Sweetpea: The most unique and gripping thriller of 2017. C.J. Skuse

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СКАЧАТЬ of Vs down the phone. Childish? Yes, but I was panicking.

      ‘They didn’t go in or anything, just looked at the drive and the frontage.’

      ‘So they were sniffing around the property without permission, is that even legal?’

      ‘No, it wasn’t like that at all. They just happened to be in the area and swung by the place. They liked the idea of the woods at the back as they have four quite big dogs. They’d like another look inside if you’re still looking to sell?’

      ‘Well, I’m not. I’m not ready. Nowhere near ready.’

      ‘They’re pretty keen, Rhiannon. You’d be hard-pressed to find—’

      ‘No, it’s not happening. I took it off the market for the foreseeable future and I haven’t changed my mind about that.’ I grabbed my bottle of Gaviscon from my desk drawer. I swigged down two glugs and winced at the chalkiness.

      ‘But your sister—’

      ‘I don’t care about my sister,’ I shouted, garnering a couple of glances from the subs on the other side of the room. ‘She’s a billion miles away.’

      ‘Okaaay,’ said Laila. ‘But you’ll find that she has half…’

      ‘You’ve no right to even contact me any more.’

      ‘Rhiannon, I can assure you—’

      I put the phone down without saying goodbye. Brutal.

      I swigged again at the Gaviscon. Sodding, sodding, sodding ARSE. I mean, yes, half of £825,000 would come in handy. And yes, I knew it would ‘make a great family home or a wonderful rural retirement opportunity’ for two old codgers with a sit-on mower and nothing else to do but moan about the migrants.

      But of course I had to deal with Julia.

      After that, yeah sure, bring it on. I’ll bake an apple tart and we can have an open house. Let’s get the whole neighbourhood round for a coffee and a stroke of my curtains. Only just let me get rid of the woman tied up in the back bedroom first.

      I swigged the Gaviscon again but it was empty.

      Normally, I put up with stuff. Keep my mouth shut and moan inwardly or write it down. But today, something had shifted. I don’t know if it had been due to talking about Priory Gardens again or what but my anger was off the charts. I needed to go fishing again. I needed to get out. I needed to find Derek Scudd.

      This town isn’t that big – he has to be somewhere, the maggot.

      *

      Lana went on lunch at 1.05. Today, I followed her.

      I heard them as I snuck my way in through the front door and across the lounge. The bedroom door was ajar and I could see they were both naked. She was on all fours. He was at the end of the bed, thrusting against her. She was making a noise like a dying seal being repeatedly, well, fucked up the arse. He never put as much effort into it when we were doing it. He put more oomph into Artexing the kitchen.

      I heard Tink then; an intermittent squeak coming from the bathroom. He’d locked her in so he could screw that bitch on my bed. OK, so Tink had a habit of getting in the way when me and Craig were having sex – I think she thought he was hurting me – but locking her in the bathroom? That’s just evil.

      I couldn’t kill them both – that would be too quick and easy. And I couldn’t let Tink out of the bathroom either cos then they would know I’d been home.

      So I went back to the office via the small chemist where my Pill prescription was and I loaded up on more Gaviscon. Next door was Granny Smiths the grocer’s – where I impulse-bought a bag of apples and some Conference pears. I needed something hard to crunch on while I thought about them doing it on my Tempur Sensation Deluxe mattress.

      Lana reappeared in the office at 2.03 p.m., flushed of cheek, sex-hair brushed back – my boyfriend’s cum puddle cooling in the crotch of her knickers. I wondered if she’d been the one to lock my dog in my bathroom before presenting her slick behind to my boyfriend. I wonder if Craig had remembered to let Tink out before he went back to work, stinking of Avon perfume and Marlboro Lights.

      I bumped into her in the staffroom around 3 p.m. when I went up to make the drinks for AJ, who was taking meeting minutes. She smiled at me, I smiled back and then we had a little staring competition. I won.

      Linus finished the day with blue lips and had to go into the office for a meeting with Ron about the murders, which can’t have looked very professional. AJ and I laughed ourselves out of the building.

      Tink scampered across the floor to greet me when I got in at 6 p.m. She seemed unscathed but desperate to lick my face and dog-tell me what Daddy had been up to in my absence. When I went in there, I noticed there was a small pile of treats that Craig had obviously left in an attempt to keep her quiet. Chihuahuas are loyal to their owners – she never eats until I’m home. He was making my favourite dinner – steak and peppercorn sauce, presumably so he could sizzle the smell of Lana’s ass out of the flat. Red meat? You think it’s a good idea to give me red meat tonight, boy?

      ‘Post for you,’ he said, looking up from the breakfast bar as he chopped green peppers. I could smell pot too – there were two joint dog-ends in the coffee table ashtray. One has the faintest tinge of hot pink at the end.

      I checked my three letters – bank statement, circular, another agent rejection, this time from Thickett & Wump. Dear Madam, Thank you for allowing us to consider your novel, The Alibi Clock. Unfortunately…

      Tink was still licking the epidermis from my cheek as I watched Craig tossing the salad and opening the Pinot Noir. He held it up for me to see the label.

      ‘Nice.’

      ‘Bit more expensive but it’s a good cut of meat so it deserves it. Good day?’

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