The Dead Ex(41)

This room was all hers? But it was bigger than the flat where she and Mum had lived.

‘You don’t need to come to the window if you don’t want to. Maybe you’d like a bit of a lie down on the bed.’

It was a proper one! Not just a mattress. Big enough for her and Dawn, if she’d been here. But she didn’t deserve something nice like that, Scarlet told herself. Not after what she’d let Mr Walters do. Why hadn’t she tried to stop him? She was a bad, bad girl.

‘Or perhaps you’re hungry?’

The lady called Dee was looking at her with such a kind face that Scarlet knew it had to be a trick. ‘You poor dear,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve been through so much. No wonder you don’t want to talk. And there I am, prattling away like there’s no tomorrow.’

There was a cushion on the bed. A bright red one with a flower on it. Slowly, Scarlet lifted it down and put it on the floor. Then she laid her head on it.

‘Are you sure you’re comfortable there?’

Scarlet put her hands over her ears to block her out. It wasn’t the woman herself. She was nice enough. It was everyone. Everything. Mum. Dawn. The police. But especially those soft white hands which had taken her voice away.

The hands still let the voice through. ‘You know, I find it helps to jot things down when I don’t want to say them. I write poetry myself. Robert is a photographer. He specializes in nature. In fact, he’s had quite a few pictures printed in magazines. Maybe later, when you’ve settled in, you’d like to go on a walk with him.’

Scarlet began to shake. What if he hurt her too?

‘You could leave the dog behind, if that’s what’s scaring you.’

Still no.

‘I’m going to leave you on your own for a bit now, Scarlet. I’ve a feeling that’s what you want. But I’ll be downstairs if you want company. Your social worker is there too. I baked a cake this morning. A Victoria sponge! It’s got plum jam inside that I made myself. Next year, you can help me make some more.’

Next year? But that was ages away.

Dee seemed to understand the thoughts in her head. ‘The plan is, Scarlet, that you’re going to stay here for some time. We’ll help you, Robert and I. Everything’s going to be all right now. I promise you. Now remember. When you’re ready, just come downstairs.’

But Scarlet stayed as still as she could, pretending to be asleep.

Only when she heard the footsteps going downstairs, did she get up. Slowly she went to the window. The Robert man was down by the water. Mum had once taken her to a big river called the Tems that ran through London. She’d had to wait on the huge bridge for a man to come up and give her a package. Then she’d had to run down the other side and give it to a woman selling newspapers. Mum had given her a fiver for that.

Uh-oh. He was turning and looking, as if he knew she was staring out of the window! Getting down on the floor, Scarlet crawled across the carpet so he couldn’t see her any more.

‘Scarlet?’

There was the sound of knocking.

‘Are you all right in there?’ It was the social worker’s voice.

Her eyes darted round the room to see if she could push something against the door to stop them getting in. The chest of drawers was too heavy, but this chair might do.

‘It’s OK if you want to move things around.’ This was Dee’s voice. ‘But don’t hurt yourself, will you?’

Back at the window, Scarlet could see the man walking up to the house again. He disappeared out of sight. Then she heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

‘If anyone tries to get you, just run.’ Wasn’t that what Mum had always said?

The window catch was stiff. Ouch.

She could hear the chair behind her, moving across the carpet as the door began to open.

‘For God’s sake, child. What are you doing up there?’

The drop below made her feel dizzy.

‘DON’T JUMP!’

She hesitated. For a moment, Scarlet thought she was going backwards into the room. And then she fell.





Every client is a blank sheet. They come to me for so many reasons. More happiness. Less stress. More libido. Better sleep.

I love working out what oils to use.

But it’s the return visits that are important. I need to check that my blends have worked. That I am creating a new person.

In some ways, it’s like writing a diary. You can start a fresh page whenever you want. You choose your ingredients.

And you can begin all over again. Now the police have taken my diary away, I have simply started another. Old habits die hard. I need to let out my emotions somehow.

If only I could turn over a new leaf with life.

There’s so much I’d change.

And so much that I can’t.





19



Vicki

31 March 2018


It’s nearly a month since I decided to visit Tanya. I’ve been mulling this over for too long. Putting it off. Waiting for the police to arrest me again. But they haven’t. Not yet. For years I’ve been wanting to give Tanya a piece of my mind about stealing my husband. Yet for some inexplicable reason – which I share with other ex-wives, according to some of the online forums I’ve been on – I’m actually scared of seeing my replacement in the flesh.