Of course she hadn’t planned to watch Scott die that day, but she had been enjoying his fear so much as she kept pushing him out across the pond and she had got carried away. And it wasn’t as if she had killed him; she just hadn’t helped him, fascinated as she watched his struggle to survive, then intrigued when she saw Bill’s reaction.

By the time they moved to Hixton, Bill was a willing participant in her games, even suggesting and building their special box. Eileen had been grooming those kids for weeks and had way more planned for them. It was a shame their fun had ended so abruptly.

Now Jill was dead, but Lauren, Tash, Rosie, and Hannah were still breathing, and that bothered her. She looked at the pictures of Rosie whoring herself all over social media, then at Hannah’s pet website. Hannah had been her favourite target, Eileen furious with her when the girl had snuck upstairs and caught her in the bedroom with Bill.

They had set her up in the barn, Bill persuading Hannah to remove her underwear, while Eileen waited to pounce, ready to dish out one of her punishments. It had been perfect.

Reliving the good old days was making her restless. If she could just get out for a little while, away from these four walls. She had already snuck out for a few short walks, hiding her hair under a cap and donning sunglasses, but it wasn’t enough.

The old bloke who had lived here had a car in the garage. Eileen had checked it and it worked. Was it worth the risk of taking it out?

As she toyed with the idea, the washing machine beeped and she went to empty it, loading her basket.

Bill had told her to stay put, but he wasn’t here. She could take the car out and be back before he returned. He would never know.

As she took the washing into the garden and started hanging clothes on the line, continuing to mull the idea over, the sound of footsteps crunching against gravel had her looking up and her mouth dropped open.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

36

Lauren couldn’t remember getting into bed, but then the truth was that right now she didn’t remember much about anything.

It was Wednesday and she had been at work. Of that she was fairly certain. She vaguely recalled arriving home. Had she eaten?

Perhaps that would explain the feeling of nausea and why she felt so out of it. She must have food poisoning.

Seriously, she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt as ill as this. Her vision was swimming, her limbs so heavy. She tried to sit up, but it was too much effort. Instead she focused on the air vent at the top of the wall, tried to count the metal strips to anchor herself.