The last girlfriend, they used to meet on a Friday, and he would sleep over at her place on that night, but apart from that he had not felt any great emotion for her. Not that she was not affectionate, she was, but she came with a history of too many men, too much promiscuity. He had known her at school when she had been slim and cute with firm breasts and a tight arse. Then, she had not wanted to know him, but with time and a preponderance to put on weight, she had changed. When he had met her seven years after leaving school, she had gained twenty pounds and an extra chin, and her body had sagged after the birth of a child that she loved but he could only see as an encumbrance. She had professed love, but he knew the truth. She wanted a provider and a father figure for the child, the result of her promiscuity and a former student at the school they had attended.
Liam knew that when he wanted a child, he would find a good woman, maybe the woman who now had her arms around him.
‘We can dance if you want,’ she said as she kissed him firmly on the mouth. His mates, pretending not to notice but unable to resist, cheered.
The woman looked over at them and smiled. You bastards, she thought.
***
At first the music on the dance floor had been fast and frantic, with arms flying this way and that, but within ten minutes of Liam and the gorgeous black-haired woman hitting the floor, it had slowed, so much so that they had no option but to embrace and to sway with the music.
‘I want you,’ the woman said, her body pressing close to his.
‘We need to go somewhere,’ Liam said.
‘Anywhere is fine by me,’ she said as she pressed in close. She knew the effect she was having on the hapless individual.
‘My place is nearby,’ he said.
‘Too far.’
The conversation continued for several minutes. Garry, one of his drunken friends, attempted to cut in. Liam pushed him away.
‘Go away, find your own woman,’ Liam’s female said. She was almost glued to him now, and her constant gyrations up and down his body had the desired effect.
‘Can I see you again after tonight?’ he asked. He realised the dancing and the movement of his body were starting to reduce the effects of the alcohol. He could not believe his luck. He had looked around the club earlier before he had drunk too much. He had seen some attractive women, but sober he would not have approached them. Too many rejections by the sort of women he fancied had made him reluctant to repeat the process. Too many times had he been told that he was unattractive or fat or he smelt. It was true that his facial features were not good, nor was his body. It was not fat, more like baby fat that had not gone away. He discounted his need for greasy fish and chips and pizzas washed down with beer as the cause. The smell that they complained of he could not understand, but he thought it may be to do with the garlic which he liberally dosed on his food every day.
And now, here he was, with the most attractive woman in the club. He had not seen her on entering; assumed she had come later.
‘Why worry about tomorrow?’ the woman said when Liam persisted with asking her out the following day. She wore a tight blouse and a short skirt, unfashionably short. She knew she looked to be an easy lay, the effect she was trying to create. Five nights she had hidden away to the north of London in flea-bitten accommodation where only money was required and no prying questions were asked. Not that it concerned her, as she was adept at changing her appearance and her behaviour. She knew the medical diagnosis of her mental condition, but they were wrong, part of a plot to belittle her.
It was those bastards who were at fault, not her. She was the sane one, and those who conflicted with her had a limited life span. She intended to rid the world of those who caused her anguish, and as for her parents, they were the worst of them all. She tried to remember them fondly, but she could not. They could wait for another day.
Men were the problem; men who had paid for her body, men who had professed love but only wanted to screw her. Once she had dealt with this one, she would disappear for some time, but she would return.
Gregory Chalmers had treated her badly, as had his bitch wife. Brad Howard, that bitch Gloria’s boyfriend, had come over quickly that night. So much for his faithfulness to her. She had seen him undressing her with his eyes before; his death had been pleasurable. She imagined that the man she was with would not be as good as Brad, but she did not intend to waiver.
As she danced close to Liam, the gormless and charmless man, she reminisced. She thought of a happy childhood, until that stupid brother of hers had teased her and then broken her collection of dolls, even pulled the leg off one. She had been ten, too old for dolls, but she had loved her collection, especially the one with the missing leg. He had deserved to die, and she was glad that
