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‘How so?’
‘Well, apart from turning my flat into a total pigsty, she’s obsessed with the idea that this freelance gossip column photographer, Greasy Ger, is hot on her tail, and her hiding place here won’t be a secret from the world for much longer.’ I smiled wearily. ‘I love her but it’s seriously doing my head in.’
Lance chuckled. ‘Greasy Ger?’
‘Real name Gerry Jackson, I think. Apparently, she broke his camera once and he’s made it his life’s work ever since to snap her in compromising positions for the papers.’
We turned at a victory shout from Janey. ‘You missed that, you two. I got it in third time.’
Grinning, Lance applauded loudly, and we said our goodbyes.
I walked back to the flat feeling on top of the world. I had friends here who cared about me and I had dinner with Kurt to look forward to. I’d said it before – but maybe my life reallywasturning a corner this time...
*****
Back at the flat, I tidied the place up, dumping all Skye’s scattered things on her bed. I was determined to made the most of having the place to myself with my sister out for the evening.
The peace was delicious – and so was the lasagne ready meal I ate in front of the TV, while catching up with the soaps. Later, after a lovely long soak in the bath with my book, I headed for bed. Skye wasn’t back yet. She must be having a good time...
In bed, I tried to read another chapter, but my eyes kept closing so I gave up and put out the light. And then, of course, just as I’d found the cosiest position and was drifting off to sleep, the door buzzer sounded, jerking me fully awake.
Grinning wearily, I hauled myself out of bed, feeling exasperated that Skye had forgotten her key. I quickly buzzed her up and, hearing her footsteps quickly mounting the stairs, I ran in search of my dressing gown. It was chilly in the flat with the heating off and no doubt Skye would want to talk about her evening. My dressing gown wasn’t in the bedroom, then I remembered hanging it on the back of the bathroom door.
Pulling it on, I dashed to let her in. Skye hated to be kept waiting.
I opened the door with a grin, expecting to find her waiting and looking pointedly at her watch.
But there was no one there.
What?
I’d definitely heard the buzzer (I hadn’t dreamed it, had I?) and I was sure I’d heard her footsteps on the stairs.
‘Skye?’ I called into the semi-darkness. But there was no reply.
A cold feeling enveloped me, which had nothing to do with the chilly night temperature. Where had she gone? Had Iimaginedthe sound of the buzzer...
I was about to retreat inside, when my eye caught a flash of colour and I looked down.
There on the doormat lay a single purple hellebore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It had to be Nash. Ithadto be.
He knew hellebores were my favourite flower. He knew where I lived. Was this his sinister way of creeping into my head, making sure I had no peace and preventing me from moving on without him? Maybe my walking out on him had made him so angry – dented his pride as well, of course – that he still wanted to have some kind of perverse hold over me...
Leaving the flower on the mat – I couldn’t even bear to touch it – I slammed the door shut and double locked it. Then I leaned against the wall feeling my legs trembling, tears of fear and frustration pricking at my eyes.
Maybe it wasn’t Nash. I’d grown used to him reacting with explosive anger to things he couldn’t control. But leaving creepy signs like a flower on the doormat? I just couldn’t see it somehow.
But if not Nash, who else could it be?
I gave a shaky sigh and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, not knowing what else to do. Because one thing was certain: I knew I wouldn’t sleep.
Whoever was doing this to get into my head . . . whatever their motive . . . it was one hundred per cent working . . .
*****
