The Perfect Girl Page 20

  The remote is lying on the arm of the sofa. I grab it and switch off the TV.

  “What the …?”

  Her face registers first surprise and then horror. We must look quite frightening, dressed in our white, protective gear, with gloves, masks and veils over our heads.

  “Who are you?” Daphne whispers. “What do you want with me?”

  26

  She can’t see my face, not in these clothes. She can’t see Claire’s either, which is just as well. She knows Claire, or at least she did once, before her husband was accused of killing her.

  “I can’t believe that after all these years you still have no idea who I am.” I look at her in disgust.

  “You’re the one who sent the letters aren’t you?” Her voice breaks slightly, betraying her fear.

  “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. I told you I was coming. I always told you I was coming.”

  She backs away, towards the mantelpiece.

  “I’ve been watching you,” I tell her.

  “Since Peter died?” Her eye flickers towards a little table where her iPhone is charging. She’s thinking of making a grab for it; I can tell.

  I laugh bitterly. “No, not just since Peter died. I’ve been watching you for much longer than that.”

  “I sensed it.”

  Her eyes dart to the table again. She must think I’m stupid. I grab the phone and whack it against the brick wall of the chimney then fling it into the grate, where it nestles among the coals.

  “Dial 999,” she says, her voice clear but shaky. My head jerks in the direction of the broken phone. To my alarm, the screen lights up.

  “Calling, 9 … 9 … 9,” it says in robotic fashion.

  “How did you do that?” I demand.

  “It must be voice-activated,” says Claire. “Look, it’s dialling.”

  “Turn it off! Turn it off!” I shriek. I grab it out of the grate and stomp down hard with my boot, kicking it until the display cracks.

  “The police are on their way,” Daphne says triumphantly. “I think you’d better go.”

  Claire looks at me in panic.

  “She’s bluffing,” I say, shoving Daphne to the floor. I’m not sure if she is or not, but we’re not leaving until the job’s done.

  A tiny Yorkshire Terrier flies into the room, yapping its head off. I’m surprised it didn’t bother us before now, but it looks a bit past it. The dog is no threat, but it keeps jumping up at me and its yapping is really getting on my nerves.

  “Shut up! I can’t think!”

  I boot it across the room.

  “Coco!” Daphne cries, as it lands in a heap on the floor. It gives a pathetic little whimper then falls silent. I glance over. I didn’t mean to hurt the dog. I just needed it out of the way.

  “You should have called him off,” I tell Daphne, who is bawling her stupid eyes out.

  I turn to Claire, who’s watching with a mournful expression. “What are you waiting for? Spray her!”

  “No!” Daphne tries back to away as Claire aims the bottle at her. She covers her eyes, but the spray just keeps coming.

  “What is that?” she coughs, falling back onto the sofa.

  “It’s just deodorant,” Claire says. She sounds almost apologetic.

  “Keep spraying!” I command. “Don’t stop until the bottle’s empty!”

  Daphne has her hands over her face so she doesn’t clock what I’m doing as I set the box down in the middle of her living room. I slash the tape it’s wrapped in and let the sides of the box collapse.

  “Be free, my little beauties!” I whisper.

  A cloud of bees escape, confused and disorientated. The ceiling changes from white to black as more and more of them appear. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, all loose in Daphne’s living room. It doesn’t take them long to find her. The deodorant is pungent. She screams and tries to swat them away, making them angry. Soon she is just a writhing black blob. The dog pulls itself up on its wonky legs and wobbles towards its mistress. It makes a pathetic attempt to paw at the bees, before it too is swallowed up in the black cloud.

  Claire and I back away towards the door. There are plenty of bees buzzing round us, but our clothes protect us from the worst. Not that I’m worried about a few bee stings. I take one last look back at Daphne but it’s like something out of a horror film. I can’t see her for bees.

  “Come on! We’ve got to get out of here!” Claire says. “I think I can hear someone in the driveway.”

  “Wait!” I pull my phone from my pocket. “I just want to take a picture.”

  Jock refused Dylan’s hand as he climbed onto the boat. He wouldn’t put it past him to give him a friendly shove into the water. His sense of humour was pretty warped. Dylan started the boat up and soon they were cruising along.

  “I’ll let you steer for a bit if you like?” he offered.

  “OK,” Jock said. It seemed pretty easy. Still, he felt a little nervous as Dylan disappeared down into the cabin. What if he lost control and couldn’t stop? He pulled nervously at the tiller as another boat came into view. For a moment, he wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to pull left or right, but before he could make a decision, the other boat moved over. Jock relaxed and began to get a feel for the boat. By the time Dylan resurfaced, he was steering gently up river and he still hadn’t hit anything. In fact, he was starting to enjoy himself.

  “Come on, Jock. I’ll show you how it’s done,” Dylan said, elbowing his way in.

  “I’m fine,” Jock said through gritted teeth. He didn’t really want to give up the tiller, but he supposed he had to, seeing as it was Dylan’s boat. He let go and stood to one side, watching as Dylan steered with confidence. Come to think of it, Dylan did everything with confidence.

  “Are you sure you’re not going too fast?” he asked, as he felt the boat judder.

  “Whoever heard of speeding on a narrowboat?” Dylan said with a laugh. “I could walk faster than this.”

  “There must be a speed limit.”

  “Do you see any police?”

  The boat was starting to swing about from side to side, causing a bit of a tide to wash up on the bank.

  “Dylan, you need to slow down!” Jock warned. “Slow down or I’m getting off.”

  He looked over at the bank, wishing it was low enough for him to jump onto. To his relief, Dylan actually slowed down.

  “Why don’t you drive again for a bit?” Dylan said. “I’m getting bored, anyway. I’ll get us a couple of drinks.”

  Jock smiled and resumed steering. To his immense surprise, Dylan returned a few minutes later with a couple of cans of coke.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you drink a soft drink before,” he commented, “apart from tea, of course.”

  Dylan shrugged. “I don’t have to drink all the time, you know. In fact, I almost never drink on Sundays.”

  They found a mooring on the bank at Pepper Hill and tied the boat securely.

  “Do you know the place well?” Jock asked as they climbed up the steps and walked along the narrow lane.

  “Yeah, Efa used to drag me round here quite a bit. It’s all posh boutiques and art galleries. It hasn’t even got a proper pub, just a sodding wine bar where they charge you three times the normal price just because the carpets don’t smell of armpit.”

  “I can see the appeal.”

  “Here’s the jeweller’s,” he said, leading him into a shop with little glass cabinets containing rings and necklaces.

  “Hey, these look pricey,” Jock said.

  “You’ve got money, haven’t you?”

  “I thought the whole object of this trip was to get something discounted?”

  “Oh! Was it?”

  The saleslady looked familiar, but Jock couldn’t place her until she took off her glasses and pointed to the door. So that was why they were really here, so Dylan could spy on his ex-girlfriend and generally be an arse.

  “Don’t be like that,” Dylan wheedled. �
��Jock here is after a present for his sister.”

  Efa scowled then, catching a look from her manager, transformed her face into a smile.

  “What sort of thing are you looking for?” she asked Jock.

  “A necklace or something,” he said.

  “What does she like? Gold or silver?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “What’s her dress style?”

  “Smart chav.”

  She smiled slightly. “In that case, sir, we’re probably talking gold. Let me show you what we have in the Tombstone range.”

  “Sounds a bit goth?” he queried.

  “Believe me,” she murmured, removing a gleaming gold necklace from its box. “A goth wouldn’t be seen dead in this.”

  “I can’t believe you put me in that position,” he complained to Dylan as they left.

  “What are you talking about? You got what you came for, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, thanks. At quadruple the price. I’ll probably have to mortgage my flat to pay for it.”

  “Or just scribble another book. You’ll be fine.”

  “You still shouldn’t have taken me to Efa’s shop. There are plenty of other places we could have gone.”

  “What’s the big deal? We were probably doing her a favour. It’s not like she had any other customers.”

  “It’s stalking, or harassment at the very least.”

  “What harassment? I barely said a word.”

  “That’s because you were staring so hard.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do? I never see her anymore. She was my world, Jock. And then she walked out on me.”

  Dylan clearly enjoyed playing the victim in this scenario. The way he talked, you would think Efa had betrayed him. His drinking didn’t seem to figure into it at all.

  “You have to accept that she doesn’t want to see you anymore,” Jock said.

  Dylan kicked a pebble into the road. “You’re a heartless man, Jock. You really are.”

  “I thought you were moving on. What about those women from the party?”

  “Oh, them! They were just a bit of fun. I’m a one-woman man really.”

  “But she’s left you!”

  “Yeah! It’s going to be a long, lonely existence.”

  “You should really leave the poor woman alone. Don’t you know there are plenty of fish in the sea?”

  Dylan looked astounded. “Fish? What do I want with a fish? You can’t sleep with a fish. And who’d even want to? I’ve never understood the whole mermaid thing. Swim back into the sea, Ariel, before someone catches you and has you on toast.”

  Jock looked at him out of the side of his eye. “Have you quite finished?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Man, you’ve some cock-eyed notions.”

  Dylan’s shoes squeaked loudly as they walked along the pavement. The high street was eerily silent, as if everyone had gone inside and locked their doors. There was no one out mowing their lawn or even walking the dog.

  “Where is everyone?” Jock murmured.

  “Maybe they’re all in church,” Dylan said doubtfully.

  It seemed unlikely. Organised religion was a minority occupation in these parts. It didn’t seem plausible that the entire population of Pepper Hill had suddenly seen the light.

  “Hey, do you want to see Gabriella’s shop?” Jock asked. “She’s got some really trippy paintings.”

  “Not particularly,” Dylan said. “Art galleries bore the pants off me.”

  “It’s modern art,” he said.

  “Ugh! The worst kind! Self-indulgent tat! They get a monkey and stuff it with recycled tyres and then sell it to some sucker with more money than sense.”

  Jock shrugged. “I thought you’d like it. You draw some pretty surreal stuff yourself.”

  “I keep my doodles in my pad where they can’t hurt anyone.”

  “You really are odd; you know that? I’m just going to call Gabriella. We might as well say hello since we’re here. Besides, I still want to know what’s going on with her and Simon.”

  “What, you think he’s having a left-handed honeymoon?”

  “I don’t know. There’s definitely something going on there.”

  “Very well, call her if you must. But I think it’s highly unlikely that Simon would cheat on Angie with that salad dodger.”

  Gabriella sounded quite pleased to hear from him.

  “Oh, hi, Jock. I’m just on my way home for lunch. Why don’t you join us? Mum always makes too much. I’ll even make you a cappuccino so you can see how it’s supposed to taste.”

  “Sounds great. Um … I’ve got Dylan with me. Is that OK?”

  “I take it he’s house-trained?”

  “I can’t promise anything. Maybe you should put down some newspaper.”

  Gabriella’s laugh echoed down the phone. “I’ll text you the address. See you soon.”

  “Do we have to?” Dylan grumbled, as he slid the phone back into his pocket.

  “Don’t be such a misery guts,” Jock said. “It’ll be fun.”

  His phone buzzed and he stopped to read Gabriella’s directions. “We need to turn left at the Lipo Clinic and then right at the Happy Puppy Dog Jewellers.”

  “Are we nearly there yet?” Dylan moaned, five minutes down the road. “I’ve got a stone in my shoe.”

  “Why don’t you take it out then?”

  “I can’t. It’s character forming.”

  “You’re definitely an acquired taste; you know that?”

  “Hey, isn’t that Gabriella?” Dylan asked, as a woman came running out, waving her arms in the air.

  “Help! Help!” she screamed. “Oh God! You’ve got to help me!”

  27

  It was adrenalin rather than courage that propelled Jock forward, over the gravel path and into the house. A couple of bees flew past his ear; it wasn’t him they were interested in, but their freedom.

  “Quickly! This way!” Gabriella called, charging down the hall into the living room at the back of the house. It took Jock a moment to realise what he was looking at. At first, it was just a blurred, black mass and then he saw the body, covered from head to toe in bees. The bees didn’t look much better off than the body. Some of them were struggling and flapping their wings, but few looked particularly lively. Once they had stung their target, that was it for them; their lives were over.

  “Come on, Mum! You’ve got to wake up!” Gabriella sobbed. She grabbed a magazine and used it to shoo the bees off her mother’s face.

  Jock’s legs shook beneath him. He was not equipped to deal with this. He was a thinker, not a doer. He couldn’t cope with emergencies. He looked at Daphne and tried not to retch. “Have you called 999?”

  “Of course I bleeding well have! They’re on their way.”

  He was vaguely aware of Dylan opening doors and windows, attempting to drive the bees out of the room.

  “Are they still on the line?” he asked.

  “It’s on loudspeaker, for all the good it’s doing.”

  He leaned towards the phone. “Is there anything we can be doing?” he asked the operator. He couldn’t hear much over all the commotion, so he pressed the receiver to his ear.

  “Have you checked that her airways are clear?” he asked Gabriella.

  “They are now,” she replied, as her mother let out a long cough. “That’s it, Mum; spit ’em out.”

  “That’s good. Now we need to get her into the recovery position.”

  He forced himself to move towards Daphne. Most of the bees appeared to be dead or dying, but a few still flew around, hampering their efforts to help. He tried not to cry out as one of them stung him on the back of the hand. He pulled back. It smarted, but how much pain must Daphne be in, covered from head to toe?

  “We need to get her on her side,” he said to Gabriella.

  “OK, let’s roll her.”

  He got down on one side of her and Gabriella on the other. It was hard to see where to hold. The entire l
ength of her flesh was covered in bees.

  “OK, on three,” Gabriella said. “One, two …”

  But before they could roll her over, Dylan came charging back into the room and sprayed them all with a garden hose. The water caused a cloud of bees to rise up in the air. Several fell to the floor, dead, whilst others flew for the nearest window. The majority of them seemed to head for the front door, where Dylan had turned a light on.

  Jock looked down. It had worked. There were far fewer bees on Daphne now, although they were all now covered in cold water.

  Daphne opened one eye.

  “She’s waking up!” Gabriella exclaimed. She glanced at Dylan, who was still clutching the dripping hose. “Will you get that out of here?”

  “You’re welcome!”

  “And get some blankets, will you?”

  “Where from?”

  “Just go upstairs and grab them off the beds.”

  “Do you remember what happened?” Jock asked, trying not to mind how his damp clothes clung to his body.

  Daphne mumbled something unintelligible.

  “She can’t talk,” said Gabriella. “She’s been stung in the mouth.”

  Dylan came back downstairs with a duvet and laid it over Daphne. “Don’t worry; you’re going to be OK,” he said softly.

  Her eyes crinkled slightly, as if she were trying to smile.

  “She’s trying to speak,” Gabriella said and tried to take her mother’s hand. “Go on, Mum. I’m listening.”

  The injured woman let out a murmur.

  “What’s she saying?” Jock asked.

  “Sounds like … cocoa,” Dylan said.

  “She’s asking for her dog,” Gabriella told them.

  “Haven’t seen a dog,” Jock said, looking around the room.

  “Coco!” Daphne tried again then closed her eyes, as if it were all too much of an effort.