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  ‘Yeah, yeah…’ I say, ‘in which case we’re looking for a hair in a haystack…’

  I can almost hear the deflation in her breathing.

  ‘Listen, good work. Go home, Lucy,’ I say. Her bollocking can wait until we’re in person. I prefer face-to-face when I have to pull rank. ‘That husband of yours will place a missing persons’ otherwise.’

  She laughs softly, ‘Thanks Gov. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  * * *

  I hang up and crank up the stereo. Badly Drawn Boy’s ‘Once Around the Block’ is playing – the dude with the Bennie from Crossroads hat who won the Mercury Prize back in the 1990s and never really did anything else of note since. Well, nothing mainstream anyway. What was the name of his album again? I have it somewhere, haven’t listened to it in ages. I make a mental note to find it. I sing along with the ‘do, do do bahs’ and ‘bo be dos’ in a bid to lift my mood; a desperate attempt to stop the words from penetrating my psyche and taking root there. And then I drive over to Mathers’ mother’s house.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘This is delicious,’ Kizzy says, tucking into the plate of lasagne, ‘such a treat, someone cooking for me for a change. I can’t remember, I actually can’t remember, the last time someone made me dinner.’

  ‘You’re so welcome,’ Danni-Jo replies, topping up Kizzy’s wine glass with more Prosecco and passing her the salad bowl. ‘I thought you could do with cheering up after the week you’ve had.’

  Kizzy pushes her fuzz of ginger hair from her face and takes another forkful of pasta. ‘The table looks so nice,’ she comments, admiring the silver candelabra. ‘So thoughtful of you Danni-Jo, I really appreciate it.’

  Danni-Jo takes a sip of her own drink. ‘Did you hear anything back from the police? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be more helpful… Did they pay your ex a visit or make any enquiries? They said something about checking the CCTV in the stairway.’

  Kizzy shakes her head, her halo of hair wobbling into her plate. ‘No, nothing… They haven’t got back to me. I’m sure they’ve probably got much more important things to do than investigate the murder of my Esmerelda but…’

  You’d think.

  ‘… but you’d think they might just drop me a courtesy call, you know, let me know they’re taking it seriously. I mean, I know she was poisoned, and I know it was him, that bastard,’ her face contorts, ‘it had to be.’

  ‘But how would he have got into your apartment?’

  She’s playing devil’s advocate – feeling confident enough to.

  Kizzy replaces her knife and fork and sits back in her chair. ‘I really don’t know… perhaps this is his way of letting me know that he can break in. I was worried something like this might happen. If he has, found me I mean, then who knows what he’ll do? Perhaps my Esme was a warning?’

  She looks at Kizzy’s plate, hardly touched. ‘C’mon, you’ve got to eat,’ Danni-Jo’s voice is soothing, ‘you can’t let him get to you like this. This is what he wants, you in a state, not able to eat or sleep… upset and anxious.’

  Kizzy guzzles more wine. ‘I know you’re right.’ She tentatively picks up the knife and fork again. She’s not hungry any more but she doesn’t want to be rude, not when her kind neighbour has gone to such an effort. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not the food, the food is delicious, it’s just me, Esmerelda… I’m frightened that he’s back and of what he might do to me. I know what he’s capable of.’

  Danni-Jo reaches for her hand. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ she says, reassuring her, ‘you’ve got me, I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.’ She squeezes her fingers in her own, watching as Kizzy’s eyes begin to fill up. ‘You’ve been really good to me Kizzy, like a surrogate mother, that’s what I told the police, that you’ve been like a mother to me. I’d never let anyone hurt you again.’

  Her words seem to undo Kizzy completely and she makes a soft whinnying sound as she brushes away the tears streaking down her cheeks.

  ‘Really? Is that what you said to the police, that I’m like a mother to you?’

  ‘Yes, yes it is… and it’s true. Now come on, get that lasagne down you, it took me ages to make – Jamie Olivier makes it all look so easy!’

  Kizzy laughs. ‘Well, you could give him a run for his money.’

  There a moment’s pause as they resume eating, the clatter of cutlery amplified by their silence.

  ‘I will never have that now – a daughter – left it far too late.’

  ‘Well, I only wish I had a mum to look after,’ Danni-Jo says, ‘so let’s say from now on that you can be my Mummy Bear – and we’ll look after each other.’

  ‘I’d love that,’ Kizzy says, giggling, ‘Mummy Bear.’ She feels a little light-headed, must be the booze.

  Danni-Jo watches her from across the table, sad, pathetic wretch that she is, drowning painfully in her own lack of self-worth, grateful for the slightest morsel of affection; just so trusting and desperate. How horrible it must be to be Karen Walker, trapped in a world of perpetual fear and disappointment forever preceded by unrealised hope. She looks at her with concealed pity and contempt. She understands.

  ‘We’ll skip desert and go straight to Irish coffee, if you’re not feeling that hungry,’ she says, beginning to clear away the plates.

  ‘I’m sorry Danni-Jo,’ Kizzy apologises, ‘I thought I felt okay, but Esmerelda…’ her voice trails off, ‘this has really got to me. I’m scared. Losing her like that – with her being murdered and everything… I went to see the doctor and she prescribed me some more anti-depressants. I’m cross with myself really because I thought this… I thought that moving here would be a new beginning for me, that I could start afresh, unafraid… I’ve spent my whole life being afraid.’

  She understands. Danni-Jo goes to the kitchen and, smiling to herself, begins to prepare the Irish coffees. ‘We’ll have these on the sofa,’ she says, ‘I’ll put a film on. Maybe that will cheer you up. I’ve got Dirty Dancing on DVD, I know it’s your favourite.’

  ‘Well, I’ll drink this with you and then I must go to bed. I’m feeling so tired, unusually so,’ Kizzy rubs her forehead with her hand, fighting with it. ‘I’m sorry, Danni-Jo, all this effort you’ve gone to, as well.’

  She dismisses the comment with wave of her hand. ‘Don’t be daft, what are daughters for?’

  Kizzy looks at her then, almost lovingly, her head tilted to the side. ‘I feel so lucky you’ve come into my life,’ she says after a moment. ‘It’s like you were sent by the angels, do you know that?’ The wine has really gone to her head.

  Danni-Jo is glad now that she cancelled her evening with the foot-fetish freak. He’d not been best pleased about her sudden rain check but c’est la vie. She had much more important business to attend to.

  ‘Look, if you’re feeling tired then perhaps you should go lie down, get some rest? Tomorrow’s a new day.’

  She shows Kizzy out of the door. She’s stumbling now, her movements jerky and erratic.

  ‘I… I just feel so tired…’

  ‘Nearly there,’ Danni-Jo says, helping Kizzy as she struggles with the key to her apartment door, ‘it’s almost over.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kizzy collapses on the bed inside her apartment. Her body twitches as Danni-Jo watches and waits. Anvil, plus the anti-depressants, Kizzy had ingested them in the lasagne and the Prosecco. She’d put more in the coffee too though it seems they weren’t needed.

  She’s in a slumber now, the first stages, and Danni-Jo observes the room. Kizzy’s apartment is almost identical to her own, only in reverse, left is right and vice versa, like a mirror. Kizzy’s frame is lumped to one side on the bed. She still has her shoes on and she’s fully clothed. Danni-Jo imagines her slipping into a dark abyss of sleeping pills and prescription drugs, and she listens to the weighty heaviness of her breathing as she disappears inside herself. She begins to undress her, folding her clothes neatly and placing them on the c
hair next to the bed. She’s wearing latex gloves. Kizzy moans lightly as she strips her down to her practical underwear. Her eyes are closed, her limbs like iron bars. She takes a nightdress from her chest of draws and pulls her into an upright position, struggling a little to get the garment over her head as it rolls like a marionette’s. A puppet, that’s what Kizzy is really, has been all her rotten life. She removes her sensible shoes and places them on the floor next to her clothes. Silently, calmly, her own breathing low and measured, she begins to search for Kizzy’s journal, the one she had found that afternoon when she’d had a snoop around. Finding it in the living area, she places it on the bedside table, open on today’s date. There’s no entry. She decides to flick through it and scans the previous day’s pages. They’re filled with despair over the demise of Kizzy’s beloved cat. Words jump out at Danni-Jo, ‘feeling so low’, ‘depressed’, ‘life’s not worth living’, ‘how could he do this?’ ‘He’s found me, he’s after me again… I’m terrified’. She flicks through the pages, ‘at least I have my new friend, Danni-Jo… she’s been so kind to me. There are kind people in this world… people like Danni-Jo, she’s invited me for dinner this week… I’m so happy to have made a new friend, she’s restored my faith in humanity, a little at least.’

  Danni-Jo smiles, genuinely touched.

  She leaves the page open and goes into the living area where she sits on the sofa and lights a cigarette, blowing smoke rings above her, watching as they form perfect O’s before gradually curling out of shape to nothing. She plays with the razor blade between her thumb and index finger, flicking it over between them, fascinated at how it catches the light from the window. She doesn’t bother to draw the curtains; they’re on the top floor, they’re not overlooked by anyone, no one can see. Her thoughts are troubled once more by the potential issue of having been caught on CCTV entering Kizzy’s apartment on the day she poisoned the cat. She’s already told the police a lie: that she wasn’t there. First thing in the morning, she would pay the building security bloke a visit and somehow get him to erase the past few weeks of footage. This annoying problem bothers Danni-Jo, but it’s not enough of a deterrent to put her off returning to her apartment, leaving Kizzy to reach a deep sleep. She has a purpose now, a divine one. She owes it to Mummy Bear, poor unhappy Mummy Bear, a martyr to her own misery, a slave to her own delusions of goodness and hope. Danni-Jo can no longer bear to see her suffer in such a way, just like her own mother did. She is kind; Kizzy recognises this in her, just as her mother did too. And so she must, must commit this selfless act of kindness and put an end to her suffering.

  Danni-Jo extinguishes her cigarette in the sink, pushing the butt down the plughole and running the tap. Kizzy is asleep now, comatose. She moves closer towards the bed and watches her breathing heavily for a moment, the rhythmic sound is almost hypnotic. Entering the bathroom, she opens the cabinet and takes out the selection of pill bottles inside, before emptying most of their contents into some toilet tissue. She saves a few, putting them to one side before flushing the paper down the toilet. Then she places the bottles haphazardly on the bed, and one on its side on the bedside table with the remaining few tablets spilling out of it. She removes the top from the bottle of vodka she’s brought with her and empties half of it down the sink, before taking a few generous swigs herself, pulling her lips over her teeth as the breath leaves her body – she hates vodka, it’s a disgusting tramp’s drink, tasteless and spiteful on the throat, a means-to-an-end kind of drink, crass. She parts Kizzy’s lips and pours a little of the clear liquid into her mouth. She begins to choke, a dry, retching sound emanating from her as she convulses. It’s enough to cause an involuntary physical reaction, but not enough to wake her, not quite anyway. She moans and murmurs.

  ‘Shhhh now, Mummy Bear,’ Danni-Jo soothes her, ‘we don’t want a scene, think of the neighbours…’

  Kizzy coughs, attempting to expel the foreign liquid that’s burning into her oesophagus. Her eyes shoot open for a second, only to close just as quickly. She spasms, sits up for a fleeting moment and collapses onto her back. Her heart is beating rapidly.

  Music; Danni-Jo decides she wants music. She replaces the bottle on the bedside table and goes to turn the radio on. Magic FM. It’s playing Everything But The Girl’s ‘Walking Wounded’. She smiles at the appropriateness. This is a sign. She’s sure of that. A fait accompli. She begins to sing softly underneath her breath, ‘what do you want from me, you’re trying to punish me, punish me for loving you, punishing me for giving to you…’ She knows this song. She’s heard it before. Her mother liked it. She picks up the razor blade that she’s placed on the side of the sink and marches towards the bed. Kizzy’s wrist is limp as she takes it in her hand before slicing it vertically. The blood hits her directly, sprays across her chest and lower face, a warm jet on her lips and chin. She isn’t repulsed by it like she was with Daddy Bear. She wants this intimacy with Kizzy, with Mummy Bear. She doesn’t flinch or wipe it away, but marvels at the warmth of Kizzy’s life force on her skin, before taking her other wrist, holding it in her hand like a trophy.

  But suddenly Kizzy buckles, her eyes shoot open and she gasps, a curdled scream comes from her mouth. Oh no, Mummy Bear! Please don’t fight it! Kizzy’s eyes open in horror. She knows something terrible is taking place. Quickly Danni-Jo pushes her onto her back and puts her hand over her mouth. Kizzy is awake, a look of despair and confusion in her eyes as she appears to realise the horror of her situation. But she’s too incapacitated to fight – to prevent what is happening to her. She tries to call out but her voice is a paralysed, rasping silence instead. Kizzy slips back into unconsciousness.

  ‘Now you were doing so well, Mummy Bear,’ Danni-Jo says, ‘I’m very disappointed in you.’ She opens up her left wrist, watching as the blood rushes to the surface of Kizzy’s thin skin. It drips onto the bed. ‘It’s okay now, Mummy Bear,’ she says, soothing her, watching her body twitch and spasm, until eventually it is still.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It’s almost twilight as she comes out of her trance-like state. Danni-Jo realises, as the fog in her mind begins to disperse, that she has been laying on the bed for some time – possibly hours if the morning light is an indicator. She must’ve fallen asleep. Mummy Bear is next to her. She looks as though she too is sleeping; at peace, finally. She smiles gently as she observes her, on her back, wearing her nightgown, her ginger hair a mass of fuzzy curls stuck to her forehead. Her face is pale, or perhaps it’s just the light coming from the window. She does not see the blood at first, although it is everywhere, all over the bed sheets, like a paint pot has exploded, random splashes making pretty kaleidoscopic patterns. It reminds her of those weird psychedelic films she’s seen on TV, the ones from the 1960s where thin, androgynous-looking models stripped themselves bare and covered themselves in paint before rolling onto huge sheets of paper – all in the name of art, of course.

  Danni-Jo stares at the wounds on Kizzy’s wrists, open and raw, aubergine in colour, glistening, congealing. There’s a bottle of pills next to her. She takes it and places it loosely – gently – in Kizzy’s left hand, a new razor blade in the other. She feels rejuvenated as she does this, empowered by a sense of accomplishment. She has saved Mummy Bear’s life; saved her from her inherent misery, from her disappointment in the human race, her perpetually abused positivity, and her hopefulness that happiness would be available to her if only she just tried harder. She had helped Kizzy achieve her peace this way: to reach her nirvana. No one could hurt her now. Her suffering was over and her work here was done.

  Light-footed and headed, she walks to the bathroom and wraps the bloody razor blade in the quilted toilet tissue from the roll. It’s imprinted with tiny Labradors, which Danni-Jo studies for a moment before flushing the blade away. She feels hungry and thinks about breakfast. Pancakes and maple syrup perhaps, or a waffle and Nutella, something sweet anyway. The thought makes her mouth watery. Suddenly she catches sight of her reflection
in the mirror, her heavily bloodied face and hair, matted in dark clumps around her hairline. She doesn’t recognise herself. The sight turns her stomach; she doesn’t like blood, not her own, and she doesn’t want to look at herself, but she begins to check her face with latex fingers for scratches or abrasions. There are none. The blood, all that blood, it is not hers. She must leave, quickly. Go back to her apartment and take a hot shower, begin the process of cleaning herself up – get some food inside her. Her stomach feels like her throat has been cut. She looks down at her blood-splattered slippers and makes a mental note to burn them; she’d treat herself to a new pair, some fluffy ones. Re-entering the bedroom, she picks up the small teddy bear she’d brought with her and places it on the bed next to Kizzy, rearranging it a couple of times until it sits exactly how she wants it to. Once she’s happy with the juxtaposition, she stands back to admire the image, a rush of adrenaline almost making her dizzy as she smiles sweetly, her head cocked to the side.

  ‘Goodnight Mummy Bear… I love you,’ she says before turning to leave. But as she turns she thinks she sees movement, and she swings back round violently, air involuntarily leaving her body in a sudden gasp. Kizzy’s arm is twitching.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  She rushes to the bed, seizing Kizzy’s offending appendage. Kizzy is gurgling now, small rasping breaths are escaping from her throat as she desperately clings onto life. Panic seizes Danni-Jo; a surge of violent energy causing her to focus. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She grabs the pillow from underneath Kizzy’s head and brings it down over her face.

  ‘Stupid fucking Mummy Bear… Look what you’ve done… Look what you’ve made me do… You’ve ruined everything you selfish, stupid bitch!’