Читать книгу Sweetpea: The most unique and gripping thriller of 2017 - C.J. Skuse, C. J. Skuse, C.J. Skuse - Страница 11

1. Mrs Whittaker – neighbour, elderly, kleptomaniac

2. ‘Dillon’ on the checkout in Lidl – he overcharged me for Craig’s paper

3. The suited man in the blue Qashqai who roars out of Sowerberry Road every morning – grey suit, aviator shades, Donald Trump tan

4. Derek Scudd

5. Wesley Parsons

The camellias are flowing in the front garden at Mum and Dad’s house. They look gorgeous. My mum planted them. I saw them when I took some more stuff round before work. Julia did some more begging. She’d made another attempt to smash the window.

‘DON’T YOU DARE SMASH A WINDOW!’ I yelled at her, yanking her head back hard until she crumpled to the carpet. ‘You carry on like that I’ll cut your other thumb off.’

I reminded her about ‘my friend who is watching her kids’. She shut up after that. I wanted to kill her today – it’s getting terribly tedious driving over there and feeding her and having to repeat the same threats over and over. It’s like looking after a very annoying horse. And I still can’t get the stains out of the carpet.

But it’s not the right time. Once it’s done, it’s done and I want to make sure it’s done right.

The police have released more information about Daniel Wells, the electrician whose life (and schlong) was brutally cut short by yours truly – he was indeed found with no attachment. The office was full of jokes about Dickless Dan all day. They’ve somehow ruled out terrorism. Apparently, he was involved in a bar fight on New Year’s Eve, so they’re following up that blind alley. That would explain the cut on his eyebrow, now I think of it.

Another salad for lunch. God damn you, Cucumber.

AJ has started flirting with Lana. He’s all ‘Hey, L, how you going?’ when he first gets in, and offers to make her peanut butter and banana on toast like he has in the morning. I’ve noticed, too, that he brings her chai latte before he brings over my cappuccino, and he chats to her longer. They both like swimming, both their dads ran out on their mums when they were kids and they both had cockatoos. Claudia’s clocked it and I do believe she is trying to keep him busy. She had him on filing duties upstairs for the best part of the afternoon.

I wonder how Lana screams. I wonder if her death scream will be the same as her sex scream.

Jeff and I had one of our debates over our 3 p.m. tea break. Today, it involved turning the historic almshouses in the town centre into a bail hostel. I said it was a good idea, owing to the amount of homeless in the town; Jeff said what about history? We didn’t reach an agreement but we clinked cups when we’d finished so I think we’re still friends.

Tonight, a planned protest in the town centre about Council Tax rises turned into a full-blown riot that spilled over into the retail park at the end of our road. There was looting, home-made missiles and unleaded Molotovs causing spontaneous fires. I’ve just got back. Took some great pictures – one of them, I think, is going to knock their socks off tomorrow and, I don’t mind telling you, I think it has a good chance of being next week’s front page. Maybe I can impress Claudia and Linus with them tomorrow and finally get where I’m meant to be in life – on the front page. A front page with my name on it would make it all worthwhile.

I didn’t run into any opportunistic rapists down any side streets on the way home. It’s always the same when you’re prepared for it. Like bloody buses.

Did some writing in bed. It’s not going well. My stomach was rumbling throughout, owing to no tea (Craig had made full-fat lasagne and garlic bread), and once you’ve likened a hot guy’s teeth to ‘a graveyard of white surfboards in his mouth’ you know you’re in the shit. Had another rejection letter today, this time from one of the big guns: The Garside Agency. They said my work ‘lacked emotional depth’. Just like me, I suppose. Thirty-seven agents I’ve sent it too now. They can’t all be wrong. Think it’s time to dismantle The Alibi Clock. Who wants fiction anyway when you’ve got good old fact to have fun with?