The Good Samaritan
Page 54

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ I said aloud, and dropped the phone onto the sofa. I was at a loss as to how to respond. Maybe now I’d made Laura’s boss aware of what she was capable of, I’d just need to remain patient and wait for Laura to mess up. However, until that happened, if Laura was gunning for me, I’d need to be prepared.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LAURA
‘Hello, my dear, are you back in the land of the living?’
Mary gave me one of her all-encompassing hugs, the kind where she thrust her body into yours and which made you want to change your clothes immediately.
‘Yes, it was a particularly nasty tummy bug. The girls had it too,’ I lied.
Following my confrontation at Effie’s school with Ryan, and the discovery that Janine was screwing my husband, I’d bought some time away from the office by faking the norovirus. I hadn’t yet mustered up the strength to confront Janine without wanting to pour a kettle of boiling water over her head.
‘Taking a few days off gave me time to whip up a batch of these.’
I eased the lid from a cake tin crammed with the contents of three boxes of clotted cream shortbread I’d bought a day earlier. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t contagious when I made them,’ I joked as Mary’s wrinkled hand dipped inside. I took a moment to glance around the rest of the office. Full of enthusiasm and always with other people’s best interests above their own, my colleagues were genuine, good people. But they were also incredibly blind. None of them could see what was right under their noses. None of them knew who I really was.
‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ Kevin warned as I made my way to my desk. ‘Janine’s put you down for a one-to-one drop-in, in about half an hour.’
I rolled my eyes. Janine knew I wasn’t comfortable with face-to-face callers, yet the spiteful cow had still appointed me one. Now I’d have to go and see her, and make up an excuse as to why I couldn’t do it.
‘She’s not in,’ continued Kevin, pre-empting my response. ‘She’s taken a couple of days off. She said she’s going away with her new fella.’
I stopped in my tracks.
‘New fella?’ I repeated, almost spitting out the words.
‘Yes, she’s been seeing some bloke for a while now. It sounds pretty serious from what she’s been telling Zoe.’
‘Well, it just goes to prove there’s someone for everyone. Even someone with Janine’s unique appearance.’
I stepped into her office to fume alone. I wanted to put Tony and Janine and their grubby little liaison to the back of my mind, but it was easier said than done. Instead I was picturing them, arms entwined, walking along a beachfront. I could see them enjoying a picnic in the countryside, kissing under the sun. I could imagine him holding his jacket over their heads to keep them dry in a sudden downpour. Everything he should have been doing with me, he was doing with her.
I flicked through the appointments book and questioned how – of all the people my handsome husband could have replaced me with – he’d chosen that thing. That frumpy, weasel-faced shit of a woman, cuddling up to my Tony and playing mother to my children. It beggared belief.
I’d thought that he and I had grown closer after my attack, and now I was even starting to build a relationship with Effie and Alice again. We should have been on the same page, with the aim of us all living together under one roof. And in time, maybe Tony might have even accepted Henry back into our lives. All five of us, like it was supposed to be. Not them with her; not them with Janine.
It had been my plan to deal with Ryan first and then Janine, but as my rage rose like lava bubbling at the rim of a volcano, they now shared equal billing.
I took a deep, calming breath, but the smell of Janine’s cheap supermarket perfume lingered in the air and caught the back of my throat, making me cough. I found the name of my drop-in caller in the appointments book and paused when I spotted Janine’s diary peeking out from an open desk drawer. I made sure I wasn’t being watched as I flicked from page to page. Today she’d scheduled the start of a long weekend. She’d written ‘Iceland’ with three exclamation marks; the ‘i’ was lower case and a heart used instead of a dot. Tony was aware I’d always wanted to see the Northern Lights but he’d refused to go with me because he hated the cold. Now he’d taken Janine there. I hoped the lights were so bright they blinded her.
Tony and I had taken many long-weekend city breaks. His parents looked after the kids and we’d spend Friday to Sunday in cities like Bruges and Barcelona. I hated that he was replicating our life with Janine.
I skipped back a few pages and noted she’d scribbled something out. She’d pressed pretty heavily on the page because it left an impression on the next. What was she trying to hide? Curious, I held the paper up to the strip light and the name became clear.
4.15 p.m., Ryan Smith, it read.
I glared at the name for a time, allowing my brain to absorb it and what it meant. I blinked hard and looked again and his name was still there. The only two people on my hit list were working together.
A knock on the door made me jump out of my skin, and I covered the diary with a ring binder.
‘Laura, your appointment is here.’ Zoe smiled. ‘I’ll start monitoring the cameras.’
Downstairs, a man with a pinched face and the stench of stale tobacco began grumbling about how dreadful his life had been since his wife walked out on him. Knowing we were being watched, I nodded at the appropriate times and gave enough sympathetic smiles where suitable. Even when he told me he thought he’d be better off dead than alone, I didn’t bite. I didn’t need a candidate right now. All I could think about was Janine and Ryan meeting under this roof and in this room. Not knowing what they had discussed was killing me.
Later, when the client left, seemingly satisfied that someone in the world now understood his woes, I went back upstairs and thanked Zoe for keeping an eye on me from the camera room. I waited for her to return to her desk, then went into the room and closed the door. She hadn’t logged out from the computer, so I accessed a file containing saved footage of past drop-in callers. Each clip was labelled with their name, date, the interviewer and the camera monitor. However, none of the MPEGs had Ryan’s name attached. I folded my arms, frustrated. Then I clicked the mouse on the trash can symbol. Among the deleted Word documents was a file titled ‘R.S.’
‘Ryan Smith,’ I said out loud.
With no other names attached to it, I assumed Janine had recorded it herself then deleted it, but forgotten to empty the virtual rubbish bin.
I slipped on the headphones and pressed play. Eventually, Ryan entered the room followed by Janine. He drummed his fingers against his leg and tapped his foot on the floor nervously while he waited for her to return with a glass. This was a very different Ryan from the smug one taunting me at Effie’s school.
I listened intently as he told Janine about his wife Charlotte’s death and how he’d read online about the Helpline Heroine, and he recalled the effort he’d put into discovering if I were real. Then he recounted in detail our many conversations – how I’d encouraged him to die and how I’d accepted his invitation to watch as it happened. My heart raced. I kept staring at Janine’s face, but it remained emotionless despite the accusations.
Listening to Ryan talk in-depth about the loss he’d felt after his wife’s death humanised him a little. Until that moment, he’d been an unpredictable force bent on tormenting me. But watching this video, he became a real person, a man who’d suffered; who was fractured and lonely. He was nothing like the formidable opponent I’d spent months hiding from in my house.