29

The back door flew open and rattled in its frame, shaking, vibrating like a leaf caught in a breeze. Abi had been making a cup of coffee at the kitchen counter—the noise caused her to jump, raining sugar granules over the worktop.

Steven stepped out of the darkness and stood in the doorway.

“Oh shit,” Abi uttered, hand on chest. “You scared me half to death, what’s—” Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widened. “Shit, Steven, what is it? What’s wrong?”

His face was white, his chest heaving, the vein on his temple throbbed.

“I—I—I—”

Abi dropped the spoon. The metallic clatter reverberated throughout the room, catching Steven’s attention as he glared at the object and then slowly dragged his eyes to the floor in front of him, the dining room table next to it, and then eventually to Abi.

“What’s wrong?” she pushed. “You look like you’ve seen—”

“Don’t say it.” He looked away, dropped his head into his hands. “You have no idea.”

“Here,” Abi took him by the arm, noted how he flinched, how his horrified eyes met hers for a moment and sent a chill down her spine. “Sit down, over here.” She guided him to one of the dining room chairs, but he froze, locked in position, his eyes even wider, his breath even heavier.

“No, no.” He shook his head, stepped back. “Not there. I—I—” His gaze met hers again and this time remained. All the calm and the gentility that had been there before, had remained there throughout the short time she had known him, had gone, replaced by a hardened, cold edge. It scared her and told her all that she needed to know—whatever had happened, it was bad, and it was going to change both of their lives. “I need to use your phone.”

“Why?”

“Where is it?”

“I gave you it,” Abi reminded him. “You took it with you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not your cell. It fell. I lost it.” There was panic in his movements. They were haggard, short, frantic. He looked like he was under the influence of some drug.

“You lost my phone, where?”

“In the house. It’s not important—”

“Yes, it is. Steven, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Abi tried to grab him, her hands on his shoulders to steady him, to get him to look her in the eye and tell her what had happened, but he shoved her off, his attention elsewhere.

“Give me your landline phone. I need to call the police.”

“I don’t have one.”

His gaze finally focused on hers. The whites of his eyes were slightly bloodshot and moist with tears, something that hadn’t been there before. It was as if he was breaking down in front of her.

“You don’t have a landline?”

Abi shook her head, feeling her anxiety grow, her panic escalate. She hadn’t known Steven for long, but they had been intimate together, they had shared secrets, family histories, likes, dislikes—he was the first man she had slept with that she actually had a connection with. The first man who wasn’t just using her. But now, everything that she thought she knew about him was fading, replaced by questions, paranoia, concern.

Had he lost his mind? Had he done something bad?

“We need to phone the police,” he said eventually, his eyes on his own feet, lifting them slowly, looking at the soles. It was as if he could see something that she couldn’t. He pulled his attention back to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, locked his gaze in hers. “Robert is dead. Someone has killed him.”

“No,” she shook her head. “That can’t be. That means—”

“That means he’s not the killer,” Steven finished for her. “And whoever is the killer, they could be targeting you.”

Abi was suddenly very aware of the darkness that lay in wait behind the open door, the hairs on the back of her neck raised as she pictured someone lurking there, waiting to seize their opportunity and dive inside. She closed the door, locked it, and sat down at the table.

“They’re not after me,” she said softly.

“Why would you say that? What makes you so sure?”

Abi shrugged. “Robert was the weird one. He was watching me, keeping tabs on me, taking pictures. We thought he was the killer. If he’s not, and it’s someone else, then what makes you think they are interested in me?”

“Don’t you get it?” Steven said, still animated, but a little more tuned into reality. “They killed your neighbor after you argued with her, they killed Robert after we accused him of stalking you, and then there’s your ex-boyfriend.”

“What?” Abi looked up, surprised. “What ex-boyfriend?”

“Matthew Graves.”

She remained speechless, her gaze locked on his, her eyes looking right through him.

“He was murdered in an alleyway behind the Queen’s Head,” Steven explained. “He was playing the night that we had our first proper date, the night that we came back here and … you know.”

Abi still didn’t reply. She turned away, rested her hands on the table and twiddled her thumbs.

Steven remained standing, mere feet from the door. “You told me about him that night. We’d had a lot to drink, you admitted that he took your virginity and that you hated him for it; you told me that you bumped into him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Abi said, distantly.

“It means someone is killing people that hurt you, people that wronged you. Someone is obsessed with you and—” He paused. The final syllables almost choked silent in his mouth. Abi turned to look at him and noted that he was staring blankly into the middle distance. A spark seemed to ignite behind his eyes. “Your gran,” he said. “It’s your grandmother.”

“What?”

“Your grandmother is the killer.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“No, it’s not stupid,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes elsewhere, his mind drifting. “It makes perfect sense.”

“She’s in her seventies.”

“So? They were weak and she took them by surprised. It doesn’t matter how old you are if they can’t see you and you have a big fucking knife.”

“Didn’t see her? They would hear her knees creaking from a mile away. And what about Robert? He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t as easy to kill.”

“You said she was fit for her age.”

“For her age, yes, but that’s setting the bar pretty low, don’t you think?”

Steven didn’t look convinced. “Where is she?”

“I don’t—”

“Is she upstairs?”

Abi stood quickly, moved in front of him. “Listen, this is crazy, you’re not—” She placed a hand on his face, rested it under his chin and looked deep into his eyes, but as soon as her hands touched his chin, he snapped.

He shoved her off, a quick, instinctive, jerk reaction. She felt herself falling before she even knew what had hit her, and as she fell, she saw his face light up with surprise, regret—he looked just as shocked as she was.

Abi fell into the chair she had been sitting on, hitting it with her chest first. The wooden seat slipped underneath her rib and the force of the impact sent it sprawling backward, where it slammed into the radiator and toppled over. Abi collapsed to the floor, using her uninjured hand to protect herself, to stop her face impacting the cold linoleum.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Steven mumbled above her.

She rolled onto her back, her arms tucked under her ribs, protecting the area, soothing the dull pain that radiated outward. He bent over her, his face a picture of regret, sorrow. “I’m so sorry,” he said. He moved to grab her, to hoist her up, and then thought better, instead holding out his hand. “I just—I had images of Robert, his body, the knife in his chin.” He shook his head. “It’s not important, and I’m sorry, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Abi stared at him for a long time. There was fear in her eyes. They remained in that state for several moments: he proffering a hand in hope and regret; her staring into his eyes as if seeing right through him.

Just as he reached his wit’s end and felt like he had lost her trust, Abi’s expression softened. She smiled and extended her hand, allowing him to pull her up. “That’s okay, dear,” she said, sucking in a deep breath. “I understand.”

She laughed softly and waited for Steven to retrieve the chair and guide her into it.

“I’m so sorry, do you need—”

“I’m good, honestly,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get back on track, shall we?”

Their gazes locked; a smile on hers, confusion, regret, and intrigue on his.

“You think my grandmother is the killer?” Abi asked.

Steven nodded.

“You’re insane.”

“Think about it—”

“I don’t need to; I know my gran.”

“You know what she wants you to know. But you see her as a granddaughter sees her. Think about it for a moment,” he insisted. “It all makes sense.”