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

of her as she walked along the riverbank. The shock, then fear, that crossed her face was satisfying. I let her know what a slut she was, leading me on that way, then discarding me.

‘You’re fucking insane, mate,’ she’d said, pushing past me. I ran to catch her up; darted in front of her again.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ she’d slurred. ‘It was one night – get over yourself. You do know about uni life, don’t you? You’re bloody deluded if you think I’m seeing you again. You’re a weirdo.’

It was a hard fall.

I’d watched it happen in slow motion, adrenaline pumping fiercely through my veins as she bumped and bounced like a ragdoll, tumbling down the embankment. The end of her journey was marked with a sickening thud. I’d only shoved her once. I swear she was just trying to make it more dramatic than it was – she must have wanted to make it look like I’d been violent. Backfired on her, though. She must’ve broken her ankle on the way if the snap, followed by the scream, was anything to go by.

It hadn’t taken a lot to finish her off; she barely put up a fight in the end as I gently held her face under the water. Her alcohol level must’ve been off the scale, let alone whatever drugs were undoubtedly in her system.

I’d realised it would look like a drunken fall. No foul play. There were no CCTV cameras along that path back then. I’d wondered about fibres from my clothes, but from the way she’d behaved in the club, I knew mine wouldn’t be the only ones they found. The water would probably make it difficult to collect samples, too. Or that had been my hope when I rolled her in bodily, anyway. Mainly I was confident because there was no reason for the police – or anyone – to suspect me. As far as I was aware, no one even knew we’d met. No one had seen me with her – she hadn’t even remembered my name, so it was doubtful she’d told her friends about me.

The only thing that could link us was her uni sweatshirt. She’d left it in my room after she snuck out. I’d intended to burn that, but when it came to it, I was unable to. I kept it as a reminder. Some might say it was a trophy. Her scent remained on that sweatshirt for years: I could get off on smelling it; reliving the night she fell, over and over. Beth had found it once, but I’d said it was mine – that it’d shrunk in the wash. She always used to believe everything I told her.

I really hadn’t intended to kill Phoebe – not before the opportunity came up. But once it happened, something inside me, which must previously have been dormant, reared up and fought to be released. I pushed the urges away; struggled with my desire to replicate the feeling that had surged through me that night; tried to carry on a ‘normal’ life. I kept it all under control.

Until Katie.

Then, the night it came out she’d cheated, the demon inside me came out again too.

Chapter 62

BETH

Now

I can’t say the words out loud.

‘You all right, Beth? You’ve lost all your colour,’ Adam says.

It’s the fear – of opening a box I can’t close again. ‘Yes, sort of. I … well.’ I sigh deeply, my eyes averted. A car drives slowly past us, and any other words I had are stolen from my mouth by a shout from the window.

‘You’re her, aren’t you?’ the man in his mid-twenties yells through the half-open driver’s-side window. He doesn’t wait for an answer, though; he just spits at me as the car screeches off. I wipe the back of my hand over my cheek, mopping away the stringy blob of saliva. I gag.

‘Jesus!’ Adam runs into the road and after the car. It’s a waste of time, I think – he’ll be long gone. But I realise Adam’s got his mobile in his hand. As he comes back to me and the girls, breathing heavily, he says he got the registration number. ‘Sorry, girls.’ He crouches down beside Jess and Poppy and smiles. ‘That was a very rude man and he shouldn’t have done what he did.’

‘He is a bad boy,’ Poppy says, her eyes wide. She comes to me and wraps her arms around my thighs. ‘Don’t worry, Mummy. His mummy will tell him off.’

After some smoothing over and encouraging words from Adam, my shaking subsides. I don’t want them to know how angry I am; how hurt. That has got to be the most gross thing that’s happened to me.

‘I think he’ll be on the naughty step for quite a while,’ I say, giving Poppy a squeeze. ‘Right, let’s get that banana bread. Put a step on it, girls – or the café will be closed before we get there!’ I try to sound unaffected; light-hearted. Looking at Adam’s face, I know I’m not fooling him.

Lucy seems stressed when we walk into the café. Without her usual bandana, her hair is wild; strands of loose hair are falling around her face. Her red face. She’s flustered – rushing from table to counter, her movements jagged. Oh, God. I’ve caused this.

‘You guys take a seat. I’ll get some drinks and treats,’ I say, smiling at Adam and the girls, then hurrying over to Lucy.

‘I’m so sorry for leaving you to cope with all this, Lucy.’

She doesn’t even look at me; her head is bowed as she makes a latte. ‘Yeah, well – it’s not been easy.’ I can hear the threat of tears in her voice.

‘I should shut up shop for a week, give you some recovery time. I know you’ve had an awful lot of stress thrust on you – I really am sorry.’ I put my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off.

‘Whatever you think,’ she says. Then she turns