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‘What? Don’t be silly, Megan. We’re just worried about you,’ I say, trying to keep my tone light, but she takes a step towards me, then another, and as I look at her, puzzled, her face suddenly contorts with rage and then she’s reaching for me, fingers curling as she stretches out her arms, hands moving towards my neck.
‘You bitch!’ she spits, and I feel a lurch of fear.
What is she doing?
I feel her long nails graze my skin, and I step backwards.
‘Megan!’ I screech. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
I look desperately at Pete, but he’s standing there motionless, as if in a trance, eyes fixed on his ex-girlfriend, and a sudden, horrifying suspicion slams into my brain.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
Suddenly it’s as if everything’s happening in slow motion. Megan’s still coming towards me, her beautiful face twisted into an ugly snarl, but my mind is racing, thoughts whirling through my head.
Is it possible?
Think, Mary. Think. Could Megan be the Diary Killer? The way she’s acted towards me recently … where was she on the nights of the other murders? I have no idea what she did on New Year’s Eve, but …
I gasp, the thoughts still churning even as I take another step backwards, my fear spiking now, trying to get away from her. I remember the night of Jane Holland’s murder, when Pete took a late-night call from Megan and headed off to be with her. I think about how they were together again on the night of David Howells’s murder, and how Pete didn’t call me until much later than planned the following morning, telling me his work plans had changed at short notice. A little whimper escapes me.
Could he be in on it too?
I think about how he told me he’d come with me if I was moved to a safehouse. How he insisted on staying here with me tonight. How he was so vocal about having no cameras or listening devices in the house. Was all that so he couldkillme? Suddenly, I think I’m going to be sick. The fear is paralysing.
No, please, no. Could they really be in it together? Is that why he kept saying he was going to finish with her, and then didn’t? Is it really over now at all? Or is this all part of a plan? Her turning up here acting all upset so I’d be OK about him letting her in? Oh shit, SHIT. Am I crazy? Am I imagining all this? But if I’m not, why isn’t Pete doing anything? Why isn’t he stopping her?
‘PETE! Help me!’
He still appears to be frozen to the spot, his face looking even paler than it did a few minutes ago, his eyes wide, but my scream seems to jolt him into action.
‘MEGAN!’
He jumps forwards and grabs her around the waist, pulling her backwards, away from me.
‘MEGAN! What the hell are you doing?’ he shouts.
For a few moments, she struggles violently, hands still clawing the air, trying to get closer to me. Then, quite suddenly, her body goes limp.
‘Sorry … I’m so sorry,’ she gasps. ‘I’ve had a few drinks. I just thought that you two … I didn’t mean to …’
And now she’s crying again, tears streaming down her cheeks, her slender shoulders heaving. She turns in Pete’s arms, and buries her face in his chest, and he looks at me helplessly.
‘What do I do?’ he mouths.
I’m shaking from head to toe, and I stare at him. I have no idea what to say, no idea what’s going on here.
Can I trust him?
But he just saved me, didn’t he?I think, frantically.He must be still on my side; he must be. And Megan … she’s just drunk, that’s all. Neither of them is the killer; they can’t be. I’m being ridiculous. I’ve got this all wrong …
I swallow hard.
Calm down. Act normal.
‘Deal. With. It,’ I mouth back, and I pick up my phone from the arm of the sofa and leave the room. But I’m still shaking as I stagger downstairs, and when I make it to the kitchen I lean on the counter for a long time, trying to stabilise my heart rate, breathing slowly and deeply.
Keep it together, I tell myself.Of course Pete and Megan aren’t involved in any of this. Don’t get paranoid, not now. Get a bloody grip, woman.
