The Serial Killer's Wife by Alice Hunter (best romantic novels to read .txt) 📗

are sleepy, cuddled up together on the sofa. ‘Ahh, that’s so sweet,’ I say, as I watch Adam bundle Jess into his arms.

‘You’ve definitely done a good job wearing her out. Thanks again, Beth.’ He starts carrying her out to the door, and I go ahead to open it, almost tripping over the hall table. ‘Oops! Steady on!’ he says.

‘Clumsy me,’ I say. ‘Hope to see you soon,’ I add, blushing.

‘Yes, look – I’ve got the afternoon off on Friday. Maybe I could return the favour? Give you chance to have a bit of time to yourself.’ His smile is affectionate, kind. I say yes without having to think.

‘You’re a good friend. Thank you,’ I say, giving him a peck on his cheek.

Chapter 46

KATIE

Eight years ago

She had managed to get some peace – some time alone – in the toilet. That was about her lot. Tom had been acting oddly – even more clingy than usual. He wouldn’t leave her side for longer than a few minutes at her flat. He wanted her to move into his, but the thought made her panic. She’d have no independence. No space at all.

The past two days had been claustrophobic. And he hadn’t been the same with her, either. He wasn’t as gentle or as loving. When they had sex, he glared at her, making her feel uncomfortable. It was almost as though he hated her. He’d been rough, punishing.

What had she done wrong?

***

TOM

How can she look at me? Doesn’t she know what she’s done wrong? It’s like she’s pretending she loves me and wants to be with me. Wants to marry me. But all the while she’s stringing me along. I don’t get it. Maybe she wants the both of us – me and Isaac. Or is she biding her time – waiting for the perfect moment to tell me she doesn’t want to be with me?

Well. One thing’s definite. If I can’t have her, I’ll make damn sure Isaac can’t either.

Chapter 47

BETH

Now

For a moment I can’t make it out over the sound of the Nespresso. Then the buzzing intensifies. It seems like it’s coming closer. I look around trying to locate its source and as I’m about to pull the kitchen window blind up, the coffee machine switches off and I realise what the noise is.

‘Poppy,’ I call, rushing out of the kitchen into the hallway.

She’s crouching down in front of the door, picking something up from the mat.

‘Poppy, no!’ I yell. She jumps and her hand releases its grip. Small cards flitter to the ground and she looks at me, her bottom lip wobbling. ‘Sorry, sweetheart – I didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t sure what it was you had there,’ I say, more calmly. The buzzing I heard is clearer here by the door. People. A cacophony of voices. And the source is outside my cottage.

I pick up the cards Poppy dropped. Every one of them is a journalist’s calling card. Bloody journos. It’s happening. They know about Tom. They’ve found out where we live, and they want their pound of flesh. Bastards. How dare they? I throw the cards onto the hall table, take Poppy’s hand and lead her upstairs. Her bedroom is at the back of the cottage, so at least it’s quiet there for the moment. What do I do?

I’m dreading going to the café now – they’re bound to know it belongs to me. And what about taking Poppy to nursery? I’ve seen this kind of thing on telly – they’ll block our path; shout questions; snap cameras. There’ll be flashes going off in our faces; they’ll chase us up the lane. It’s awful – they shouldn’t be allowed to behave in this way.

I’m shaking as I make a call to Adam. It’s not as though he’ll be able to do anything about this, but it’ll make me feel a bit better to share my horror. It goes to voicemail. Shit. It’s almost nine – he’ll have dropped Jess and be on his way to work already. It’s too late for his help. I take Poppy into the lounge and turn on the telly. Guilt sweeps through me, as I know I’ve stuck her in front of it way too much recently.

The commotion outside the front window intensifies. I’ve kept the curtains drawn and I daren’t peek now in case they see me. The voices get louder; more urgent.

There’s a hard bang on the door.

I ignore it.

It comes again. And again. I want to cover my ears like I used to when my parents argued. Shut it out. Shut everyone out.

‘Leave us alone.’ The words come out of my mouth in a hiss of anger.

‘Who is it, Mummy?’ Poppy’s eyes are wide. This is scaring her.

‘Silly people who are trying to get my attention, my little Poppy poppet. There’s nothing to be afraid of – they’ll leave in a minute.’ I sound quite convincing, despite my pessimism.

There’s a drumming at my front door again – someone’s repeatedly thumping it. Then, through the noise, I hear a voice I recognise.

I unhook the chain, open the door a crack and Julia squeezes through.

‘Jeees …’ She looks at Poppy. ‘Good morning, sweetie,’ she says, quickly recovering.

Julia looks amazing. Like a movie star – I suspect she’s in her element. She pats down her hair, straightens her cream jacket and clasps her hands together.

‘Right!’ she says, brightly. ‘We’re playing a game this morning, Poppy – are you up for it? Me and the boys have already played it and I’d love it if you’d join in.’

‘If the game isn’t stone the journos, she’s not interested,’ I mutter.

‘What is it?’ Poppy says.

‘It’s a bit like hide and seek. Do you know that game?’

‘Daddy plays that with me,’ she says.

‘Great! Then you’re already ahead. In a minute, I’m going to take you out the back door and Mummy is going to help you over the garden wall,’ Julia says, giving me a sideways glance. I realise