‘Carly hates the idea. Last night I rang her and she was crying and that was even before I told her the news. This morning when I called she could barely pull herself together long enough to talk. It’s too much, him being out so close to the anniversary. I can’t get hold of Marie either. I rang her about a million times last night after Graham called. She said she was going to be home all evening but she didn’t pick up. I thought I saw him yesterday, you know.’

‘Graham?’ George can’t keep up with the way her mind is fragmenting.

‘No. Not Graham,’ she says impatiently and George knows exactly who she means.

She thinks he’s coming after her like before.

It’s happening. It’s happening again.

‘Leah.’ He takes her hand. Wishing he could feel skin instead of cotton. ‘You have nothing to hide.’

‘You don’t understand…’

‘I do.’ He squeezes her fingers. ‘I know what happened to you back then. I know everything about you.’

‘Nobody knows everything about anyone,’ she says darkly. George knows he has made a promise to Marie. He knows the approaching twenty-year anniversary is landsliding it all back, threatening to bury them all completely.

George knows more than he should.

He knows what’s to come.

He shakes away all thoughts of running away.

He doesn’t want to arouse suspicion.

Chapter Thirteen

Carly

Then

What was in the cardboard box?

Carly scratched at the brown parcel tape that sealed it with her nail until the end lifted but still she didn’t dare rip it off. Her heart kicked against her chest. Her stomach spun around faster. She had assumed the smell of decay was from years of neglect, from the rubbish, but what if it was coming from the box? What if it held the remains of something… or someone? It wasn’t large enough for a person, unless they’d been chopped up, but that only happened in movies, didn’t it? She thought again of Psycho. Of Norman Bates’ dead mother rocking in that chair.

‘What are you do—’

‘Stay over there,’ Carly ordered her sisters.

Think.

She needed to be brave and find out what was inside but Carly didn’t feel brave. She felt small and scared and she wanted to go home.

‘Is there something in the box?’ Marie asked.

Something.

Someone.

‘I… I don’t know, Marie.’

‘Why don’t you just—’

‘Shush a minute.’

Think.

The cardboard was stiff and dry. It hadn’t been here for as long as everything else. There was no blood seeping from the bottom of the box. What if it contained, not unimaginable horrors, but something useful? A torch perhaps. The prospect of this excited her not just because it would be dark soon and they’d have light, that was secondary to the desire for a weapon. Carly could picture herself hiding behind the door. Feel the weight of the torch in her hand, the force in her shoulder as she brought it down on Moustache’s head. Hear his screams. Smell his blood. She wasn’t usually one for dark thoughts but then this was not a usual situation. Her mind hopped. If not a torch then maybe tools. Something she could use to slice through the metal bars.