Hell Hath No Fury

by Michelle Morgan

  My blood runs cold. Did I hear this right? Margaret is admitting to the murder of Simon, but is happy to let her sister take the blame? Yes. Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s what I just heard. I don’t like Monica, but I can’t let this happen to her. I need to get her away from this madhouse.

  ‘Come on!’

  I grab Monica by the arm, but she turns and slaps me across the face. My ear buzzes from the contact, and I rub at my irritated skin.

  ‘What the hell was that for?’

  ‘You! If you hadn’t come into our lives, none of this would have happened!’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This is the woman who told her sister who I was, and then encouraged a relationship between Simon and Tom, when I was hesitant for them to even meet. How is that my fault? How is any of this my fault?

  ‘I wanted nothing to do with either of you,’ I say. ‘I’d have happily gone through my life without any contact at all, but you and Simon were the ones who wanted Tom and I in your life. You were the ones who wanted him to spend the weekend with you!’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’

  Monica scowls at me, as though I’m the stupidest person she has ever come across. Maybe I am, because I don’t understand anything at all.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.’

  ‘Simon didn’t want you in his life, he just wanted Tom. That’s why we said we were going to London this weekend, so that you wouldn’t know what was going to happen. We were supposed to head to Dover this morning, so we could get Tom out of the country and away from you. Simon hated the way you were raising his son – drinking with strangers on weekdays, letting Tom walk down the river on his own, and throwing a fit when Simon bought him a little gift. We were going to give him a wonderful, safe life in Europe, but then Simon got ill overnight, and it all went to hell.’

  The hairs on the back of my arms tingle, as I think about what could have been. What were they going to do? Hide Tom in the boot of their car while they boarded the train? Or were they planning on using the ferry? I have no idea, but I do know this… I always knew I was right not to trust her and Simon, but everyone around me persuaded me otherwise; told me that I was a terrible mother if I didn’t let my son have contact with his father, and like a fool I believed them. I should have listened to my instincts.

  I know Monica is expecting a reaction from me, but I refuse to give her one. How dare they think I am an unfit mother? What gave them any right to decide that, based on a couple of weeks’ contact with Tom? I can’t be around Monica any longer. I need to phone the police to see where the hell they are. I slide my hand into my pocket, but my handset isn’t there. Shit, I gave it to Zach, and he dropped it onto Simon’s bed. It must be still there.

  I leave the evil sisters on the steps, and sprint down the corridor towards the bedroom. I’ll retrieve my phone as quickly as I can, and then find Zach and Tom and get the hell out of here. I reach the room, and I’m just about to push open the door, when I hear it.

  A scream so raw, it’s almost primal.

  I run back up the corridor, and see Monica and Margaret arguing at the top of the stairs, exchanging insults that go back years, decades even. From the large window in front of me, I can see down into the garden, where Zach and Tom walk back towards the house. I cannot have these women fighting in front of my son, so I rush forward with the intention of breaking them up before Tom arrives on the scene. It is then that I notice Margaret is clutching a large knife, and the blade is pointed towards Monica’s face.

  ‘You were always jealous of me!’ Margaret sneers, and the light from the window catches off the knife as she waggles it up and down. ‘Ever since we were kids, you always wanted what I had. Every doll I owned, every book I read, every piece of plastic jewellery in my trinket box. Everything!! Then when we were older, you always had to dress up when you knew my boyfriends were coming over. Every other day, you’d be in your jeans and T-shirt, but the moment the doorbell rang, there’d you’d be, make-up plastered on your face, and the tightest skirt on your scrawny body!’

  Margaret rages at Monica, but fear of the knife prevents her sister from retaliating. Instead, she cowers against the wall. All I can do is stand in silence and watch; my feet rooted to the floor.

  ‘Please, Margaret,’ she says. ‘Please don’t do this. I know we’ve had our differences, but at the end of the day, we’re sisters.’

  ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word!’ screams Margaret. ‘If you did, you’d never have gone out to steal my husband. Two years you were with him behind my back! Two years! And even when I found out about you and took that overdose… Even then you carried on! You couldn’t get him away quick enough! But I’ll tell you something… The moment you came back to Bromfield, I started sleeping with Simon again. How does that make you feel?’

  Monica’s mouth falls open, and her chest rises and falls as the shock of Margaret’s words hits her.

  ‘You’re lying. Simon would never do that. He would never cheat on me.’

  It’s probably inappropriate for me to even think about this subject, but I can’t help remembering the times Monica told me she wanted Simon to settle down. It was clear she didn’t trust him, but what did she expect? He was seeing me and her behind his wife’s back, so what hope did Monica have of him being faithful to her? Margaret points the knife at me, as she talks to her sister. It catches the sun and sends shards of light across the stark, white wall.

  ‘Your precious husband was seeing this one when he was married to me, and sleeping with you. What makes you think he’d ever change?’

  The sisters stare at each other, and neither says a word. I wonder if this is the end of it, but before I have chance to back away, Margaret lunges at Monica with the knife. Both women scream – Monica out of sheer terror, and Margaret as she loses her balance, and falls backwards down the long, unforgiving staircase. Her body spirals and lurches, and the knife catches her stomach as she falls. Then finally, she lands at the bottom, her head cracking on the vicious hall tiles.

  And then there is only silence.

  Margaret lies at the bottom of the stairs, her neck appears broken, and a stream of blood cascades out of her ear. The knife lies next to her open hand, and Monica runs down the steps, shouting her sister’s name, over and over again.

  ‘Margaret! Margaret!’ Monica stares up at me, her eyes full of water. ‘I didn’t touch her.’

  ‘I know you didn’t. But for God’s sake, take the knife away from her… Just in case.’

  Monica leans forward and takes the knife out of Margaret’s hand, just as I look up and see Zach’s face in the window next to the front door. I rush down the stairs, past the sisters and look for the key. It’s sitting right there on the little oak table, next to the door. How did I not see that before? I slide the key into the lock and then manage to heave open the wooden door. The cold autumn air floods into the hallway, and the low sun catches my eyes. As I hold up my hand to protect me from the bright light, Zach stares past me towards Margaret’s body, and then back to the concrete steps, where my son is climbing up with a huge stick in his hand.

  ‘Fuck!’

  Zach shouts at Tom to stay away, and as he does so, a police car crunches up the driveway, stops and a young constable gets out. I sprint out of the house, down the steps and over to meet him.

  ‘Please! Come quickly!’ I say, and we both run into the house, where Margaret’s mangled body lies next to her shocked sister.

  ‘What happened?’ The policeman takes out his phone, but it is far too late to help. I point towards Monica.

  ‘Please help us! This woman – Monica Travis – has attempted to kidnap my son, she’s threatened me with a knife, and murdered two people, including my son’s father.’ Tears flood down my cheeks, and my breath bubbles at the back of my throat.

  ‘She murdered your son’s father?’ The policeman is confused, as he should be.

  ‘Yes! He’s upstairs. Monica admitted that she’d poison
ed him with her own pills, because she suspected he was having an affair with her sister.’ I point to Margaret’s body, crumpled in front of us. ‘When Margaret admitted it was true, Monica went after her with the knife, and then threw her down the stairs.’

  Monica gawps at me; her face white, her jaw slack and her nostrils flared. We all ogle the knife in her hand, and she drops it to the floor.

  ‘I didn’t do anything!’ she cries. ‘I didn’t do anything at all!’

  The policeman steps forward to restrain Monica, as she stares at me through wide, wounded eyes.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Zach asks, and I nod. As he takes me in his arms, I see Tom, cowering on the patch of grass, his face covered in tears. Despite my attempts to keep him from the drama, my son has heard every word of what I just said to the policeman. I run out of the house, down the steps and throw out my arms.

  ‘Tom! Come here, baby!’

  I scoop my son up, and give him a huge hug.

  ‘Did Monica really kill my dad and Mrs Holmes?’

  I wipe his tears with the back of my sleeve, and kiss his damp cheek.

  ‘Yes, she did,’ I say. ‘I’m afraid she wasn’t a very nice person after all.’

  As another police car zooms up the drive, we move to the side of the lawn, and I look back through the open door, just in time to see Monica being handcuffed and read her rights. She stares at me, and I stare right back. I told her that if my son was ever upset in her care, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions, but maybe she didn’t believe me. Well, now she knows. I might have given up my acting classes all those years ago, but I’m still one hell of an actress.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  It has been such a joy to write my second novel, and I couldn’t have done it without the love and support of my family, friends and readers. I thank you, each and every one…

  Mum and Dad – Thank you so much for all of the encouragement you continue to give me, and for being excited about the projects that have come my way this year. Even when we’re not together, I can always feel your love heading in my direction, and I’ll always be grateful that you’re mine.

  Paul, Wendy and Angelina – Thank you for all of your love, support and encouragement. Look, Angelina – Silly Aunty Shell wrote another book!

  Claire, Helen, Loraine, Sharon, Katharine and Jackie – Thank you for all the laughs, chatter and love in our WhatsApp group. I am so grateful for the support we give to each other, even when we’re far away.

  To my reader friends – Thank you so much for buying my books and making my dreams come true. Because of you, I am able to continue writing my stories, and sharing my love for books. I am tremendously grateful to each and every one of you, and hope that I can share my work with you for many years to come.

  To Betsy, Fred, Ian, Tara and everyone at Bloodhound – Thank you for giving me a home for my stories, and for being a constant source of encouragement for me. I am grateful every day that I sent my first novel to you. It changed my career and my life. Thank you so much!

  Finally, to my amazing husband, Richard, and beautiful daughter, Daisy – Thank you for everything you do for me every, single day. Your love is a constant source of joy for me, and I can’t imagine my life without you. Daisy, never forget that all my dreams came true, because of you. I love you both. xx

  A note from the publisher

  Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it please do consider leaving a review on Amazon to help others find it too.

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