Fern St Clair sat in her car, parked in the street outside her boss’s house, watching and waiting.
Peter was supposed to meet her tonight, but he had called off at the last minute, claiming he had a meeting. His message had been casual and vague on details, so she had phoned him. He hadn’t liked that, positively squirming as she pressed him on specifics.
He had been lying, she was sure of it. And she intended to catch him out.
She had come straight from her aerobics class, was still wearing her workout clothes under her thick winter coat. She had discussed the situation with her friend, Meg, who had urged her to confront him. Meg had a lot of attitude, one of the reasons Fern had been drawn to her, and had fired her up, hence why she was now sitting outside his house.
Peter always worked late on a Thursday, so she didn’t expect him to arrive home before eight. A light flicked on in the front bay window of the large Edwardian house, lighting up the room and, as she caught sight of Caroline Collins, her breath hitched. Peter had said his wife and kids were away. Visiting family, that was what he had told her. Caroline’s car was there though and now Fern had seen her with her own eyes. That was the first part of his lie exposed.
She watched briefly as Caroline flitted round the room, plumping cushions and switching lights on the giant Christmas tree. They had only crossed paths a couple of times over the years and Fern couldn’t understand what Peter saw in this mouse of a woman.
As Caroline disappeared from view, she hunkered down in her coat. It was freezing in the car and she didn’t want to waste petrol by running the engine. As a distraction, she pulled her phone out of her bag, scrolling through Instagram, then Facebook. That idiot Janice was still on her case, liking and commenting on every single one of her posts.
Fern had ignored the messages she had sent, hadn’t even bothered to listen to the voicemail. She didn’t have time for losers like Janice Plum.
The pair of them had been tight when they were younger, but Fern had moved on, while Janice was stuck in her rut of a life with her drip of a husband and her gormless kids. She had piled on the weight, had questionable fashion sense, and she had become dull, dull, dull, cramping Fern’s style.
Like a leech though, she was proving difficult to shake off, not getting the hint from the unanswered calls and messages to fuck off.
It was tempting to just delete her off Facebook and block her number, but a little part of Fern knew it was best to keep her in reserve. Janice Plum could always be counted on to rally round when needed.
The sound of an engine and the flicker of headlights in her rear-view mirror had her slipping down in the driver’s seat. Fern’s heart was thumping as the car slowed, and she recognised Peter’s Range Rover as it turned into the driveway.
The lying bastard.
He climbed from the car, glancing cautiously around, almost as if he suspected she was there watching. Of course there was no way he could see her. It was pitch black outside and she had been careful not to switch the interior light on.
He unloaded bags from the back seat. It looked as though he had been shopping. Christmas gifts maybe. As he slammed the door, clicking the locks, the front door opened and one of his little brats appeared, quickly followed by Caroline.
Fern’s cheeks were flushed with rage as he kissed his wife on the lips before following her into the house.
She fired a message off to Meg.
The cheating bastard lied to me. He’s home with his wife.
A message pinged back.
You need to confront him. This is your chance. Go tell his wife what a cheat he is.
Fired up as she was, Fern considered the implications of that. She could lose her job, would certainly lose Peter. Was that what she really wanted? She debated for a few moments, looked at the house again, decorated with an elegant string of blue twinkling lights. She imagined the family inside; the cheat, the mouse and their brats. Were they laughing and joking as they discussed their day in the warmth of the house?
Frustrated she thumped the steering wheel, knew she wasn’t going to get out of the car.
Instead she drove home via the supermarket, picking up a bottle of vodka.
Once home she slammed the door, kicked off her trainers, and grabbed the mail off the mat. Walking through to the kitchen, barking orders to Alexa to turn on lights as she went, she threw the mail down on to the growing collection on the table – it was mostly spiralling credit card bills that she was avoiding – and reached in the cupboard for a glass. She opened the vodka bottle, poured a large measure and topped it up with Diet Coke from the fridge.
Shower, dinner (though to be honest, she wasn’t really hungry) then she would upload another one of the selfies she had taken at the weekend on to her social media accounts, where she was looking glammed up and gorgeous, pouting for the camera with come-to-bed eyes. The picture would attract plenty of attention from her male friends and she knew it would piss off Peter.
She had finished her drink and just fixed another one, when the doorbell rang.
Peter?
Despite the cosy scene she had just left, there was no doubt in her mind that it was her boss. Perhaps she had misjudged the situation. Maybe Caroline’s trip had been cancelled; that was why he had found it harder to get away.
She rushed to the door, threw it open… and was dismayed when she found Janice Plum standing on the doorstep. ‘What do you want?’ Fern didn’t bother to hide her disappointment.
‘We need to talk, Fern.’
‘I’m busy.’ She started to shut the door, and was shocked when Janice stuck her foot out, stopping it from closing. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? I said I’m busy.’
‘And I said we need to talk. This is important.’
Fern hesitated, understood from the determined look on Janice’s face that she wasn’t going to get rid of her easily. Giving in, she pulled the door wide open. ‘Ten minutes. And it had better be good.’
She turned and walked back to the kitchen. Heard the door close and heavy footsteps as Janice followed. Leaning back against the counter, she sipped her vodka and Coke, scornfully eyeing her old friend. Whatever did the stupid woman look like in her oversized pink jumper, emblazoned with the sequinned words ‘Hot Stuff’, that clashed with her bright red hair, and her skinny jeans that were two sizes too small?
‘So go on, what is it?’
‘I need to show you something.’ Janice started rummaging through her oversized handbag.
‘What?’
‘I’ve been trying to contact you.’
‘I know.’
‘You didn’t reply.’
‘I’ve been busy.’ Fern made a point of looking at the clock and sighing dramatically. ‘What do you need to show me?’ she asked impatiently.
‘They’re in here somewhere.’
‘Well, chop-chop, I don’t have all night.’
In frustration, Janice tipped her bag upside down, the contents spilling out.
‘Be careful,’ Fern scolded, furious as screwed-up tissues and tampons landed on her table. She picked up a lipstick that had clattered to the floor. A dark red shade that she suspected made Janice look more Rocky Horror than Marilyn Monroe.
‘Here they are.’ Janice waved three letters at her.
Fern snatched them, reading the words, the blood draining from her face as she got to the third one. ‘What are these? Some kind of sick joke?’
‘I don’t think they’re funny.’
‘Where did you get them? Who sent them?’
‘The first two were put through the letterbox, the last one was left on my windscreen.’
‘Who have you told?’
‘No one.’
The woman was lying. ‘Who the fuck have you told?’
‘I swear, no one, Fern. I promised I would never breathe a word to anyone and I haven’t.’
‘What about Martin?’
‘He doesn’t know. I swear he doesn’t.’
‘So who the fuck sent these? Someone knows. Unless of course you’ve done something else I don’t know about.’
The dig was cruel, Fern knew that. She was just so bloody mad at Janice right now. Her evening had already gone to rat-shit and it was getting steadily worse. This was bad. If someone knew the truth, it could be the end for all of them.
‘I haven’t done anything and I didn’t tell anyone.’ Janice’s bottom lip was trembling, at first Fern thought in anger, but then drippy great tears spilled onto her reddened cheeks.
Oh for fuck’s sake. She handed a sheet of kitchen roll to the blubbering woman. ‘Here.’
‘Than-thank you.’ Janice wiped her eyes, honked her nose. ‘I thought… I thought maybe you got a note too.’
‘Nope. Nothing.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m bloody sure. Do you not believe me?’
Janice’s eyes shifted hesitantly to the pile of unopened mail on the table. ‘I just…’
Fern followed her gaze, shifted guiltily. ‘I’m busy. I haven’t had time to go through it.’
When Janice remained silent, the guilt kicked up a notch. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll look. I’m telling you though, it’s all just work stuff and utility bills.’
She sifted through the mail, unease creeping in when she spotted the two white envelopes with just her name typed on the front. No postmark, so hand-delivered.
‘You have something, don’t you?’ Janice accused.
‘I never saw these.’
Fern ripped the first envelope open, read aloud the note inside. ‘A long, long time ago, you did a bad, bad thing. Everyone’s past catches up with them eventually, including yours. Soon.’ She glanced at Janice. ‘It’s the same as yours.’
Janice’s face had paled and she fidgeted nervously with the screwed-up piece of kitchen tissue. ‘What about the other one?’
Fern opened the second note, drew a sharp intake of breath when she saw the one written word.
‘What does it say?’
‘It’s just…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead she held up the note to show Janice. The one typed word clearly standing out on the paper.
Killer.
