The One

by John Marrs

  ‘But I don’t want that. It will always be second best! He will never mean everything to you, you’ll never have children with the one. You’ll always be settling.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say that about my children,’ Karen said forcefully, clambering to her feet. Paula tried to hold her back. ‘My kids will never be second best!’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant, it came out wrong,’ said Mandy, her eyes filling with tears. ‘You’re not listening to me.’

  ‘You need to come back with us to Mum’s house,’ Karen said firmly. ‘Paula, go and get her some clothes and I’ll grab some toiletries.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Mandy screamed. ‘Stop judging me and stop trying to tell me what I’m doing with my life is wrong. It’s none of your business.’

  ‘You’re our sister so of course it’s our business, especially when you’re not right in the head. You can’t be in love with a dead man … you need help.’

  ‘I need you two to get the hell out of my house,’ Mandy snapped and grabbed at Karen’s arm, pulling her towards the front door. Paula looked at her in disbelief and followed. ‘Get out now!’ she yelled and her sisters reluctantly left, astonished by her outburst.

  By the time Mandy reached Pat’s house two hours later, she knew she was in the company of a family who really understood her. Pat gave her a comforting hug when she told them what had happened.

  ‘Thank you, Mum,’ Mandy found herself saying.

  Chapter 52

  CHRISTOPHER

  Thirty.

  A number that represents a myriad of inoffensive and mildly important things to different people. A figure that serves as a numeric milestone when it comes to one’s age, the speed limit in a pedestrian zone, the atomic number of zinc, the number of tracks on the Beatles’ White Album, the age Jesus was baptised and the number of upright boulders standing in Stonehenge.

  But to Christopher, the number thirty would signify the completion of his work in orchestrating Britain’s biggest unsolved murder case. If everything went according to plan, the bodies of thirty strangled women would be found across a variety of London locations and no one would have the faintest clue as to who the culprit was or why they’d done it. Then, as quickly as they’d started, the killings would stop.

  Amy was at work so he made the most of his time alone to reflect on the idea that first came to him a year and a half earlier. Single and with a ferocious sexual appetite, he’d grown bored of paying for the services of escorts, picking up girls in bars and visiting private members’ club sex parties. Instead, he’d become curious about dating apps, downloading several and becoming astonished at how quickly, with just the swipe of screen, a sexual liaison could be organised. He soon learned their users were made up of people who were yet to find their Match, and who chose apps because they craved company or wanted to pass time with casual liaisons until their Match came along.

  And he was just as surprised by how easily women gave out their telephone numbers – and in some cases, home addresses – to a virtual stranger. Anything could happen to them if their details fell into the wrong hands, he thought.

  And it gave him an idea. What if the wrong hands belonged to him? Would it be possible for Christopher to get away with murder in an age where everything you did, every place you went and everyone you communicated with, could be monitored by just the phone you carried? The more he thought about it, the more excited he became.

  For some time he’d been fascinated by what drove serial killers and how those not driven by mental illness frequently seemed to fit the psychopath bill. Experts suggested they killed to escape something in their everyday life that was stressful and, because it was such an intense act to commit, it acted as a blocker for their real problems. But Christopher had no such lingering issues. With no triggers, was it possible to just want to kill to see if you could get away with it? The more he thought about it, the more obsessive Christopher became about wanting to find out for himself.

  It was Jack the Ripper’s crimes that had inspired Christopher the most. It wasn’t Jack’s methodology, his choice of victim or even his blatant hatred for women. It was that almost 130 years after he’d terrorised London, the world was still fascinated by how he’d escaped identification following his five murders. Christopher decided he wanted to achieve the same kind of infamy, only on a bigger scale. He wanted his killings to be studied and theorised for years to come, with no one being any the wiser to who he was, what his motivation was or the significance of why they’d suddenly ceased.

  His biggest challenge wasn’t choosing his women or the actual kill itself, it was to avoid leaving any evidence at the crime scenes and evading the authorities. If his identity were ever revealed, there would no longer be any mystery to it and his murders would be forgotten within a generation. This was the last thing he wanted. And although he had no prior experience of killing, Christopher was in no doubt that ending the life of a stranger would not trouble a man like him with no conscience.

  He was a competitive sort, even with himself, so to make it work he needed to set himself an ambitious goal to work towards, otherwise he’d lose interest. He would never reach the heady figures of Harold Shipman’s 260 known victims and he didn’t want to either, if for no other reason than Shipman’s murders required no skill and little challenge. His sick, elderly victims had been served to him on a plate. Instead, Christopher chose a challenging but manageable thirty.

  Over a year later and, by his twelfth killing, he had tied with Fred and Rosemary West’s death toll. Then, at fifteen, he would be two ahead of the Yorkshire Ripper and level pegging with Dennis Nilsen. While he’d actively sought to beat their tallies, Christopher would’ve taken offence at being put in the same category as them – they possessed neither his intelligence nor his ambition. They hadn’t planned with the same depth; they lacked his thoroughness and, instead of following their heads, they followed their base cravings.

  He’d never felt such pride as when his actions became national news and the capital began to live under a blood-red cloud. Christopher had the police where he wanted them – ignorant and powerless. And because Christopher was neither greedy nor careless, yet meticulous in his devising, he’d always be one step ahead of them.

  Once he reached his thirtieth kill, he vowed his mission would be complete and, with nothing left to prove, he would simply stop. The police investigation would continue fully manned for months before gradually thinning out. Then, after a couple of years and with no new leads, the case would join the rest of the cold cases the police neglected to investigate. Meanwhile, Amy would provide him with something new to invest his time and energy in.

  He sat cross-legged on the floor and carefully placed the Polaroid of Number Thirteen beneath a film sheet and onto a page inside the white album he kept on the lounge, the one that Amy had come close to opening. Keep everything in plain sight and nobody will be any the wiser, he told himself.

  He’d never learned the answer to the question of how much it would hurt the waitress if he’d ripped out her nose-ring, as she’d fallen unconscious before he had the chance to yank it out. But Number Thirteen was special as she had been the first he had introduced to Amy, so he placed her ring, complete with slivers of cartilage, under the sheet and next to her picture.

  He closed the book, returned to his desk, and continued to formulate his plans to visit Number Fourteen later that night.

  Chapter 53

  JADE

  How is this even happening? Jade asked herself so many times that even she realised she was beginning to sound like a broken record.

  She needed to process her thoughts, so she made her way to the closest town, approximately twenty miles away. She had travelled the world to meet the man with whom she’d been Matched, the like-minded soul she thought she had fallen in love with before they’d even come face to face. It was only after spending time together in person that she realised there was no spark between them, at least not on her behalf. They’d held
hands, they’d laughed, they’d spoken about life and death and everything in between, and delighted in each other’s company. But there hadn’t been so much as a kiss between them.

  Now, out of the blue, everything she was supposed to be feeling for Kevin, the sparks she had read about, she now felt for his brother Mark instead.

  No, this is wrong, Jade told herself. You’ve barely even spoken to the lad. Every time he sees you, it’s like he’d rather be anywhere else than with you.

  But it was then that suddenly Mark’s attitude towards her made sense. He felt it too. What she’d previously put down to some strange hatred or animosity was actually him trying to conceal his feelings. It all made sense now. He was often tongue-tied around her or ignored her completely because he was experiencing the same intense feelings of love and lust as she did, only it had hit him sooner. And, like Jade, he knew just how inappropriate it was.

  Jade remembered the film she’d gone to see at the cinema with her girlfriends last Christmas, Rebel Heart; Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper played a couple who had been DNA Matched but didn’t get on, and Jennifer fooled herself that she’d fallen for his best friend instead. Transference, is what they called it, Jade recalled and picked up her phone to Google the word. ‘Transference is a phenomenon characterised by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another.’

  ‘Yes!’ she said out loud. Somewhere in her mind, she was scared of loving Kevin because he was terminally ill. There was only ever going to be one outcome. And by the way his physical health had been deteriorating of late, they might not have much time left together at all. It made sense that her mind, or her heart – or even her DNA – had latched on to Mark as a sort of coping mechanism.

  She leaned her head back against the car’s headrest. With this realisation she felt much less disgusted with herself. She wasn’t the cold-hearted bitch she was worried she was becoming, merely someone who had been put through the wringer and had subconsciously found a way to cope with it.

  Jade knew what she must do – she’d follow Mark’s lead and keep her distance. Whenever they crossed paths he always looked awkward. She would stop trying to engage him in conversation and try to keep away from him in general. Hopefully her unwanted feelings would disappear with the same speed with which they had arrived.

  Upon her return from the town stores, and after having unpacked the groceries, Jade made a beeline for Kevin’s room. ‘What do you think would have happened between us if I hadn’t been sick?’ Kevin asked as she browsed through the many films on Netflix.

  The question made her bristle. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You once said on the phone that because we were destined to be together we’d probably get married and have kids and stuff.’

  ‘Yes, if everything had been normal then that’s probably what would have happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t be that man for you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘I know I can’t give you a happy ever after or a family, but I can give you this.’ Kevin removed a small, velvet-covered box from his oversized jogging bottoms. ‘Here,’ he said, passing it to her. ‘Open it.’

  Inside, Jade found a silver ring inset with a small cluster of diamonds. She looked at him, puzzled.

  ‘Jade, I know this isn’t what either of us planned, but the last couple of weeks have been the best of my life. I love you and I’d like to marry you.’

  She swallowed hard and stared at the nervous young man in front of her. His fingers had trembled when he held the box to her. She wanted so desperately to love him, but here, at his most vulnerable, she knew that she did not.

  ‘I mean, you don’t have to say yes or anything because you feel you have to …’ Kevin continued.

  But Jade had already made her decision, and wore her best smile. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’d love to marry you.’

  Chapter 54

  NICK

  The guests around the dining table laughed heartily at one of John-Paul’s anecdotes involving a young reality star his PR agency represented and the result of too much cocaine.

  John-Paul and his wife Lucienne, a tabloid journalist, were always a worthy addition to their dinner parties with the salacious celebrity gossip they entertained them with, much to the amusement of Sally, Sumaira and Deepak. It was only Nick who wasn’t laughing. Instead, he sat at the table staring out through the wall-to-ceiling window as he often did, wishing he were anywhere but there.

  His ambivalence towards the company and the Malaysian food Sally had spent much of the day preparing hadn’t gone unnoticed. Several times Sally placed her hand on Nick’s arm, and while it used to make him smile, now he just wanted to recoil at her touch. He was also drinking more than usual, knocking back the Chardonnay, undeterred by the hangover it would inevitably give him the next day.

  ‘How are the wedding plans going?’ asked Lucienne. Nick was just sober enough to stop himself from letting out an audible groan.

  ‘There’s not much left to do now really,’ said Sally, a sudden edge to her voice. She was probably annoyed by the way Nick was acting. ‘It’s just going to be the two of us in New York. All we need to find is a photographer now and we’ll probably have a party when we get home.’

  ‘I wish we’d done that,’ Sumaira said, glancing at Deepak. ‘It would’ve saved my parents a fortune. And you haven’t had any more thoughts about doing the Match Your DNA test first?’

  ‘Oh, don’t start on that again,’ Deepak interrupted. ‘They’re happy as they are. Leave them be.’

  ‘I was only asking.’

  Nick’s eyes flicked towards Sally’s but she didn’t return the look. She was too busy topping up Deepak’s drink, visibly flushed by Sumaira’s question. He was surprised she hadn’t told her best friend they’d taken the test or about his results. He was thankful to Deepak for keeping the information between just the two of them. But there was something about Sumaira that night that was winding him up. Her pregnancy gave her a boastfulness that irritated him, as if she was rubbing her and Deepak’s perfect marriage and impending parenthood in his face. He felt like his world was on the verge of collapse, and he couldn’t stand looking at her smug expression.

  Several times he bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something inappropriate and, instead, he continued to stare blankly out the window, refusing to add anything to the conversation. There was an air of tension around the table and poor Lucienne and John-Paul kept quiet.

  ‘We decided not to take the test in the end,’ Sally lied. ‘We know everything we need to know about each other, right?’ She looked imploringly at Nick for reassurance, but he gave none. In fact, he had given her little of anything in the last fortnight. He left no affectionate messages pinned to the fridge with magnetic letters, his daytime texts were humourless and to the point and he’d led her to believe that he was spending more and more time in the office beyond his contracted working hours. Whenever she confronted him about his aloof behaviour, he simply blamed it on a couple of particularly stressful accounts, an excuse she’d at first accepted. But she wasn’t stupid and he knew she understood there was more to it than that.

  ‘Well, let’s see if you can buck the trend of rising non-Match divorces,’ Sumaira added. ‘I’m rooting for you guys.’

  ‘Remind me again about how it was when you and Deepak first met,’ Nick asked suddenly, the first words he’d spoken for a good half hour.

  ‘I’ve told you before,’ she replied hastily. ‘We were at my cousin’s wedding in Mumbai—’

  ‘No,’ Nick interrupted. ‘Tell me how you felt when you first saw each other, or when you had your first conversation. How did you know that Deepak was the one?’

  ‘It was a gradual thing, wasn’t it?’ Sumaira said blushing from Nick’s interrogation. ‘A couple of dates in I had a feeling he was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Then the DNA test confirmed it.’ Deepak nodded in agreement, but something inside Nick kne
w it was half-hearted; Nick had become the master of half-hearted of late.

  ‘Only it didn’t, did it?’ said Nick, leaning over the table to grab the bottle and refill his glass.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sumaira asked.

  ‘I mean there were no fireworks or explosions or thunder and lightning bolts like other Matched couples talk about.’

  ‘It’s not the same for everyone.’

  ‘No, Sumaira, you didn’t feel any of that because there’s no Match between you and Deepak.’

  ‘Nick, what are you doing?’ Sally asked, darting a horrified look to their guests on the other side of the table. ‘I’m so sorry, you two.’

  John-Paul and Lucienne also glanced at each other, evidently feeling equally uncomfortable but quietly fascinated.

  ‘You either didn’t do the test because you were too scared to find out the results, or you did it and discovered you weren’t compatible,’ Nick continued, a grimace on his face. ‘You’ve lied about it ever since because you want everyone to believe you’re this perfect couple destined to be together. I’ve seen Matched couples and the way they behave is nothing like the two of you act. Really, you have no idea how it feels when you meet the one, do you? How, when you’re with them, the whole world melts away and you feel like you’ve been hit by the force of a tsunami. And how nobody else in the world exists in that moment apart from you and him.’

  At the word ‘him’ Sally took a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘You don’t know how any of that feels because you have never experienced it. So don’t try to tell me or anyone else how we should live our lives when your own is just as messed up.’

  And with that, Nick grasped the rest of the bottle, pushed his chair out from behind him, and stormed up the stairs to the bedroom, slamming the door shut.