AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She’s crazy, isn’t she?I think.She’s insane.
‘Ah, it’s a bit of cliché really,’ she says. ‘I had a shitty childhood. I mean,reallyshitty. Abuse, neglect, all of it. My father … anyway, he died when I was twelve. And my mother, well, she was just plain nasty. Vile. A pathetic excuse for a mother. I have no idea why she went ahead with a pregnancy, because they didn’t love me, or want me, I know that. I don’t remember a single kind word, a single cuddle. I was unpaid household labour, mostly. They even used to go on holiday without me – can you imagine? I was nine the first time. Home alone for a week, barely any food in the cupboards, getting myself to school, terrified on my own at night … and when theywerethere, well, it was almost worse.’
She pauses for a moment, staring at the ceiling, her jaw tense. I swallow, my throat parched and sore.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper.
She looks at me again, her face expressionless.
‘My so-calledmotheris in a care home now. She’s never apologised, never, for what they did to me. And yet, I never fully walked away. How stupid am I? I even go and see her now and again, play the dutiful daughter, but honestly? She can rot in hell for all I care, the sooner the better. So, you know, I had to pretty much bring myself up. I had to work two jobs to get through university. No help from anyone, ever. Everything I’ve achieved has been down to me.Me, and me alone. And yet, growing up I saw people all the time who just didn’t have to make that effort. People who had it easy. Family money, support, the best of everything. People who did well in life because they had everything handed to them on a nice, big, shiny plate. That’s not achievement. That’slazy.And I started to hate those people, you know? I mean, reallyhatethem. Hate them so much I wanted to kill them. That’s just a thing people say, sometimes.Ooh, I could kill him.But because I’m mad, unhinged, whatever you want to call it – and yes, I know that too, I’m sick, even though I hide it well …’
She laughs. I’m standing in front of her, motionless, horrified, terrified, but she’s still talking, and that’s good, isn’t it?
Keep talking, Steph. Please, keep talking.
‘Well, I just took it a step further, and decided I wanted to become Britain’s most notorious, un-caught serial killer – because that’s what I’m going to be, you know. Andthosepeople would be my victims. It wasn’t hard to find them. I could have picked anyone, really. They’re everywhere. I decided they’d all have to be single though. No kids. I didn’t want any children to suffer. I’m not an animal. So I browsed local newspapers. I thought I’d choose people who’d actually gotpublicityout of their family connections, you know?Braggingabout it. And there they all were. Lisa Turner, a barrister in a posh Oxford chambers, spouting off toThe Timesabout there not being enough female judges.Boohoo.Jane Holland, with her massive casino business, but not through her own hard work – all left to her bydaddy– all over the papers with her goodie-goodie charity work. David Howells, with his oh-so-generous lottery winner parents. And you fitted the bill perfectly too, of course. With your rich, famous papa, who left you a fortune so you can piss about pretending to be a writer. Your byline on all those articles. Never interviewed a serial killer, though, have you? I knew you’d like that. I knew you’d start trying to work out who was behind it, so that was an extra little challenge for me. But you were clueless, weren’t you? You’d be nothing without your father’s help. Youarenothing. You’re a nobody. And in a minute, you’ll be adeadnobody, Mary Ellis.’
Her voice has been growing louder and louder, and now she’s practically shouting, spitting the words at me, and I’m still backing away, almost at the open bedroom now, edging my way towards the landing. She’s following me though, and I know now that I have to say it, that I have one last shot at this, and that the Operation Shearwater team did get that one detail right, after all; thisisall about our parents. It is, and now I have to tell her, tell her that Gregor Ellis isnotmy father. Tell her that, in fact, my background was very much like hers: tough, lonely, abusive. Tell her that I get it.
Because I do. I know what a childhood like that feels like. And how it never really goes away …
I take a breath.
‘I’m not, Steph.’
She frowns.
‘What?’
‘You want to kill Mary Ellis. You want to kill Gregor Ellis’s daughter, the one who had the fancy upbringing and … and all of it. But you’ve got this one wrong, Steph. I’mnotMary Ellis. Mary Ellis is already dead.’
