She acted like her life was still worthwhile for the kids’ sake. Sometimes, she would think of Charlie and her smile would be genuine. But it was a rare thing.
Folding the jumper neatly, she kissed it, placing it on the foot of the bed, and glanced back down into the box. A small chunky safe-deposit tin sat in her view.
The smile faded from her lips.
Her hand unconsciously drifted up to her neck, as she fondled the tiny silver key which hung around it. Her fingertips brushed against her skin, and she drew in a breath, as her heart rate increased.
‘Mummy, are you coming? We’re taking the puppy out for a walk!’ Daisy screeched excitedly up the stairs.
‘I’ll be right down!’ she replied, as she padded across the carpet, pushing the bedroom door gently shut, and turning the lock. Returning to the packing carton, she lifted out the metal box, holding it tightly in both her trembling hands. She pressed it against her cheek. The cold surface sent a rush through her, making the hair on the back of her neck stand to attention.
The only thing she had taken with her through every incarnation of her life. Through every identity. The one item that linked her to Kitty Briscoe.
It was peppered with rust from where it had been buried at one point. Terrified it would be discovered when she was a child, she hadn’t dared keep it in the house. She had hidden it in the stables in Brighton and gone out to look at it every now and then when she thought people wouldn’t notice. She was afraid she’d been caught out by Charlie, the night after the first note arrived, when she couldn’t sleep and slipped out of the bedroom. She had assumed he was deep in slumber, but he had seen her. She never knew if her story about going for a walk had convinced him.
It didn’t really matter anymore, she supposed.
She unfastened the chain from her neck, and the key fell into her palm. She caressed it between her fingers, biting her bottom lip. Biting so hard she drew blood. The metallic taste filling her mouth.
Hearing footsteps galloping up the stairs, she glanced nervously towards the door. The steps passed hurriedly by, and Beth relaxed a little. Pushing the key into the lock, she turned it, opening the lid and lifting out its contents.
Smiling again, she held it up to her nose, inhaling, as she had done with Charlie’s sweater, but no smell remained. Placing the package down on the carpet beside her, she drew in slow, deep breaths, trying to remain calm. She carefully unfolded the grubby blue-and-white stripy fabric, tattered, fraying at the edges.
Dark stains, almost black now, coloured the material. The paring knife she had taken from her grandmother’s kitchen all those years ago glinted in the sunlight. Dry blood still dirtied the steel blade. She touched it, and it sent a shiver through her body, like a spark of electricity, the same way it always did.
Excitement? Fear? She wasn’t sure anymore.
She picked up the tiny lock of blond hair, tied with a scrap of pink ribbon, stroking it softly across her cheek.
She closed her eyes, saw the metal piercing Billy’s skin.
Her nipples stiffened as she felt the familiar arousal, and she blushed, ashamed of her reaction to such a thing. Even after all this time.
She knew she should have got rid of the box years ago. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She needed it.
She should have left it to burn in the house, along with her father’s body, after she had used the knife to slit his throat.
When she had returned home that evening; the night she’d walloped him on the head with the bronze horse. He was paralytic in his chair. He’d drunk himself into oblivion again. A cigarette sat smouldering in the ashtray beside him. She knew that there would be trouble when he was sober the following day. She had crossed a line. She’d answered back before, but she had never dared to strike him.
He would make her pay. Without a doubt. Her mother too.
So she had retrieved the weapon from its hiding place. Crept up behind him where he slept and finished it. There and then. It had still been sharp, which surprised her, but it sliced through his flesh like a wire through cheese. The fire had covered her tracks, leaving nothing behind but charred bones.
She had no choice. She did it to save her mother. And to save herself. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t relished it.
With one final glance downwards, she folded the package up again, placing it back into its casing, firmly locking it and replacing the key around her neck. She crossed to the bookcase, pushing a few of the tomes aside. She slid the box to the back of a tall shelf, replacing the books in front of it.
She needed these keepsakes. They were part of her, and she was part of them. Besides, she liked how they made her feel. The buzz. The power.
They reminded her what she was capable of.
Despite all the years she had spent denying it, there was no escaping what she had done.
She would always be the girl who got away with murder.
THE END
Acknowledgements
First of all, I’d like to thank Colin, for supporting me through this entire process, and giving me the kick I needed at times to keep going. It’s a scary step taking a dream and turning it into a reality, so to have wonderful friends and family giving me the encouragement I needed to carry on has been a game changer. So to the handful of special people who have stood by me every step of the way… you know who you are, and I love you.
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