Under My Skin (22 page)

‘Sally?' Mr Roberts asked. ‘Are you OK?'

‘I'm fine,' she said as she came to the stage. ‘I'm just trying to get used to the shoes.' She'd decided to keep them on, but had changed back into her regular clothes. How else was she going to learn to walk in high heels? At the end of the day, while Sally Feather wouldn't be caught dead in white stilettos, Audrey would have loved them.

Her heart rate had now returned to something resembling normal. She'd tried on the other costumes and everything was fine. Actually, it wasn't fine. Her head was messy. Was Todd a grade A douche or was that how boys got when they were horny? She was angry. Angry at him and angry at herself. She shouldn't have been scared, she should have been . . . assertive. She shouldn't have needed Molly Sue to push him off.

‘Hey,' her tattoo snapped. ‘Ain't nobody to blame for Todd's busy hands but Todd. Don't you go beatin' youself up over what he did now.'

I can't help it
, Sally admitted.
I guess he got carried away.

‘No, girl, no. You don't make excuses for him. Men get enough of those.'

At the back of the hall, out of earshot, Todd was saying something to Duncan. He didn't look happy. He threw her a final look and sloped out of the room. A part of her was glad he'd left; a part was worried she'd disappointed him.

What's wrong with me?

‘Can we get started, please?' Mr Roberts said and Sally was snapped back into harsh reality. ‘I want to start from “Suddenly Seymour”! Sally? Are you sure you're ready?'

Sally saw Stan and Jennie painting the Audrey II model at the back of the hall and she longed to join them, to break down and tell them what had happened, but it felt like there was a wall building up between them. She was so angry at Stan, and Jennie was still so fragile over Kyle. ‘I'm fine,' she said and tottered on her heels towards Seymour.

All she could do was channel it into Audrey, another girl, albeit a fictional one, with a boyfriend with busy hands.
Oh God
, Sally thought as she sang,
is Stan Seymour
? The loveable dork who doesn't beat her up? No. Audrey
loved
Seymour. Stan was her friend, and he was pushing his luck at that.

By the end of the rehearsal, Sally was fairly certain the white stilettos were slowly filling with blood. She sat on the edge of the stage and pulled them off. Her toes were numb and she had a cushion-sized blister on her heel, but her feet were otherwise intact.
Why do girls wear these?
Sally thought, trying to massage life back into her soles.

‘Sally,' Mr Roberts called. ‘Can I just have a quick word, please?' She obediently trotted over, but the teacher steered her backstage. ‘Sally,' he said in a hushed voice. ‘Something's been on my mind.'

‘Am I doing it wrong?'

‘Oh hell no!' His artificially white teeth shone in the gloom behind the curtains. ‘Sally, you are killing it as Audrey. I mean that. I should have cast you in the first place . . . I was just worried you didn't have the confidence for such a big part. To be brutally honest, you're far more authentic than Melody ever was and that's sort of my problem.'

Sally waited for him to go on, unsure what he meant. ‘I don't understand . . .'

‘There's no easy way to say this, but, Sally, did you push Melody down the stairs?'

Oh God oh God oh God.
‘What?'

‘Good! I just wanted an honest reaction.'

Tears clouded Sally's vision. ‘Of course I didn't!'
Molly Sue did it
, she told herself, clinging to that possibility.

Mr Roberts let out a sigh of relief and his shoulders seemed to sink. ‘My mind ran away with itself. I just couldn't stop thinking about how you were with her when she fell, you were behind her on the stairs, you were the understudy . . . I kept thinking, “No one wants to be Audrey
that
badly,” but then the CCTV from that day got wiped when we had the break-in and I sort of thought how clever that would be, to make it look like a burglary when it was actually a cover-up.'

He viewed her with shrewd eyes. All Sally could do was shake her head. ‘Sir, I swear I had nothing to do with it. I was nowhere near her when she fell.'

‘I asked the cleaner and he said you left together . . .'

Sally's legs felt brittle and hollow.
Please don't faint.

Molly Sue finally spoke. ‘Just deny everything, you hear me?'

‘We . . . we did, but didn't stay together long. Melody didn't even like me; she thinks I'm a loser. There's no way she'd walk home with me. I . . . I . . .'

‘Sally, it's OK. If you tell me you didn't do it, I believe you. I'm sorry, don't get upset.' He rubbed her arm.

‘I didn't!'

‘That's all I needed to hear. I just had to ask, you know? Keep up the good work with Audrey. Dress rehearsal next week! Can you believe it?' Apparently satisfied his interrogation had worked, he swished off the stage, leaving her alone in the wings of Skid Row.

Oh. My. God.
Sally let out a shaky breath. Her hands were trembling.
That was way too close
.

Her voice cut through Sally's thoughts like a blade. ‘What are you talkin' 'bout, darlin'? What if he tells the police his little theory? He needs to be stopped.' Molly Sue was deadly serious.

Sally slammed her bedroom door shut and pulled her T-shirt off. She went straight to the bathroom as Molly Sue slid round to her front and looked her in the eye. ‘Are you listening? We aren't doing anything! We got away with it – he believed me!'

Molly Sue arched an eyebrow. ‘Girl, he got your number. He's snooping around askin' all kinds o' questions!'

‘He hasn't got a shred of proof! There is none!'

The look Molly Sue gave her was sour to say the least. ‘What, are you the village idiot or somethin'? What about when Melody remembers what happened? The biggest piece of proof is layin' in the hospital. We gotta tie up these loose ends!'

‘No! No more! I don't want anyone else to get hurt!'

‘Little late for that, don't you think? Shoulda thought 'bout that before you sent Jill tumblin' down the hill. Look, what if that negro teacher asks Melody what happened and it all comes floodin' back?'

Sally was appalled. ‘I can't believe you just said that.'

‘Yeah,
that's
the worst thing I done.'

‘End of discussion, Molly Sue! I won't let you hurt anyone else. I won't. I —'

Where am I? This isn't my house.

Sally stood in an immaculate townhouse. A furball of a Persian cat was curled up in a ball on a chaise longue under the window – a window that had been prized open. She was in a dining room-slash-library – there was a polished wooden table with a pretty candelabra at the centre, while the walls were fully lined with books.

Her feet moved without her permission. Once more, she prowled, ghostly footsteps over the carpet. She wore the same all-black outfit she'd worn when they broke into the school.

What are you doing? Stop!

Molly Sue didn't reply.

Sally's body slipped through the open door into the hallway. Framed Playbills lined the walls – signed by Patti Lupone and Idina Menzel. That's when Sally figured out where she was – Mr Robert's house. She did know where he lived – Jennie had once pointed it out in passing – and Molly Sue had access to that knowledge.

Molly Sue, please! This is just going to make it worse!

The tattoo ignored her and she slipped into the kitchen. It was sleek, clean and modern. Mr Roberts was a house-proud man. Stainless steel handles jutted out of a knife block on the counter. Sally's hand reached out for a handle and she tested each, checking what type of blade hid within the wood. Molly Sue selected the biggest carving knife, pulling it out with a deadly sounding zing. Ice blue moonlight leaked in through the blinds and reflected off the blade.

Sally caught sight of herself in the steel. Her eyes were narrow, resolute and lethal. They were hardly her eyes at all, more like a predator's stalking her prey.
Oh my God – STOP!

Molly Sue tested the weight of the knife in her hand, sizing it up. Satisfied, she gripped it tightly. It was cool on her skin. Moving like liquid, Molly Sue slunk back through the hall towards the stairs. She took each step on tip-toes, testing each floorboard for groans and squeaks.

Molly Sue! What are you doing?
Sally was caged in her own skull, looking on helplessly. She imagined pounding on the walls of the cell, wondering if she could somehow give her alter-ego such a crushing headache she'd have to give up and go home.

They reached the landing. Three doors to choose from. Two stood ajar. Behind the first, Sally saw white tiles – a bathroom. Molly Sue tried the next. It was dark inside, but the curtains stood open to cast light over a home office. There were yet more books and huge piles of marking next to a Mac. Molly Sue disregarded the room and slipped back onto the landing. ‘I'll take what's behind door number three,' she whispered.

Molly Sue pushed down on the handle and oh-so-slowly opened the bedroom door. Sally prayed it would screech, alert her teacher, but it glided across the carpet without even a hiss. She poured through the crack and closed it behind her.

Molly Sue waited a moment to let her eyes adjust to the coal black bedroom. Sally made sense of the dark shapes: a bed in the centre of the room with bedside tables on each side, and she was standing next to a built-in wardrobe that ran all the way to a door in the corner, which she guessed led to an en-suite.

Mr Roberts was a bump under a duvet that rose and fell with his chest. Air whistled through his nostrils. He slept alone. Molly Sue took another silent step towards him. Sally couldn't even breathe.
She's going to slit his throat while he sleeps
. Sally imagined a crimson cloud spreading across the pillow as Mr Roberts clutched his neck, eyes wide. She couldn't . . . she couldn't look.

Molly Sue took another step. One step closer.

Think, Sally, think!
She recalled the very first time Molly Sue had taken her over at the hairdresser – the way it had felt, like a serpent slithering up into her head. Now Sally felt for it again, searching her mind for Molly Sue's presence.

Molly Sue raised the knife, held it over him, ready to plunge it into his back.

There you are
. She could feel her, as slippery as an eel coiled around her brain. Sally focused everything on that single feeling; she pictured Molly Sue and just squeezed and squeezed, as if she were trying to physically push a headache out of her head.

Sally blinked and she was in the room.

The knife fell from her hand and bounced across the carpet with a metallic ping. The hump in the centre of the bed stirred. Sally's mouth fell open.
Move!
She dropped to her knees and lay flat on the floor alongside the bed. She'd once read pythons do that to size up their dinner before they attempt to swallow it.

Above her, Mr Roberts coughed and wheezed. Sally dared not move a muscle. She didn't even breathe. The knife still lay in the middle of the carpet. Quick as a flash, her hand shot out to draw it to her side. The bed springs creaked and groaned as her teacher rolled over.
He's getting up!

All Sally could do was roll under the bed. She forced a space for herself next to a pair of suitcases. A split second later, a heel appeared an inch from her nose. Her eyes widened and a single tear ran from the corner of her eye. Her mouth was clamped so tightly shut her jaw ached.

Rubbing his head, Mr Roberts padded across the carpet towards the en-suite. He flicked on the light and the whirr of an extractor fan started up. Sally grimaced; he'd left the door wide open. Of course he had. Who pees with the door shut if they live alone? He stood with his back to her, thankfully peeing standing up.

She had to go –
now
. Shuffling out from under the bed, she awkwardly rose to her feet. He was still going – all that coffee, she guessed. In three soft strides, Sally reached the bedroom door. Biting her lip, she opened it a crack and ducked into the hallway. The toilet flushed at the same time as she clicked the door shut. She listened for a second. The bed squeaked as he clambered back into it.

Sally edged towards the stairs, wondering if maybe she should give him a few minutes to fall asleep before making her escape. She just wanted to be out in the open night where she could breathe again.

‘That was a dumb thing to do, darlin',' Molly Sue hissed.

Sally wasn't sure whether she meant not killing Mr Roberts or taking back control of her limbs.

No. It's over, Molly Sue. No more
.

When Sally got home, although it was almost three in the morning, she was wide awake. There was so much to do before dawn. She also didn't want to give Molly Sue a way in. She'd forced Molly Sue out of her head once, but it had taken everything she had, she wasn't so sure she'd be able to do it again in a hurry.

Sally felt steelier than she ever had. Somehow, she wasn't sure how yet, she had won the tug of war in Mr Roberts' bedroom. She'd wrestled back control. But how? And what did that mean? She mulled it over and over in that secret part of her mind that Molly Sue didn't seem privy to.

If only she had more time to dwell on it, but she didn't. If she didn't do something drastic and NOW, she truly believed someone was going to die. It was a miracle that Kyle and Melody and Mr Roberts were still breathing. Molly Sue was out for blood, and Sally had learned by now that Molly Sue always got her own way.

As the sun rose and the birds started their chorus, Sally wrote two letters. Each took her several pages of the notebook, with crossed-through first attempts being torn out, screwed up and thrown in the bin. The first was to her parents.

The last part was hard to write. The love was more for them than it was for her. She thought about it. She
did
love them. They had given her life, they had kept her safe and fed and physically warm, if not emotionally. They weren't her friends, but they were her parents. She'd never had to live without them – she only hoped they would readjust to the life they'd had before her. She fingered the old photo of her mum laughing; once she'd been happy. They'd be happy again.

The second letter was to Stan and Jennie.

By the time she finished the second letter she was ugly crying. She didn't want to go . . . but she had to. It was almost six. It was time.