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Chapter 37
Monday 15th March
‘Mary? Are you very busy? Could I have a quick word?’
I’m so engrossed in what I’m writing that I didn’t hear Satish approaching my desk, but suddenly he’s there, standing behind me, and I frown as I turn to look at him. He looks as if he’s used some sort of new styling product; normally artfully messy, today his thick, dark hair is lying perfectly flat on his head.
‘I’m actually right in the middle of something. Can you give me fifteen minutes or so?’ I say brusquely. ‘I’ll come and find you.’
‘Sure. Sorry,’ he says. He stands there, fiddling with his navy and red striped tie for a few seconds, looking uncomfortable, then turns away and scuttles back to his desk. I watch him go, sigh, and type a few more words, then stop.
Damn. I’ve lost the flow now,I think.
I’m trying to start putting my article together, and it was going rather nicely until bloody Satish interrupted. I can’t write the main piece yet, of course: the section about my encounter with a serial killer who had my name on his hitlist, and how I managed to evade him and live, hopefully. I can’t write that until a) it actually happens, and b) I work out how to write it without revealing the truth to my readers about my big, fat lie of a life. But I’m trying to put the other bits together, those about the lives – and deaths – of Lisa, Jane, and David. I wrote Lisa’s part first, and now I’m on to Jane, trying to sift through my notes from my chat with Stella, and trying very hard not to be distracted by thoughts of Pete and, more importantly now, of Megan.
The conversation we had in the kitchen on Saturday and the – well,scary, quite frankly – look she gave me as they left has been preying on my mind, anxiety prickling my skin every time her face flashes into my head.
Does she know – or suspect – what Pete and I have been up to behind her back?I keep thinking.Is that it? Or is it something else? Why did she look at me with such … loathing? Hatred, almost?
A shiver runs down my back again now, like a cold finger caressing my spine. I texted Pete after they’d left, asking him to call me urgently and to do it from somewhere private. It took nearly two hours for him to get back to me, by which time I was furious as well as anxious.
‘I had to wait until Megan was in the shower,’ he whispered. ‘What’s wrong? Has something happened?’
When I angrily challenged him about why he’d told Megan I’d been thinking of going away at the end of the month, he seemed bemused.
‘I told her that ages ago, when you first suggested it as a possibility,’ he said. ‘I said you might be planning a little break. It was just so she wouldn’t think it was strange if you suddenly disappeared from the house and we hadn’t said anything. She doesn’t know anything else, I promise. Nobody does. Come on, Mary. What do you think I am?’
I felt a little embarrassed then for what suddenly felt like a massive over-reaction. Ofcoursehe would have had to give Megan some sort of explanation if I suddenly vanished for a couple of weeks. And so I apologised, blamed it on stress, and let him get back to her. But the way she looked at me, the way shespoketo me, is still bothering me, giving me an uneasy feeling deep in my guts.
And what thehellis Pete playing at with her, anyway? Yet again, he spent Saturday night with her and all day yesterday too, not arriving home until so late that I was already asleep, and leaving for work before I got up this morning. I’m assuming, as I haven’t heard anything from him, that he still hasn’t managed to get out of the relationship, and I can’t get my head round it. It’s not about me and him, itreallyisn’t; more that this just isn’t like Pete. I’ve never known him to do the dirty on a girlfriend; never known him to two-time. He’s a straightforward, honest kind of guy, and that’s one of the things I love about him. So to behave like this … it’s out of character. It’sodd.
I shake my head, trying to force myself to concentrate on my work, but it’s no good. And now I have to go and see what Satish wanted, although talking to him is the last thing I want to do right now. Reluctantly, I stand up and walk slowly towards his desk, where he’s rummaging in his top drawer. As I reach him, he pulls out a brown envelope, then sees me and stuffs it back into the drawer again, his cheeks reddening.
‘Mary! Oh. Thanks. Erm … well, what it was … erm …’
I wait impatiently, wondering why he’s suddenly looking so flushed.
‘Well, do you remember I asked you a while back if you’re around on the 31st of March? Have you decided yet if you’re going away at the end of the month? You weren’t sure back then, but it’s only a couple of weeks away now so I was just wondering …’
‘Why on earth do you want to know that?’ I explode. I know I’ve pretty much shouted the words at him; he visibly recoils, and I can see out of the corner of my eye heads at the nearest desks turning towards us. But I can’t help myself.
Again, asking me about where I’m going to be at the end of the month? What the …?I think, and I can feel the anger building, like a tight fist inside my chest.
‘It’s none of your bloody business whether I’m going away or not,’ I say, still far too loudly, my voice quivering. I suddenly feel like crying, or thumping the wall, or pushing Satish off his chair, none of which would be a good idea. He’s looking at me wide-eyed now, his mouth slightly open, eyes blinking at me from behind his rectangular glasses.
‘I’m sorry. I just …’
‘Oh, just keep away from me. YouandEdward. Leave me alone, OK?’ I say, and I give him what I hope is a withering look and stalk away, ignoring the curious stares I’m getting from the handful of other people who are in. But my heart is pounding, my legs are wobbly, and by the time I make it the few metres back to my desk and sink gratefully into my chair I’m feeling a little light-headed.
What the hell?I think. That’s the second time he’s tried to find out what I’m doing on the 31st of March.That must mean something, whatever the police think, surely? What if he and Edward aren’t directly involved, but are passing on information to the killer, maybe? What if they’re helping him find out where his victims are going to be on the day of the murder? That could be why they were in Oxford on New Year’s Eve, couldn’t it? And—
Oh shit …
Something else has just struck me. The envelope Satish was pulling out of his drawer as I approached, and then hastily shoved out of sight again? It was abrownenvelope.
The letter I got from the Diary Killer was in an envelope just like that, wasn’t it? Or am I being ridiculous? A brown envelope isn’t exactly unusual in an office, is it?
My hand shaking, I pick up my mobile phone, stand up – Satish has his head down at his desk, not looking in my direction now, thank goodness – and head for the kitchen. Thankful to find it empty, I shut the door and dial Jess’s number. She picks up almost immediately.
