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Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. JUNE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. JULY
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. AUGUST
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. OCTOBER
  36. 30
  37. Acknowledgements
  38. Read More
  39. THE BEGINNING

Her cigarettes are in her bedside locker, and she takes one and goes to smoke it by the window. But Greg’s words come at her – Charlotte’s brand – and she stubs it out angrily. What should she do? Everything is such a mess. There’s no way she can go back downstairs and face that crowd. Then she remembers how Greg had looked as he departed – disgust mingling with fear of her. The memory twitches something inside her, an awful self-loathing that she needs to shake off. If only she could talk to Anton. If only she could make him understand. Perhaps she could write to him …

But then it comes to her again in a sweep of fresh pain. She cannot write to him or ever speak to him. The thought is terrible. It makes her feel shivery and deranged, as if her mind is tilting away from her.

Slowly now, she brings her eyes up, trains them on the house she has watched for almost twenty years. The yearning inside her is a bottomless thing – a great black hole she cannot fathom. She stares at the house, at the panes of glass in the windows glittering in the evening sun. And something hardens inside her. A feeling comes over her – the inevitable pull of Fate. She has felt it before.

Dry-eyed, the blood beating coolly in her veins, she moves away. When she descends the stairs, she is perfectly calm. She knows what she must do. Comfort – that’s all she ever wanted. To comfort and be comforted in return. Happiness is an act of will, or so she has always thought. Now, pulling the front door open, she steps outside, no longer knowing what might be possible.

29

Anton

He is not a bad man. That is what Anton has always told himself.

Not bad in the way of Salim, who bludgeoned his flatmate to death over a dispute in a game of Scrabble. Or Fat Eric, who sent his own mother to her grave by slicing through her carotid artery while she watched EastEnders. Even wise, gentle Nigel had caused the fatal collapse in the major organs of his wife by poisoning her slowly over the course of several months. Dark deeds and evil thoughts. By comparison, Anton’s soul is relatively unblemished. But when he picks up the wine bottle from the coffee-table and swings it at Leah’s head, it occurs to him that he is both bad and dangerous. He is what they have always claimed him to be: a cold-blooded killer.