As we sat round the Christmas table, I realised my mother had taught me how to play act. I learnt from the best. I knew how to keep my emotions in check. I accepted the happy healthy vegetables that day too. We watched and listened to Amber’s amusing anecdotes about the children in her reception class; tales of tiny innocent beauties whom she taught to read and write.

Amber wore a plain navy skirt, which swirled round her shapely legs as she cleared away the dishes. Her white silk shirt couldn’t conceal the provocative outline of the lacy bra supporting her rounded breasts. I came to understand Mr Flynn. The need to punish and the desire to drive myself hard into Amber became intolerable as she flitted about the kitchen. I wanted to pin her against the door, smack her from side to side until she screamed and begged for me to stop. But I knew I wouldn’t stop.

The charade continued over coffee and liqueurs and then my mother handed us each a white envelope containing our Christmas gifts. Inside were tickets for a week’s holiday in the sun. Our parents had given us separate envelopes so we could share the enjoyment of unwrapping our presents individually. They didn’t know. They really had no idea we were no longer an item.

Amber would have been wise to own up then and there. She took the coward’s way out and thanked them with slobbery kisses. She whooped with delight in my direction over the generosity of such a wonderful gift. Apparently we could book any available departure date before the first of April next year. We could also travel alone.

New Year 1995

Jealousy, a fatal flaw, spawned from covetousness,

eats away like maggots on necrotic tissue.

Murderous hatred concentrates the mind

on sadistic imaginings of its prey.

20

Rebecca

New Year’s Eve finally came around. I’d begun to accept that the phone mightn’t ring.

I heard the post arrive downstairs around ten o’clock. I forced myself up from under the heavy duvet and went to pick it up. There were no handwritten letters or postcards poking out from under the charity appeals and takeaway flyers. However, there was a legal letter stamped ‘Baines and Hopkins Solicitors’. Anxiously I ripped it open.

‘Dear Miss Carrington…’ It requested my presence at the reading of Roger Pennington’s will on Monday 3rd January. Also enclosed was a small card notifying me of funeral arrangements for the day after.