The Vanishing Point

10

‘That’s settled, then.’ Scarlett topped up both glasses. This time, Stephanie joined in the celebratory clinking of glasses. ‘You’ve no idea how much I missed you, Steph. The one good thing about not having to keep things hidden from you any more is that you’ll be able to come and visit. There’s even a little outbuilding on the edge of the forest with a wood stove. You could come out here to write, if you wanted to.’ There was nothing to distinguish her cheerful expression from the one Stephanie had grown used to over the years.

‘That might be fun.’ It was beyond bizarre, she thought, desperately trying to come up with a plan that would mean safety for Jimmy and life for her and Nick. Nothing she could think of worked. Whether they went with or without him, they’d never feel safe again. Scarlett was cunning, clever and ruthless, and Simon appeared to be entirely in thrall to her narcissism. Stephanie and Nick would never know the day or the hour. The only thing they could be certain of was that their knowledge was a death warrant where Scarlett was concerned.

But Stephanie had meant what she said about Jimmy being her primary concern. By any measure, putting the child first meant ensuring he didn’t grow up in a household where murder was high on the list of approved solutions to complex problems. They had to walk out of here with Jimmy. She had a feeling that if she said as much, Scarlett would laugh and say, ‘Over my dead body.’

Well, maybe that could be arranged.

Stephanie, who had never done anything more violent than set a mousetrap, let her mind race through the dramatic climaxes of films she’d seen and books she’d read. Scarlett turned away from her and opened the fridge. ‘I’m sure there’s olives and cheese in here, we can have some nibbles while Simon finishes cooking,’ she said. ‘You two must be starving.’

Stephanie knew she’d simply have to act without thinking about it. In one smooth movement, she picked up the knife Simon had been using on the onions and stepped up close behind Scarlett. With her left hand, she grabbed the thick tail of hair, twisting it round her hand and yanking it backwards. Scarlett yelped in shock as her head jerked back, exposing her soft throat to the sharp blade that Stephanie drew from left to right. The knife was so sharp that neither woman felt the impact of the cut.

A sudden gusher of crimson spurted forward, staining the packed contents of the fridge and splattering against the brilliant white interior. Stephanie pushed Scarlett away from her and stepped back. Her former friend crumpled to the floor, blood spreading in a pool from the grinning gash in her throat. Air gurgled in the blood, a gruesome sound Stephanie thought she would hear for ever in her nightmares. Spasms racked Scarlett’s body and her hands twitched and contorted as they tried to reach the wound.

Stephanie threw the knife down. Then she remembered all those TV dramas and picked it up again, taking it to the sink. She grabbed a nearby towel and rubbed the handle clean, then ran it under the hot tap. It would be identifiable as the murder weapon, but it wouldn’t have her fingerprints on it. She did the same with her Prosecco glass. She didn’t think she’d touched anything else, but she kept hold of the towel. She felt like she was outside her body, watching herself do these things but not actually part of them.

She glanced down at her clothes, checking for obvious bloodstains, but saw none. The blood had all spurted forward, leaving her clean. She took a deep breath then turned back to the mess she’d made. The blood wasn’t flowing any more, just seeping. It was amazing how fast someone could bleed out. And how much mess that blood could make.

Stepping carefully to avoid contaminating herself with Scarlett’s blood, Stephanie made it to the door. Using the towel, she opened it and stepped into the cosy hall, carefully shutting the door behind her. Ahead of her, a wide wooden staircase rose to the upper floor and Stephanie climbed carefully, taking her time over each step. She remembered having felt like this on the one occasion she’d smoked dope; her body didn’t seem to be a living thing any longer. It was more like a giant robot suit inside which she was manipulating the controls.

On the upstairs landing, light and noise spilled from a doorway. Stephanie walked unsteadily to the doorway and made herself smile. ‘You look like you’re having fun,’ she said. Jimmy and the two men were putting the finishing touches to building a Lego railway, testing the motors in the trains and the levers that moved the points.

‘It’s the most fun I’ve had in years,’ Nick said, looking as if he meant it.

‘I’m sorry I’ve got to break it up,’ she said. ‘Jimmy, we need to go home. If there’s anything you want to take with you, grab it now, because we really do need to be on our way.’

Nick was first to react. He scrambled upright and hoisted Jimmy into the air. ‘What do you say? Anything you can’t live without, Jimmy?’

‘Wait a minute,’ Simon said, struggling to get to his feet in the tight corner where he was penned by Lego and a toy chest.

Jimmy looked around, frowning. ‘My DS,’ he said, pointing to the small Nintendo console lying on the bed. Nick scooped it up and headed out the door. Stephanie moved back to block the exit.

‘Wait a minute,’ Simon said, lunging towards the doorway. But Stephanie didn’t budge, and his reluctance to hit a woman bought Nick and Jimmy valuable seconds. He gripped her upper arms and tried to shift her bodily out of the way, but Stephanie resisted. ‘What have you done, you mad bitch?’ he shouted. ‘Where’s Scarlett? Scarlett?’

Finally, he used his superior weight against her and simply pushed her back. He ran down the stairs, shouting Scarlett’s name. The yelling stopped abruptly as soon as he opened the kitchen door. By the time Stephanie had recovered her balance and made it to the bottom of the stairs, he was kneeling in Scarlett’s blood, cradling her head in his lap. ‘She didn’t leave me any choice,’ Stephanie said. ‘It was me or her. You know that.’

Simon didn’t even turn his head. ‘My love,’ he kept repeating, his voice cracked and broken.

Still moving like a woman in a trance, Stephanie carried on out the front door towards the little car. She was only a ghost, after all. She’d never been here. A single thought kept reverberating inside her head. You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.

You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.