Behind A Twisted Smile (Dark Minds Book 2) (13 page)

I filled the kettle to make some tea, and while I waited for it to boil, lugged my case upstairs. My shoes were wet through from the puddles outside, and I looked round for my comfy warm slippers. Oddly, I couldn’t see them anywhere. I dumped the case and trudged round the upstairs, glancing in the wardrobe and bathroom and even checking the spare bedroom.

I started to feel exasperated, cold and tired when I walked downstairs and searched the other rooms. It was bloody stupid, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. I wracked my brains. Had I decided to throw them out? They
were
pretty tatty. I couldn’t remember taking them over to Mum’s to use; it was something I just didn’t do.

I made the tea and carried it to drink upstairs while I unpacked. The bath water would take another fifteen minutes or so to heat up, giving me ample time to get everything tidied away in its rightful place. Another glimpse through a chink in my armour: I loved being tidy—OCD again, I suppose.

Most of my clothes went straight into the washing machine; make-up and jewellery I put away neatly in drawers reserved just for them. I found a couple of pairs of clean knickers and bras in the suitcase and walked over to the old-fashioned armoire which had belonged to my great-grandmother. I loved the sheen of the old polished wood, knowing other fingers had lovingly stroked the satin-finished fronts of the doors and drawers. There was still a lingering warm smell emanating from the aged mahogany.

As I went to deposit my underwear, I hesitated. Knickers to the left, bras to the right, as usual. But something wasn’t quite right. Only I would have noticed my underwear was incorrectly positioned, lying slightly skew-whiff. That was how I arranged it: white on the top, going through the colour spectrum until lacy black lay on the bottom of the pile. The first thing I saw was the black.

I gave a mental shake of my head. I had packed in haste for my holiday and must have jumbled my drawer contents. Rearranging the clothes, I closed the drawer and picked up the last remaining articles from my case: a three-quarter-length-sleeved dress I hadn’t worn, as it had been too hot, and a light cardigan. I kept both garments in the hanging part of the armoire, and I swung the doors open, looking for their respective hangers; only they weren’t where I could have sworn I had left them. Confused, I stared and glanced along the rail; it wasn’t logical. In fact, nothing made sense. My clothes were definitely
not
how I left them.

I knew I could be a real pain with my OCD, but I strived to not let it get in the way of friends and my family. Those who knew me well accepted my eccentricities, and having my clothes arranged, colour coordinated and with near equal space on the hanging rail between items, were two such oddities. Now, however, as I stared, I could see no semblance of order.

Dismayed, I took a step back. I felt a prickle of alarm run down my back. What the hell…? Had someone been inside my flat and gone through my things?

Keep calm. Think
. I was under some stress just before going away. Perhaps I hadn’t noticed or realised just how much strain. Anxiety could be a funny thing, and I knew it affected people in different ways.

I slammed the doors shut in defiance. I was a strong woman, used to living on my own. I was simply jet-lagged and hung-over from sleep deprivation and out of sorts with an aching back. All I needed was a good hot soak with a glass of wine, before slipping into the comfort of my bed.

Ten minutes later, I lay immersed up to my neck in sweet-smelling bath water, infused with essential oil. I sighed with pleasure and closed my eyes, as the hot water soothed away my tension, aches and pains. I never really enjoyed long-haul flights, in spite of the wonderful and exotic places you ended up in.

I stretched my leg towards the taps and with my big toe, nudged the hot water on, then reached for my glass. The Chilean Merlot was peppery, full of flavour, and I took another sip as the vapour from the running hot water filled the cool bathroom.

I thought back over my holiday. It had been a good week; I loved the island and slow pace of life, and the hotel staff bent over backwards to make my stay enjoyable. Even after Amanda showed up and told me her extraordinary story, I managed to keep my earlier worries under control.

My sister was older than I and already knew about the pitfalls and pleasures of marriage. I, being single, possessed no such experience. All I could do was share my worries with her, but in my heart, I knew Evie would ignore any advice. We had never been that close, and I sensed she still saw me as a threat to her and Martyn’s happiness. She would do what she wanted.

Amanda only stayed a few days more before she returned to England. She gave me her mobile number in case I discovered anything which might help her case. I thanked her for her concern, but after sleeping on it, I still wasn’t a hundred per cent sure she wasn’t slightly round the twist. Okay, so she did work alongside the police, and I’m sure she hadn’t lied about her cousin, but how much of it was true and not embellishment on her part? I did promise to be careful, though.

I drained my glass and yawning deeply, decided it was time for bed. Almost dreamily, I watched the water drain away as I stood and towelled myself dry. The room felt cool after the hot water; steam rose from my body, and I wrapped the towel round me before moving towards the basin to clean my teeth.

I brushed and spat, raised my face to glance in the mirror above and froze. I felt the blood drain from my face as I stared at the condensation in the glass.

Written along the bottom in my pale lip gloss was a line of chilling words.

‘I’m watching you and loving it.’

Chapter 17

Much later, while lying in bed I wondered how the hell Martyn had got into my flat. I turned onto my side in the classic foetal position, alternately feeling scared and angry. The first thing I had to do the next day was get a locksmith in and have all the locks changed. I could have kicked myself for not doing so earlier, but I assumed my flat was impregnable. How stupid was that? My mind whirled with plans, despite feeling muzzy and light-headed from lack of sleep.

After I had recovered from my initial fright in the bathroom, I rang the police and keeping my voice under control, explained that someone had been trespassing in my home. I then armed myself with a poker and waited for them in the hallway. A couple of constables arrived within minutes and took a look round. When they searched the living room and checked the French windows behind the drawn curtains, they discovered that one was unlocked. I was speechless. I knew I locked everything before I left for my holiday.

“This is where your intruder came in,” the older constable said. “The door’s unlocked.”

“But…but I checked…double-checked every door and window before I left. I
can’t
have left it unlocked.” I protested, knowing full well they were wrong. My OCD wouldn’t have
allowed
me to go away without checking at least six or more times.

“Maybe you missed this one? It’s easily done.”

“Look. Could this have anything to do with the person who spray-painted the front of my house a couple of weeks ago?” I had already explained this to them hurriedly while they were looking round the flat.

They exchanged glances.

“Could be or you’ve got an admirer.”

Their cockiness annoyed me. I listened as they discussed my problems and then agreed it was highly unlikely the intruder would have left any fingerprints.

“Intruders today can be pretty sophisticated. They might have worn soft cotton gloves or two pairs of latex to minimise glove prints. And as nothing had been stolen or damaged, apart from an invasion of privacy or trespassing, no crime has been admitted.”

I almost gave up there and then. I gave them my details—again—which they promised to add to my earlier complaint.

After closing the door on their departing backs, I felt a weariness overcome me. I rushed into the bathroom and threw up into the toilet bowl. The words written in the mirror above the basin still mocked me.

The next morning, jaded and sickened, I picked up my mobile and toyed with the idea of telling Jon or Faye about the incident and my odd encounter with Amanda in Antigua. Should I tell them?

Outside, it was windy and dark; a gale blew down the street, rattling the tiles on the roofs. I was cold, over-tired and depressed. I threw back the bedclothes and walked through to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth, my mouth still tasted nasty. I pulled on some running gear, and then, lethargically, wandered downstairs.

Going back to Jon and Faye, I knew it was a non-starter. I would have been choked by all the things I couldn’t say. What if neither believed me? And…I was having doubts whether I believed it myself. It was all like a horrible dream. I was confused, angry, desperate and frustrated.

I slipped out of my flat and jogged along the pavement until I reached the park. Apart from the day before, when I was travelling home, I made sure I exercised every day. Reaching the grassy area of the park, I picked up speed. My limbs felt sluggish, stiff from eight hours sitting on a plane; an hour around the park would sort me out.

As I ran, I thought hard about my choices. I had already ruled out involving Faye and Jon; Faye seemed a bit vague the last time we spoke about Martyn, and I didn’t want to keep banging on about him. The same could have been said of Jon. Although he seemed sympathetic and understanding, I knew most people only had a certain amount of patience. Besides, I had already convinced myself it would put him off me altogether, and knowing how I felt about Jon, that was the last thing I wanted. Why was life so bloody complicated? That left one other person, and she was affected the most. Evie.

One of the best things about working for yourself was you dictated which days and hours you worked. I knew from experience long-haul flights treated me cruelly, and with that in mind, I kept my appointment book closed for a couple of days after returning from the Caribbean. I rang Neville, my landlord, and he told me that, apart from a bit of final decorating and tidying up my rooms, they were almost finished. I could start work later in the week.

With that in mind, I rang Evie, and as chance would have it, she too had the day off. I said I would pop round to Mum’s, where she and Martyn were staying, and tell her all about my trip.

As I arrived, I met Mum as she was leaving the house in a rush and on her way to the hairdresser. We chatted for a couple of minutes, and then she left, saying Jon and I should go round for supper one evening and tell her more about Antigua.

I pushed the front door open, slipped my outdoor shoes off and hung my coat on the clothes’ hooks in the hall. I assumed Evie would be in the kitchen and made my way down the long hallway to the back of the house. There was a strong smell of toast and bacon in the air, which made my stomach grumble.

The sound of my footsteps was muffled by the thick carpet, and as I neared the kitchen, I heard voices. I heard Evie’s and Martyn’s more heavily accented London tones. I paused mid-step.

“I’ve told you. It’s only until Friday. That’s payday, and my cheque will be in the bank then. I’ll pay you back.”

“But Martyn, that’s what you said last month, and because of the house, I’m almost overdrawn,” Evie said, her voice rising to a whine.

“Evie, don’t be so bloody tight. You know I’ll make it up to you. I’ve spoken to my bank manager, and my funds will clear any week now. Fifty quid is chicken feed.”

“I know, but all the same, I’d rather try and keep everything under control until we’re married and actually in the new house.”

There was a silence, and I knew he was giving her one of his long, meaningful stares.

“Evie,” he eventually said in a low even voice. “I can’t believe you said that. I feel as if you don’t trust me, and after all I’ve done. What does it matter if we’re married or not? We’re going to be in a couple of weeks. I’m not going to change my mind. Have you? Evie, there’s no one else is there? Is that what’s this is all about?”

I heard the sound of a chair being dragged back over floor tiles. “You know that’s not true. Oh, Martyn, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Of course there’s only you, and yes, it doesn’t matter if we’re married or not. The house is in both our names anyway.”

As I stepped into the doorway, I saw Martyn standing by the kitchen table his back to me, hands on hips while Evie was rummaging around in her handbag for her purse. She fished out a wad of notes and pushed them towards him.

“Good, because if I thought you didn’t love me anymore, Evie, I’d—”

“Hush. Take it. I was being silly. It’s all I’ve got in my purse.”

“I don’t know, Evie…just now, I wondered—”

She pressed the money more firmly into his fist and for the first time, noticed me.

“Moya! You’re early,” she said. I spotted how her cheeks flushed before she shot a look back at Martyn.

He swung round, gave me a cool appraisal before arranging his mouth into a smile and stepped towards me, his arms outstretched.

“Why, it’s Moya. I didn’t know you were coming round today. Evie never said.” He shot her a peeved look while I edged away from his embrace.

“We only arranged it today. You were in the shower when Moya rang. You said you were on a late today,” Evie said, and I wondered why she was going to the trouble of explaining it to him.