51

Up ahead, a tractor trundles along the road oblivious to the queue of traffic forming behind it. If he was in the ambulance, he’d just put the lights on and speed past him, but he’s not and, with no passing places along the route, he’s forced to crawl back to Bidecombe with everyone else.

He could have killed Jackie. Maybe he should have. He never expected to be married to her this long – the hairball in her stomach should have killed her by now – but he had held back. Her death would only invite the cops to go snooping through his life and then they’d eventually find out that he hadn’t always been Simon Pascoe. He used to be Michael Flowers and that would lead them to Danielle.

They met in college. What with her dark sultry looks and his razor-sharp cheekbones, they were the best-looking kids in the year; it was inevitable they would get together. People said they’d have beautiful babies.

Looking back, he’d never given sex much thought, not like other boys his age who were obsessed with ‘how far they’d got’ with a girl – not as far as they bragged, he suspected. He assumed his Christian upbringing had taught him to value sex as something sacred and not to be contemplated until the wedding night, so he didn’t.

Danielle found his request that they wait cute, even sexy; other guys had only ever wanted one thing from her, he was different, she liked that. By the time their wedding night arrived, Danielle had giggled, they’d be desperate for each other’s bodies, but, he discovered, he wasn’t desperate for hers at all and the whole thing was a disaster. Danielle said not to worry, the pressure of the day had got to him and, anyway, everyone’s first time was always horrible. But what about the second or third or fourth time? Because it didn’t get any better. He kept trying, what else could he do? But then the sharp tuts and bored sighs began to replace the fake gasps and encouraging whispers killing off any hope of arousal.

Oh, Danielle was sympathetic, at first. Given her desirability, the problem would only be temporary, and she liked a challenge. He’d come in from work to find her in black lacy underwear. She’d massage him with lavender oil and book weekends away at ‘couples retreat’ hotels, but nothing worked, and her frustration turned to scorn. When he told her he’d made an appointment to see the doctor, she laughed and said doctors were there to heal people, ‘not raise the dead’ so he cancelled it. She found his stash of Viagra ordered off the internet and wafted the all-but-empty packet in front of his face: ‘You need reinforced scaffolding to hold it up, not pills.’ Then one day she told him she’d met a real man called Johnny, like some kind of country and western singer, who had a ‘cock you could hang a coat on’ and she was leaving him.

Not long after, he bumped into her on the high street. She was wearing a long lemon-yellow summer dress, her dark hair loose and flowing, and she didn’t so much as walk but bounce along the pavement. She was holding hands with a man in washed denim and dark stubble. This was the famous Johnny and, by the look on Danielle’s face, he had no trouble getting it up. They exchanged brief nods, but, as they walked away, they started laughing and he knew she was telling Johnny all about his lifeless dick. So, he watched and waited and one night he followed her home, intercepting her as she took a shortcut through the park. She wasn’t laughing then.

He had planned it, of course, but he hadn’t planned what happened next. He knew the longer he stayed, the greater the risk of getting caught, but he was transfixed by the sight of her lying on the ground. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. It was as if she had gone for a walk, grown tired and fallen asleep under a tree. He was so lost in her that he barely noticed himself stirring and, when he did, the shock knocked him for six. After all this time, it was happening. He had tried everything: girls, boys, both, porn, creams, pills, whores: it didn’t matter, nothing aroused him. The answer had been right in front of him all the time. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, like it was meant to be.

He wondered if it was a one-off, but discovered it wasn’t when he rode in the back of an ambulance with a young woman killed in a car accident. But he couldn’t hang around waiting for a body to turn up when he happened to be on shift, so he started identifying and grooming his own victims. It was perfect. No one ever suspects a paramedic, but he couldn’t push his luck. Sooner or later, the police would start to join the dots so he told his colleagues he’d tired of the hurly-burly of the inner city and was transferring to a rural ambulance service on the other side of the country. Eventually a paramedic’s job came up and he applied. That’s when he moved to North Devon. He’d changed his name by then. He told his old boss, who was writing his reference, that he changed it because he needed a fresh start after what had happened to Danielle. He didn’t question it. He’d had a good run here, too, but he was beginning to think it was time to leave Bidecombe. He had dealt with the CSI, but there would be others. Yes, he should move on. After this one.

He pulls up at the end of the deserted estate behind the Strudwicks’ house, TruffleDelite has just ten minutes left until the afternoon lessons begin. Not ideal. Something like this takes time. He fumbles for his special phone and it clatters into the footwell.

‘Damn it.’

He retrieves it from underneath his seat and punches in his passcode. Messages pop up on the screen, one after the other.

TruffleDelite: WHERE ARE YOU??????

No fun, is it? Being kept waiting. Now, you know what it feels like to have someone stringing you along, not returning your messages.

TruffleDelite: I’m serious!!! ANSWER ME!! Or I’ll go MAD!!!

He’d love to sit there and watch her messages get more and more desperate, but time is short and he needs to think very carefully about how he is going to do this.

Ruggerboy666: Lol! I’m here.

TruffleDelite: Thank God. I thought you’d let me down.

Ruggerboy666: Nah. Would never do that. Just took a bit of organizing, that’s all.

TruffleDelite: Soz. Just wanna see my Luke, that’s all.

Ruggerboy666: And you shall! Spoke to him just now. He wants to meet.

TruffleDelite: Great, where?

Ruggerboy666: At Breakneck Point. Do you know it?

TruffleDelite: Yeah, it’s a bit out of Bidecombe, but I can walk it.

That was easier than he thought. She must be desperate to see this boy. Goodness knows why.

Ruggerboy666: You need to take the lower path down the cliff side. Do you know it?

TruffleDelite: Think so.

Ruggerboy666: There’s a bench. Luke’ll meet you there.

TruffleDelite: What time?

Ruggerboy666: You need to be there for 1 p.m. Tomorrow.

TruffleDelite: Am at school.

This is the difficult bit. He wants to leap in and persuade her to bunk off school, but if he does that she might panic and change her mind at the last minute. No, this has to come from her. Just how much does she want to see this guy?

The cursor on the screen blinks for an age. Suddenly, it switches to TruffleDelite is typing…

TruffleDelite: OK. I’ll just tell school I’ve got a hospital appointment. I can forge Dad’s signature, easy.

Ruggerboy666: You sure?

TruffleDelite: Yeah. School’s shit, anyway.

He raises her three sad face emojis with four laughing emojis of his own.

Ruggerboy666: I’ll tell Luke yes, then?

TruffleDelite: Defo. Did he say anything else about me?

Ruggerboy666: Like what?

TruffleDelite: You know?

Ruggerboy666: He might have said he’s crazy about you. Lolz.

TruffleDelite: Really? Anything else?

Ruggerboy666: Just that you’re a great girl. He can’t wait to see you. He said something about wanting to save you from your ’rents.

TruffleDelite: Yeah, they’re a nightmare. Did he say he loved me?

Ruggerboy666: ’Course.

He switches the phone off and sits back in his seat. It’s on.