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‘I wasn’t planning on bringing it up.’
‘Yeah, probably not the best pillow talk.’
My mother didn’t answer, just twirled a curl around her finger. Stared into her plate. Linda brought her face to my mother’s level, held her eyes.
‘You don’t really think—’
‘No, of course not,’ she answered quickly. ‘It is strange though. All these things in common.’
Linda straightened up, shovelled in a mouthful. Spoke through it in a way that would have got me sent away from the table.
‘Because Matty Melgren, your handsome, charming boyfriend who drags halfway across town just to buy your daughter ice cream, is actually a woman-hating serial killer. Yep, that makes sense.’
‘Des thinks so,’ I said. ‘Look.’
I showed her the note. Linda shook her head, let her breath out slowly through her nose.
‘No wonder you’re in a tizz, Am. What a shitty—’
‘He was probably just looking out for us. . .’
‘Yeah, wasn’t thinking about his penis at all.’
‘Linda!’
I stifled a laugh. My mother was thirty-two, but her prudishness was pure Nanna.
‘I know you like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but in this case, Des Banister is just an opportunist prick.’
‘Some thick bollocks,’ I piped up.
Linda laughed, deep and throaty.
‘What’s that now, Soph?’
‘It’s what Matty calls him. Amongst other things.’
She laughed again.
‘Thick bollocks. Ha! I’m going to use that one.’
‘He can’t really be a bereavement counsellor, can he?’ my mother asked. ‘The killer, I mean. . .’
Such hope in her voice, a child wanting to be reassured, See, no monsters under the bed.
‘Would you give out identifying details in that situation?’
‘But why give any at all?’
Linda shrugged, loaded up her fork.
‘He’s obviously into game playing, like Professor Whatshisname on the telly said.’
My mother mumbled something.
‘You what now?’
‘Matty has a dog leash.’
