Behind Her Eyes: The Sunday Times #1 best selling psychological thriller. Sarah Pinborough

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СКАЧАТЬ the one. I knew it.’

      ‘That’s very young,’ she says.

      ‘Maybe. I guess. You know he saved my life?’

      ‘He did what?’ Despite the drowsy heat, she’s fully attentive now. ‘Are you talking literally or metaphorically?’

      ‘Literally. It was the night my parents died.’

      ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’ She looks very young, her wet blonde curls pushed away from her face and dripping onto her shoulders, and I think when she’s lost half a stone or so, her bone structure is going to be to die for.

      ‘It’s fine; it was a long time ago.’

      ‘What happened?’

      ‘I don’t actually remember anything about that night at all. I was seventeen, nearly eighteen. I was asleep at my parents’ house on their estate in Perthshire.’

      ‘Your parents had an estate? Like a proper country estate?’

      ‘Yep. Fairdale House it was called.’ I can feel myself becoming even more fascinating to Louise: a beautiful, damaged princess. ‘I did say I didn’t really need to get a job. Anyway,’ I shrug as if embarrassed, ‘my bedroom wasn’t too close to theirs. We liked our own space. At least, they did. They loved me, but they weren’t exactly loving, if that makes any sense. And once I was old enough, the space between us was good. It meant I could play music as loudly as I wanted and I could sneak David into the house at night without them knowing, so it worked.’

      ‘And?’ She’s listening, rapt, but I know she wants to get to the meat of the story – David. I’m happy with that. I don’t have any details of the fire anyway. It’s all second-hand.

      ‘The long and short of it is that my parents had had some people over, and the investigators think they were both quite drunk after their guests left. At some point in the night, a fire started and really took hold. By the time David broke in at about 2 a.m., got to my bedroom and dragged me out, it had spread throughout one half of the building. The half we mainly lived in. I was unconscious. My lungs were smoke damaged and David had third degree burns on his arm and shoulder. He had to have skin grafts. I think that was partly why he went into psychiatry rather than surgery. His nerves are damaged. Despite the burns, he still tried to go back for my parents, but it was impossible. If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead too.’

      ‘Wow,’ she says. ‘That’s amazing. I mean terrible, obviously, but also kind of amazing.’ She pauses. ‘What was he doing there in the middle of the night?’

      ‘He couldn’t sleep and wanted to see me. He was going back to uni a few days later. Just lucky, I guess. Anyway, I try not to think of all that too often.’

      She’s lost in the story still, and I think it must sting a bit. Make her feel second best. Perhaps she’s used to feeling second best. Even if she doesn’t know it, she has a natural shine, and people always like to dampen that. I fully intend to polish it back up.

      ‘I’m going to go and cool off in the pool for a minute,’ I say. All this talk of fire has made the steam unbearable. ‘How about we grab a salad from the restaurant afterwards? They’re lovely. Healthy and tasty.’

      ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘At this rate you’ll have me back in my size ten jeans before I know it.’

      ‘And why not?’

      ‘Yeah, why not?’

      She gives me an enthusiastic grin as I head out into the blissfully cool air, and I feel happy. I like her. I really do.

      I kick hard and fast in the water that’s deliciously cold on my skin, and as my stroke slices through in long, lean lengths, I get some of the workout I’ve missed. I need the rush that comes with it. I love the rush.

      We’re headed to the cafe, fresh-faced and hair dried, when I glance up at the clock on the wall. It’s two o’clock.

      ‘Is that the time? Hang on,’ I say, in a sudden panic, and squat to rummage through my bag.

      ‘You okay?’ Louise asks. ‘Did you leave something in the changing room?’

      ‘No, it’s not that,’ I frown, distracted. ‘My phone. I forgot my phone. I’m not used to having one, you see, but it’s two o’clock and if I don’t answer …’ It’s my turn for words to come out in a rush. I look up and force a smile. It’s not very convincing. ‘Look, why don’t we go to my place for lunch? The salads here are good, but I’ve got some great deli stuff in the fridge, and we can sit in the garden.’

      ‘Well, I don’t—’ she starts, clearly not keen on being in my house – David’s house – but I cut her off.

      ‘I’ll drop you home after.’ I smile again, trying to be dazzling and brilliant and beautiful. ‘It’ll be fun.’

      ‘Okay,’ she says, after a moment, even though she’s still perplexed. ‘Let’s do that then. But I can’t stay long.’

      I do like her. Strong, warm, funny.

      And also easily led.

       15

      LOUISE

      I try to make conversation in the car, telling her I can only stay an hour or so because Adam gets dropped home from after-school games at five and so I need to be back by 4.30, latest, but she’s not listening. She mutters the right sounds, but she keeps looking at the clock on the dashboard while driving too fast for the tight London roads. Why is she in such a hurry? What important call is she going to miss? Her brow is tight furrows of worry. Only when we’re through the front door does she relax. Which is ironic, because the act of stepping over the threshold makes me feel slightly sick. I shouldn’t be here. Not at all.

      ‘Ten minutes to spare,’ she says, smiling. ‘Come through.’

      It’s a beautiful home. Absolutely gorgeous. Wooden floors – thick, rich oak slabs, not cheap laminate – stretch the length of the hallway, and the stairs rise elegantly to one side. It’s a house you can breathe in. The air is cool, the brick walls old and solid. This house has stood for over a century and will easily stand for a century more.

      I peer into one room and see it’s a study. A desk by the window. A filing cabinet. A wing-backed chair. Books lining the shelves, all thick hardbacks, no holiday reads there. Then there’s a beautiful sitting room, stylish but not cluttered. Light and airy. And everything is pristine. My heart is thumping so hard it makes my head throb. I feel like an interloper. What would David think if he knew I’d been here? It’s one thing having coffee with his wife, but another to be in his house. Maybe he’d think both were equally crazy. Adele would too if she knew about what happened with David. She’d hate herself for inviting me into her home. She’d hate me. The worst part is that here, where I feel most out of place, I have a pang for the man-in-the-bar. I don’t want him to hate me. I’m going to have to tell him. I’m going to have to come clean.

      God, I’m such an idiot. I should never have let things get this far with Adele. But what am I supposed СКАЧАТЬ