Adds excitement.’
‘And the naked torso?’
‘Ditto.’
She snorts again. But I see her look at the torso.
‘Anyway, I thought you weren’t interested in women,’ she says.
‘You also thought I killed Helen,’ I parry.
I expect her to say ‘think’. Or just deny it.
But she doesn’t. She just pulls her cardigan closer to her. And we sit outside and look at the moon, until the taxi arrives.
Chapter 27
It is not how I’d planned it – so impromptu, no lobsters, no tidying been done. But I have Nicole here, at my home, for hours, before Adam arrives. That is the important thing.
I see Nicole’s lips curl at the greyness of my dwelling.
‘Inside, it’s better,’ I say.
I force the key into the lock and open the front door. Going ahead of Nicole, I try to see it through her eyes. Dirty cream carpet, very off-white walls, narrow hallway. I switch us into darkness again.
‘We’ll have candles,’ I say.
She takes off her red beret, and shakes out all that mousy hair in a way that maybe men are supposed to find attractive. I usher her out of her mac. As I fold it onto the floor by the door, I notice it says ‘Maternity Range’ on the label. I cast a look at her stomach.
‘Still only just beginning to show, aren’t I?’ she says, noticing the look.
I nod, relieved. It will make my work easier.
‘So, can I have the grand tour?’ she asks.
I don’t remember her ever giving me a grand tour of her house. But then, she only arrived in it after Adam. So I knew everything about it already – every nook and cranny, every vulnerable entrance point.
‘It’s not very grand,’ I say, leading her through into the bedroom first. I see her notice the drawings on the wall, from book one. She advances over to them.
‘What’s this?’ she asks, looking at the picture of the castle, minus the queen.
‘Adam’s story,’ I say. ‘We wrote it together, at school.’
She nods.
‘Why’s the queen crossed out?’ she asks.
I shrug. I still don’t know.
She continues to walk around the room. The bed is only roughly made. The duvet is further down one side of the bed than the other, and I see that my treasure box is exposed. I step round Nicole and make the bed up properly.
‘Satin,’ she says, about the duvet. ‘Very nice.’
‘Perhaps you can sample it later,’ I say, then regret it. Too much, too soon.
Nicole raises an eyebrow at me.
‘If you want to lie down, while you’re waiting for Adam to come,’ I say.
She smirks. ‘Been there, done that.’ She pats her stomach.
Even as I internally grimace, I nod. I know. That’s why I want her here now. It would make things easier if I didn’t have to do a book three on her, but we’ll see how it plays out. The key thing is, that we get inside, Luke and I. Where Adam has been.
I show her the bathroom.
‘Oh, en suite, very nice,’ she says.
‘Yes, like yours,’ I say. Even though there is less marble and more mould. Adam’s had a bit of mould in it, once, when it was all white, but he had it redone after Helen, when it began to gleam. A pick-me-up, I suppose.
I lead her through to the kitchen-diner-living room.
‘The grand finale,’ I say.
Nicole flicks on the lights as we enter the room, showing there is nothing grand.
‘It’s sweet,’ she appraises it, looking round her.
‘Make yourself at home,’ I offer. ‘Sit on the sofa.’ The sofa, at least, is looking presentable. The throw is clean again after the drawing-pin incident. It looks almost white, the red gone. Nicole perches on the edge of it.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ I ask.
‘Do you have any juice? Pomegranate, cranberry, maybe?’
In the fridge is some fresh orange juice. Or rather, I bought it recently, from concentrate. I pour her a glass. She takes a sip, grimaces, then puts it down on the floor.
‘So, when are we eating?’ she asks.
I can take a hint. First, though, we need candles and music. The two long, white candles, in their little gold (paint) holder are still on the Adam altar. Nicole probably thinks it is just a dining table, doesn’t understand its significance. I run my hand over the tablecloth, smoothing it down, plumping up the fabric that cascades over the edges and billows round the floor. Then I light the candles.
‘How romantic,’ says Nicole. There, I knew it – candles help. The light flickers against her face, like it did on Ally’s. When she was dead, not sleeping, as it turned out.
‘I’m feeling romantic,’ I say.
‘That’s because you’re wearing one of Adam’s shirts,’ she says.
It’s true, I am. Adam very considerately gave me one of his shirts for the taxi ride over here. I did not really want one – I wanted Nicole to be tempted by my flesh, the little ridges of muscle that men and women both get so excited over.
But why does Nicole think that would make me feel romantic? Has Adam been showing her book two? If so, I have no chance with her, do I? I will make my chance. Take it, if necess
ary. I must press on, show her how I can win a woman.
‘Only because Adam said the driver might have refused to take me, otherwise,’ I replied. ‘And then I wouldn’t be able to spend time alone with you.’
That would not have done – a fastidious taxi driver ruining my plans. Adam had made the same argument about the sabre, suggesting I ought to leave it with him, to deliver later. That did not seem as wise. Much better to take it with me, after what I’d seen.
And she’s wrong about the shirt making me feel romantic. True, this is cloth that has embraced Adam’s skin. True, its collar has caressed all those little hairs on the back of his neck. Also true, if I were him, I would be naked underneath it. But it’s so frustrating, too, this shirt. Because it’s only outside him. Which is not what I want. Nor is it what Luke needs. I must push on with the plan.
I start to undo the top buttons of the shirt, maintaining eye contact with Nicole. That’s what Ally had done, when her dress had come off. It is verified by research. I am just getting to the fourth button when Nicole stands up abruptly.
‘I’m going to use the bathroom,’ she says.
This is a good sign. Women, I’ve read, like to go to the bathroom before sex. Maybe to urinate, maybe to freshen up. Who knows, or cares? It is the message that’s important. ‘I will soon be ready for sex.’ In fact, I suspect Nicole would like me to join her, in a bit, in the bedroom that abuts the bathroom. I will wait for her call, once she has freshened up. We still have hours. And all is waiting in there: handcuffs, scarves, tape. Whatever it takes.
While I wait, I put Classic FM on the radio. DS Pearce would be proud. I turn it up loud, so she will get the full benefit of the smooth seductive flute melody. It would have been better if it was violins. But I can serenade her again, later, if necessary.
I take out the knife from the block. The smaller ones are being washed, so the big one will have to do. It’s not quite as big as the sabre, but it’s sharper. I untie some carrots from their binding, and chop off their heads. Then I peel and dice them, taking care not to chop myself in the process. Then I boil up the water. It is easier to keep carrots under control than a lobster, I suppose, but not quite as fun. Nor as ‘romantic’.
I turn on the grill, and assemble the fish fingers. They do not look very appetising. The golden crumbs are orange, the ‘fingers’ more like bricks. But I must give Nicole something, to sustain her energy. Or at least, recover mine.
I watch as the flames on the grill and the hob splutter and hiss into blue and orange existence. Still no word from Nicole. I watch as the carrots lose their resistance to the heat, and soften in the water. The orange fish fingers begin to turn brown, and little bits of their coating fall away. Still no word from Nicole. Finally, I plate up our food, and carry it to the table. Nicole is still silent. She has a lot of freshening up to do. But that can wait. Now she must eat.
‘Nicole!’ I call. ‘Dinner is served!’
I undo a few more buttons on my shirt while I’m waiting.
‘Nicole!’ I call again.
I walk to the bedroom and am about to open the door, when Nicole opens it from the other side.
‘Here I am!’ she says. Her eyes are wide, like the time on the dodgems. She does not look much fresher. I lean round her into the room, allowing my arm to graze her shoulder, to turn off the light.
As I do so, I see that the duvet has been lifted. And the treasure chest has been moved.
‘Come on then, Dan, let’s go and eat. Mm, I’m really hungry!’ Nicole takes hold of my arm and starts trying to drag me from the bedroom.
‘You go through,’ I say. ‘I need to use the bathroom, too.’
But I don’t go to the en suite. When she is gone, I approach the bed. I pick up the box. The catch is open. I look inside. Book three is turned in on itself, handwriting showing, rather than cover.
Nicole has read book three.
So she knows.
BOOK 3
6 January 2007
Today is epiphany day, says my diary. So a perfect day to share my epiphany. I know that is meant to happen at the end of a book. They taught me that much, in the classes, in Feltham. But why waste time? I know now what I must do.
Here it is: I must rape Adam.
Rape is such an ugly word. It will not be an ugly act. All I mean is, that Adam will not surrender to me willingly. So he must surrender unwillingly. Which, in the eyes of the world, is rape.
And the thing is, I must have him. When I wake up, it’s Adam. When I eat, it’s Adam. When I shower, when I walk, when I wank, when I work, when I sleep, and when I dream – particularly when I dream – it’s Adam.
Which means, it is my calling to be with him. Truly with him. As close as two people can ever possibly be.
I tried to explain that, with book two, but he wouldn’t hear me. He wasn’t open to me, then.
But he’ll have to be, now.
7 January 2007
Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam. ADAM, ADAM, ADAM, ADAM, ADAM.
8 January 2007
I apologise for yesterday. I was too excited to write anything other than what I felt.
Since then, I have made some better plans.
Much as I would like Adam to open his arms to me, to embrace me, to realise it is me, and to love me, I am not naïve. That is why I am using force. I will need a disguise, and an alibi. And a night when Helen is out.
Helen. She does not know how lucky she is. In her head, I bet it is like this:
CLOTHES SHOES BABY Adam CUPCAKES BABY
When really she should just devote all her thoughts to him.
Inside his head, I wonder what it is like. I wish it was:
DAN DAN DAN
but I suspect it is:
BONDS STOCKS SHARES FELTHAM HELEN BABY BONUS oh here’s Dan round for dinner.
What a waste.
9 January 2007
Shopping list:
Duct tape rolls x 2
Handcuffs
Gloves
Condoms (extra-strong)
Balaclava
Chloroform
Whisky
And yoghurt. I like yoghurt.
11 January 2007
B&Q don’t sell chloroform. Nor do Pets at Home, Superdrug or Boots.
But luckily I have found some on the Internet. I did not use my real name. I am not stupid. I used Luke.
12 January 2007
Helen goes out to paint flowers every Monday evening. She doesn’t paint the actual flowers. They already have colours on them. No, she paints them using oil on canvas. I bet she rubs her great big belly while she is doing it. She can probably hardly get close to the canvas – just flicks paint at it, all modern arty RUBBISH. Probably gets it in her hair and thinks it’s sexy. Rather than just dirty. And fake, on her already fake hair dye. Oh yes, I’ve seen the bottles, in that mouldy bathroom. She displayed some of it once, the art. I thought a child had drawn it. Except they can’t, from inside the womb, I’ve heard. I saw better pictures inside Feltham. Darker, maybe – literally, a full black wash, with maybe just some shadows on it – but better. More expressive.
Anyway, never mind whether her ‘art’ is any good. The point is, every Monday, there she is. Cycles. Even though she’s pregnant, she wobbles along on her bicycle – wobble, wobble, wobble, jelly on a bike.
Which means Adam is home alone.
17 January 2007
You cannot write every day, because sometimes things are too exciting to write. Although I know I must commit to this project, because I will want to look back later and cherish it. But today is exciting, because I watched a film and it gave me an idea. It was The Importance of Being Earnest. In that, there is a man with a sick friend near death in the countryside who always needs looking after when the man wants to have an excuse for being out of town. There are always lots of aunts, who it is universally acknowledged are all-powerful, and not to be challenged.
Therefore, I will have an aunt. She will be sick, and need
visiting. For two weeks beforehand, I will go and care for her.
18 January 2007
I have asked work for three weeks’ compassionate leave to look after my aunt. It turns out she is called Belinda. They asked why three weeks. I said that her usual carer is in Spain. Belinda has advanced MS. It is very sad.
19 January 2007
Shopping list: three weeks’ supply of food, and an open return railway ticket to Bath. That is where Belinda lives. I must be consistent. But I mustn’t leave the house.
The chloroform arrived today.
21 January 2007
Imagine that moment, how complete, how sublime it will be. I will be so close to him, utterly at one. And the pleasure, of course, the ultimate excitement, the bliss that I will feel, so erect, so turned on, so
Later, 21 January 2007
Sorry, I had to stop writing. Got a bit carried away.
Visiting Adam tomorrow, to tell him I need to go away. I am bringing a cake too, because it’s Helen’s birthday. They trust me not to poison the cake, which is good of them. I am told it must be cooked properly because otherwise the Helen-Adam creation in her stomach will die. What a shame.
I told Helen I learnt to cook in Feltham. Adam began shaking his head at me. Helen took him for better or for worse (I know, I was there) but he is not prepared to share the worst with her. Feltham is our secret. And actually, it makes me feel much more positive about what I’m doing. Because Adam knew, with that girl, that she didn’t want him. But he said that we should just take her anyway. So I know that really he would approve of me doing what I’m doing. If it weren’t to him.
The recipe (for cake, not rape) is 4 eggs, 400g flour, 400g sugar, 400g margarine. No wonder pregnant women are so fat.
22 January 2007
I thought my heart would break today when I said goodbye to Adam. I told him I was leaving for three weeks to go to care for Aunt Belinda. He was very sad, too, but he hid it well. I told him I would call while I was gone. He told me not to worry about it, which is good of him. It was like Feltham all over again. I thought, when we arrived there, that we would always be together. During the first strip search, the initiation, I didn’t mind, my thoughts were elsewhere. They’re sure to put me and Adam together, I thought. And he won’t be able to try to give me his own space, like when I had to share his room, before his parents opened up the box room. I know he was only being considerate then, spending so much time out of the room, coming in after I’d gone to sleep, getting into his own bed without talking.