Me. Her. Him - Chapter Thirteen

September 2022

I stretch out in bed, relishing in the warmth of the covers. I can’t believe it’s Saturday again, the weeks flown by. I reach for my phone on my bedside cabinet and check for texts from Rebecca, heart thudding. There’s been nothing since her one last night. She’d gone straight from college yesterday with her friends, perhaps she thought if she came home first there might be a chance I might stop her from going. Even though she texted me as I was going to bed, I still couldn’t sleep. I stare at her last message.

All good just off to bed xxx

I place my phone face down. Paul would be telling me to relax, try not to think about it. She’ll be home tomorrow night. It’s just for a couple of days. She’ll be home tomorrow evening. I fling off the covers. Paul’s already up; he’ll be downstairs preparing breakfast. He always does that on a Saturday; his love of cooking was one of the first thigs he confessed about himself to me.

‘Tell me something about you, something that’s going to make my heart sing,’ I’d said, resting my head on his shoulder.

He half-yawned. ‘Well, OK, I’m . . . I’m a bit of nerd, well, I mean, I like cooking.’

‘Cooking, amazing, I can just about make scrambled eggs,’ I’d laughed.

He’d given me a sorrowful look. ‘Please don’t say in a microwave,’ he’d said.

‘Oh but of course.’

He’d shaken his head and put on a strong French accent. ‘No, no, no, you cannot put your eggs in a microwave, but if they’re your scrambled eggs mademoiselle I bet they’re the best in the world.’

To this day I still can’t quite believe one of the first proper conversations we had was about my rubbish scrambled eggs.

I grab my phone and jump out of bed, before pulling on my dressing gown hanging from the bedroom door. I edge out onto the landing to the sound of the radio playing downstairs. Paul’s humming away to Girls Like You by Maroon Five. I eye Rebecca’s open bedroom door. She’s not there. She’s away with her friends. Shaking my head I hurry down the stairs and into the kitchen.

‘Morning, amigo, bacon sarnie?’ Paul asks, looking over his shoulder, he’s standing by the stove.

‘Um, sure,’ I say sitting at the island. He proceeds to the fridge to get the bacon. ‘You slept well last night.’

‘Well, yeah, you know me, though, moment my head hits the pillow I’m soundo,’ he replies, flinging the fridge door shut and returning to the stove with the packet of bacon.  

He pours oil in the pan and switches the gas on. ‘How can you not be worried?’ I ask, balancing my elbows on the table. If there was only a way I could be like him, at least I wouldn’t have this banging headache for a start.

‘Angela, chill,’ he says. ‘We should enjoy a weekend alone together, we’ve . . . well, I don’t think we’ve ever had a whole weekend to ourselves before, have we?’

We haven’t. Years ago, Rebecca wanted to go to France with the school when she was eleven for the week, and I’d signed up to help out, there was no way I was going to let her go all that way without me being there. Paul stayed at home by himself.

‘Well, this is a glimpse of the future I suppose, isn’t it?’ I say.

My stomach churns at the thought of Rebecca one day moving out. That day’s getting closer and closer. There’s nothing I can do about it.

‘It’ll be like a new lease of life for us,’ Paul chuckles. ‘Think of all the holidays we’ll be able to go on.’

‘In our old age,’ I laugh. There’s a clatter from the hall. I look towards the front door in time to see the post fall through onto the mat. ‘Won’t be one sec.’

I get down from my seat and head into the hallway. The pan begins to sizzle on the stove. There’s a few letters on the mat. I pick the letters off the floor, but before I carry them through into the kitchen, something catches my eye. There’s a letter with just my name and address. Who would be writing to me? I pull out the letter and slide my hand under the seal. There’s a photograph inside. Someone’s sent me a photograph. I pull it out and have to hold my hand against the wall to steady myself. Shit. It’s a photograph of the six of us; me, Lauren, Hayley, Michelle, William and . . . I glance at his girlfriend, Caz, holding my hand to forehead. We’re sitting in a pub, I know exactly when this was taken, the year is ingrained in my memory.

Who the hell sent this to me? I thought I’d destroyed everything from that time. There’s something written on the back, one word big and bold written in red ink.

KILLER.