‘It’s your own fault – you told him you were older,’ Jen continued. ‘And he’ll need a lot more than a kiss if you want to hang on to him.’
‘A lot more?’ Mo’s mouth was dry. She sipped her beer, which tasted bitter on her tongue.
Jen was still talking, oblivious to her discomfort. ‘A blowie, at the very least,’ she rasped. ‘Look. It’s no big deal. I do it all the time. And if you don’t like it, then there’s some stuff Wes can give you to make you feel better about it all.’
A sense of dread swelled up inside Mo. She knew it would not stop there.
‘It’s now or never,’ Jen said, nodding towards him. ‘Are you his girlfriend or not?’
Mo threw Wes an uncertain smile before leaning in to whisper to Jen. ‘But what if I tell him my real age? He won’t expect that if he knows I’m just thirteen, will he?’ The background music began to slur as the batteries in the stereo ran out.
‘Go ahead,’ Jen replied. ‘Tell him. Then watch him drop you like a bag of shit. I won’t be able to see you no more. None of us will. Do you want to go back to being Puddles? Is that what you want?’
The thought of being laughed at in the classroom drove a shudder through Mo’s very core. And it wasn’t just school. People were already saying things about her. Jen said she was the talk of the estate. But she was protected from being picked on because of who she associated with. She couldn’t imagine life without her new friends. She had to do what Wes wanted, no, expected of her.
Mo nodded, her eyes wide. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. But even the words felt dirty on her tongue. After a quick pep-talk from Jen, Wes was by her side. Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs.
As Mo came out of her session, her mind was filled with resolve. If only she could rewind time. Go back and stop this before it completely fucked her up. She remembered something Wes said to her. Five words that filled her with anger and hate. ‘You’ll get to like it.’ It was something she had said to her own victims each time she killed. But of course, they didn’t. Not even one. But she did. She liked killing them very much indeed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Donovan threw an arm over Amy’s shoulder, enjoying their time alone. They were out of sight of Bicks’s house now, and safe enough to stroll unnoticed along the Frinton greensward. His belly was full, his spirits lifted after a night of good food and even better company. Sighing in contentment, he took in the sight of the shimmering sea as it reflected the moonlight above. Donovan could see why so many people chose to retire here. Frinton had a regal elegance about it, a slower pace that was a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of city life.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ he said, giving Amy’s shoulder a squeeze.
‘They’re a nice family,’ she replied, staring out to sea as they slowly ambled down the green.
‘You bypassed the answer,’ came Donovan’s reply. He had sensed an initial discomfort, but after a couple of glasses of wine, she’d seemed to relax. He followed her gaze to a ship in the far distance; its twinkling lights seemed to mesmerise her.
‘That story about the little boy . . . What’s the deal with that?’
Amy’s sudden change of subject was an unwelcome one. ‘I’m not with you,’ Donovan replied. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not when the night had gone so well.
‘I think you are,’ Amy persisted. ‘And it’s not just you being modest. What happened?’
‘It’s in the past.’ Donovan stared at his feet, watching them move, one in front of the other, as they walked. It was how he had got through what happened that day. One step at a time. He wished Bicks had never brought the bloody thing up. There had been no heroics that day. He was a fraud. He had let everybody down.
But Amy was not one to be put off. Grabbing him by the arm, she stilled his movements, her grey eyes questioning as she searched his face. ‘Please. You know all about me. Even the stuff I struggle to accept.’
She had a point. Donovan sighed, steering them over towards some wooden steps that led down to the beach. At this hour of the night, they were the only people here. He shrugged off his coat, warmed by the nightcap he had enjoyed in Bicks’s home. Placing his jacket on the steps, he patted it for Amy to sit down. The swish of waves was hypnotic as they drew away from the sand. Inhaling a soft breath, Donovan tried to assemble his words. It was a painful subject, one he could barely bring himself to speak of. But he was in safe territory here.
Amy would not judge him or turn the other way.
As the two of them sat, squeezed on to the step, he found comfort from the warmth of her body as she slid an arm around his waist. He had barely spoken to a living soul about that night, and it pained him to bring it up. He could hardly blame her. He had pushed to know the truth about her background. It wasn’t born out of a wish to hurt her; it was a gentle opening of the doors into her past life. Everybody knew the image Amy presented to the world, but it took trust to be allowed through those doors. She had shared her darkest of secrets, and now it was time for him to do the same. He took a deep breath, prepared to revisit an incident that had shaped his life.
He described the shock of the cold as he instinctively ran into the sea. The mouthfuls of saltwater he had
