Last Rites (8 page)

Not wanting to consider the possibilities any longer, she flipped up the toilet seat, positioned herself and held the stick from the pregnancy kit beneath her legs. She managed to direct her stream of urine onto it eventually, muttering to herself when she splashed her fingers. Satisfied that she’d followed the instructions accordingly, she flushed the toilet then rinsed her hands and put the stick down, glancing at her watch to check the time. She sat down on the edge of the bath again, staring at the stick, willing the result to be negative.

She could hear her parents talking beneath her. She heard her dad shout something at her younger brother and, despite herself, Holly managed a smile. Then she glanced back in the direction of the urine-splashed stick and the smile faded as quickly as it had come.

She checked her watch again and paced back and forth inside the bathroom. Although paced wasn’t really the right word given how small the room was. She took two steps to her right then two steps back again. Hardly pacing but it did the job.

Holly snatched up the stick and inspected it.

Negative.

She swallowed and wanted to smile. Again she checked the instruction sheet that had come with the pregnancy-testing kit.

Negative. It was bloody negative. She wasn’t pregnant. Holly had never felt relief like it. It coursed through her system like some magnificently benign drug. She jumped up, barely able to suppress a shriek of delight. She checked the stick then jumped again. A little jump not just of joy but of sheer unbridled relief.

What if it was wrong, she thought briefly, but the thought was swept away on a wave of euphoria the like of which she’d never experienced before.

She gathered the stick, the instruction sheet and all the other paraphernalia that had come out of the box and stuffed the whole lot into the pocket of her robe. She’d dispose of them later. No one need ever know. As soon as she’d had her bath she’d ring her boyfriend and tell him that there was nothing to worry about. Perhaps now he wouldn’t finish with her as he’d threatened to do if she had been pregnant. She might even see if she could meet up with him later that night. His dad was working late. His house was empty. They could have sex to celebrate her not being pregnant. Holly grinned broadly and opened the bathroom cabinet.

She took the razor blades from inside and selected a new one, turning it over carefully between her fingers, the keen edge gleaming.

Holly caught sight of her reflection once again, a wide smile plastered across her features.

She was still smiling when she drew the blade across her throat, slicing through both carotid arteries and opening her throat like a gaping, blood-filled mouth.

16

North London

As Mason picked up the cordless phone he wiped a hand across his forehead and felt a thin sheen of sweat there. It was across the nape of his neck too. He blew out his cheeks and exhaled, pressing the phone to his ear.

‘Hello,’ he said, hoarsely.

‘Pete?’

For brief seconds he didn’t recognise the voice, he merely stood there with the receiver gripped in his hand.

‘Hello,’ he repeated.

‘Pete, it’s me. Are you all right?’ the voice at the other end of the line said.

‘Natalie?’

‘I called the hospital. They said you were released this morning. I thought I’d check you’d got home safely. See if there was anything you needed.’

Mason nodded to himself but didn’t speak.

‘Pete, are you OK?’

‘Sorry. I had a bloody panic attack. I’ve never had one before. It took me by surprise. I . . .’ He let the sentence trail off.

‘Are you all right now?’

‘Yeah, I’m . . . it’s going. My head’s clearing. I feel better, really.The doctor said they’d give me some tablets if I needed them but I said I didn’t want them. I don’t want to be hooked on Valium for the rest of my life.’

‘It might be an idea just for the time being.’

‘No, I don’t need any tablets. I’ll be fine.’

‘You’re bound to feel a bit fragile to begin with, Pete.’

‘I didn’t expect to feel like this.’

‘After what happened to you I’m not surprised.’

There was a moment’s silence during which Mason thought he should have said something more profound but that moment passed.

‘I packed some things this afternoon,’ he said, finally. ‘Some clothes.’

‘You’re still determined to move away then?’

‘As soon as I can.’

‘What about work?’

‘I’ve applied for three teaching jobs. I should hear something in the next few days.’

‘I thought you wanted to get out of teaching.’

‘I want to get out of London. I
can’t
get out of teaching. What the hell else am I going to do? It’s not as if I’m qualified to do anything else, is it, Natalie? If I could, I would.’

‘What if you don’t get offered any of the jobs?’

‘I will. I know I will.’

‘At least you haven’t lost any of your self-confidence by the sound of it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Have you spoken to the police about the attack yet?’ she continued.

‘For what it’s worth,’ he snapped, ‘there won’t be a court case. They can’t bring a prosecution without positive ID and I can’t give them that. The little fuckers are just going to walk.’ He explained in more detail while she listened.

‘I can’t believe it, Pete,’ she said almost apologetically when he’d finished.

‘Like I said, I just want to get out now, Natalie. This has made me even more determined.’

There was a long pause.

‘Do you need any help packing?’ she asked.

‘Want to make sure I go?’

‘If I can help . . .’ The words were lost in a crackle of static.

‘I appreciate that, Nat. If you want to come over then that would be great. Perhaps we could have something to eat. A final meal before I leave.’

‘Does that mean you want me to cook?’ she laughed.

Mason wiped his forehead once again and exhaled deeply.

‘Come over, Nat,’ he asked, quietly. ‘I’d like to see you. If you haven’t got any other plans, of course. I don’t want to intrude.’

Another moment of silence.

‘What time?’ she asked.

‘About eight. And bring a takeaway with you, eh? You choose. Whatever you want. I’ll give you the money when you get here.’

‘All right. I’ll see you later,’ she assured him and hung up.

Mason gently replaced the phone in its charger. He glanced at his watch. Two hours before Natalie arrived. He managed a smile. She’d be on time. She always was.

He held one hand before him and was glad to see that he’d stopped shaking. At least for the time being.

Confrontation

The light was fading rapidly.

The battered torch was now supplying just a glimmer of sickly yellow to guide the man through the impenetrably dark tunnel. He knew that it would last only a few more moments and then he would have to hurry on in pitch darkness, unable to see anything, able only to guide himself along by feeling the cold stone walls of the culvert.

And, behind him, whoever was following him was close. He guessed less than twenty yards. Perhaps, he thought, if he managed to reach one of the side tunnels he could hide in there, wait until his pursuer had passed. It was all he could think of. His only other choice was to run as fast as he could on his already aching legs, on one ankle he knew he had twisted badly and possibly even broken. Either way he knew he had very little chance of escaping this underground labyrinth alive.

The thought sent a cold shiver the full length of his spine and when he tried to swallow he found that his throat was too dry. He shook the torch again, trying to bully it into supplying him with more light but it was useless. He could only see a few feet ahead now.

He splashed through another deep puddle and stumbled again, almost lost his footing but somehow remained upright.

Behind him, his pursuer didn’t seem to be having any difficulty with the slippery ground or with the impenetrable darkness. With each passing second the sounds from behind him grew louder. The other figure down there with him drew nearer.

The man gripped the spade more tightly. Perhaps, he thought, he would have a chance to use it.To swing it as hard as he could in the confines of the tunnel. One last chance to save himself.

The torch went out again.

‘No, no,’ he gasped under his breath and he shook it once more. It flared briefly, the brilliance of the beam restored for fleeting seconds before the cloying sickly yellow of the dying bulb returned. He hurried on, hands scraping against the bare walls so hard in places that he lost the skin from his knuckles. The pain from his ankle grew worse. His lungs felt as if they were on fire.

He tripped and fell once again, landing hard on his hands. He rolled over, trying to get to his feet, the last light that the torch had to offer now fading in the blackness like a candle in a high wind.

‘God help me,’ he panted, close to tears now.

Behind him, his pursuer was within fifteen feet.

The man raised the torch and aimed the dying beam in that direction. As he did, the feeble beam illuminated the other presence in the culvert.

The man began to scream. Roars of frustration, pain and terror filled the subterranean tunnel. Any thoughts he had of fighting back were gone.

There would be no point. Not now. Not in view of what faced him.

‘Oh God, no,’ he shrieked.

His screams reverberated off the walls and ceiling of the tunnel.

Finally, the torch went out for good.

The screaming man couldn’t see the one who stood over him any more.

And perhaps that was just as well.

17

Walston, Buckinghamshire

From the road, the cottage was almost hidden by trees. It was accessible only by a narrow dirt driveway and an even narrower path bordered on both sides by a lawn that was in need of a good trim. Weeds had begun to poke up through the cracks in the path.

The building itself was in relatively good condition. The stonework had been well maintained, the roof re-tiled only two years earlier and a new front door fitted less than a month ago. The wooden porch needed a coat of creosote and the windows of the dwelling could have done with some fresh paint around their frames but little else would have caught the eye of a visitor.

There was a one-car garage to the side of the cottage. The door was padlocked and held even more firmly shut by a rusty chain.

There was a small garden to the front of the property, a larger one to the rear. In this bigger back garden, laid mostly to lawn but with some untended flowerbeds too, there was also a small wooden shed and a greenhouse. Several of the panes were broken and had been replaced with pieces of thick Cellophane secured with gaffer tape.There were four tables inside the transparent structure but they supported only empty flower pots. When the wind blew strongly the panes rattled in their frames and the door of the greenhouse moved gently back and forth on rusted hinges, sometimes banging against the frame so hard that the glass threatened to shatter.

The rear garden was enclosed by high privet hedges on two sides and a drystone wall on the other. Standing at the bottom of the garden, any visitor would have been able to look over the wall towards the town of Walston itself, less than a mile away by car.

Inside the cottage, the same view was available from the window of the main bedroom. From the study window, also to the rear of the structure, the garden was visible. The study had been added, almost as an afterthought, in the 1930s but had been maintained well and appeared a natural extension of the main building. It was a small annexe that held a large wooden desk and some bookshelves. There was an antique-looking television aerial propped on the tiled roof.

The study led off from the small hallway and the living room.This was a much larger room from which the stairs rose at the far end, the bottom step close to the door of the kitchen. Upstairs, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a large attic, accessible via a pull-down ladder, completed the complement of rooms.

The cellar ran beneath the entire extent of the house. There was a trapdoor opening in the kitchen that could be pulled up and, beneath it, a set of bare stone steps led down into the subterranean gloom below.This blackness was dissipated by a single unshaded bulb that hung in the centre of the ceiling, accessed by a switch close to the cellar entrance but, even when the light was on, there were shadows it wouldn’t penetrate.

Areas of darkness and hidden corners that hid their secrets from prying eyes.

18

North London

‘But Pete, this is crazy. You don’t even know if you’re going to get any of the jobs you’ve applied for and, even if you do, you’ve got to find somewhere to live.’ Natalie Mason shook her head and shrugged then let out a long sigh.‘I don’t think you’ve thought this through at all.’

Mason sipped from his glass and looked at her evenly. The smell of their Chinese food was still heavy in the air, the plates still on the small kitchen table.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ Mason told her, lifting his wine glass to his lips. ‘I’ll find a job.’

‘I don’t doubt that you will but I just don’t think you’ll get one as easily and as quickly as you think. It could be weeks before you hear from some of these schools. Even longer before you even get an interview and then you’ve got to get the job.’

Mason held up a hand to silence her.

‘Well, all I can do is wait, isn’t it?’ he exclaimed.

‘And what do you do while you wait? You’ve got to have money coming in. You can’t just sit around.’

Mason shrugged.

‘I’ll find something to do,’ he insisted. ‘Something’s always turned up in the past.’

‘You’ve been lucky, Pete.Your luck might have run out.’