Читать книгу Toxic: The addictive new crime thriller from the best selling author that will have you gripped in 2018 - Jacqui Rose, Jacqui Rose - Страница 24

Wednesday turned into Thursday and Bree Dwyer found herself hurriedly pushing the trolley round the small supermarket in Saffron Walden. She was trying to push the unease away, trying to forget what she saw in Kieran’s bag, whilst praying that the tribute band recording of Cliff Richard’s greatest hits – which was on a loop and being played throughout the store – would stop.

She checked her watch. The fourth time in less than five minutes. If she didn’t get a move on the shopping list would go out the window, and she’d have to abandon the packets of crisps, burgers and iced gems, like she so often did.

Time was always her enemy. An hour and a half. That’s all she had. All Johnny had given her. His present to her. Her time limit. To drive, to park, to get everything she needed, but every breath, every turn, robbed her of time.

Inanimate objects stealing those precious seconds: her purse to find the change for the carpark meter; her trainer lace needing to be tied. But she’d learnt the hard way. Over time. Throughout many beatings. She’d learnt that preparation was the key.

And so everything she did was calculated to the minute with military precision. Before she set off the money was already sorted in the glove compartment. The trainers replaced with slip-on shoes. It didn’t matter if there were roadworks or traffic, because it was her job to get back. Because that was the only way. Fail to prepare, prepare to … well, she didn’t like to think of it, to think about one of Johnny’s lessons he liked to teach her.

She sighed, the grimness of the place exacerbating the sense of emptiness she felt. The half-stacked shelves. The empty aisles save an intoxicated old man. The bargain bins of processed own-brand tins. It wasn’t her choice to come here, she would’ve rather gone to the new shopping centre further down the road, but that was at least another fifteen minutes. And that wasn’t even an option.

Oh God, how she longed to run. To throw down the spaghetti hoops and run to the car. To keep on driving. Past the petrol station, past the lay-by, past the roundabout and just keep on going. But she knew. Johnny knew. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not on her own. Not now. Not ever. So however tempting it was to get back in the car and never look back, she always did. She always looked back and she always returned home.

Bree glanced down at her watch again. It was getting late. She was annoyed with herself. Thinking had slowed her down, and now the line at the checkout had three people in it.

Deciding to leave the washing-up liquid, which was over in the next aisle, Bree rushed over to the till, behind the drunken man, behind a pregnant woman whose basket was filled with discount vodka and Cherryade.

Watching as the checkout man – Steve, according to his name badge – chewed and blew bubbles whilst trying but failing to get a packet of porridge oats to scan, Bree pushed down the sense of panic.

Indifferent to the rising impatience of the queuing customers, Steve excruciatingly slowly picked up a grey phone which was partly hidden under the five-pence bags. He spoke into it. His voice crackling over the store’s speakers cut into a Grazioso version of ‘The Young Ones’. ‘Anyone got a price for this?’

Lacking any sign of enthusiasm, Steve waved the porridge oats in the air, resting his arm in his other hand as he did so.

A woman with thinning grey hair, wearing a nylon blue-checked tabard, shuffled towards the till. Speaking with a lisp owing to missing her top teeth, she sniffed, asking, ‘Price for what?’

‘These.’

She nodded, taking the packets of oats, and shuffled away as slowly as Steve had picked up the phone.

Bree, seeing that this could take some time, spoke warmly. ‘Hi, I’m in a rush and I’m just wondering if there was someone else here who could go on the other till.’

Blowing another bubble, Steve, with cutting derision, stared at Bree. ‘I don’t know, let’s see, shall we?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Steve then proceeded to get up from his swivel chair and search under the counter, before reappearing to lift up the leaflets and plastic bags on the side. He turned back to Bree, coldly. ‘Doesn’t look like they’re there.’

‘Please, I’m in a real hurry.’

‘Look, darlin’. Everyone’s in a rush, but it ain’t everyone who’s chewing me off about it. Only you.’

‘Don’t speak to her like that.’

Steve stared aggressively. ‘What’s it to do with you, mate?’

Alfie Jennings grinned as he stepped forward from behind Bree. ‘Nothing, not a damn fucking thing, but unfortunately for you mate, I’ve made it my business. Problem with that … Steve?’

And as Steve gulped hard, unwittingly swallowing his chewing gum, he turned red before only managing a quiet voice to simply say, ‘No.’

Alfie stood in the supermarket’s tree-lined carpark in Saffron Walden – a medieval market town located in northwest Essex – listening but not really concentrating on the gratitude the woman was offering him. For a start, she was a sort. A proper sort. Soft pale skin, long tumbling waves, slim yet a curvaceous body … Oh shit. He had to stop. He was getting a boner. Not a good look in the first five minutes of speaking to her. But Christ, it’d been a while since he’d made love to a woman.

Before he’d left Spain, he hadn’t seen Franny properly for at least three weeks whilst he and Vaughn got the last lot of the money together, and then when he had seen her it’d been for less than five minutes when he’d just handed the money over to her. Shit! He suddenly felt the anger rise up in him. Franny was the absolute last person he wanted to think about now. It hurt like hell. Not that he’d let on to the others how angry, how gutted he was with her, because if he did, he knew he’d end up winding himself up and no doubt arguing with Vaughn and Janine about it even more, and that was the last thing he needed.

The other reason he found himself not being able to concentrate on what this woman was saying, was the fact it’d just dawned on him that this was the woman he’d seen in the woods, looking terrified, looking like she was trying to get away – though it still hadn’t come back to him how else he knew her.

‘… so anyway, thank you so much.’

‘Sorry?’ Alfie shook himself out of his thoughts.

‘Just thank you, I’m really grateful. Anyway, I’ve really got to go.’

Carrying her shopping, Bree began to jog towards her car.

A sudden thought hit Alfie. Pounding his being. ‘Stop! Hold up.’

Looking at her watch, Bree, trying not to be rude, gave a tight smile as she waited.

‘I know you, don’t I?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Sorry, but I really have to go.’

Bree turned but was held back by Alfie as he gently grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t give me that.’

Confused, Bree looked worried, agitated. ‘What … what are you talking about?’

A large grin crossed and stayed on Alfie’s handsome face. ‘Bree O’Neill. You were mates with my little sister. God, I remember picking you both up from school. Drove me mad. There’s me, a spotty teenager wanting to give it large, but instead I’ve got two little kids in tow. Wasn’t great for me image …’ He stopped to laugh before saying, ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

Bree stared then a small flicker of recognition turned into a shy smile. ‘Alfie … Alfie Jennings.’

‘That’s right girl. It’s Alfie.’

The warmth with which Alfie said this hit and ripped at Bree. Unexpectedly, she burst into tears.

Alfie, taken aback and slightly embarrassed, joked, ‘Fuck me, girl, I knew I had an effect on women, but I was hoping it was more about the magnetic than the misery. Come here, you soft cow, give us a hug.’

A hug which was watched by Ma Dwyer as she sat in her car opposite.

‘And did you let him touch you … here? Did he touch you here, Bree?’ Johnny grabbed Bree between her legs as he whispered into her ear. Pressing his body hard against hers. She gave out a small, painful yelp.

‘Did you like it, Bree? Did you ask him for more?’

‘Johnny, you got to believe me. I only spoke to him for a moment.’

‘Liar!’ Johnny punched the wall, centimetres from Bree’s head. ‘Ma told me she saw you in the car park.’

Bree nodded, speaking breathlessly. ‘Exactly! I only talked.’

Johnny whispered back. ‘Don’t lie to me. Don’t make it worse.’

‘I’m not.’

‘What was it like, Bree?’

Terrified, Bree turned her head to the side. Her words were almost inaudible. ‘Nothing happened.’

Staring at her, Johnny suddenly dropped to his knees. Sobbing as he buried and pushed his head into Bree’s stomach. Wild-eyed, he gazed up at her. A ghost-like look on his face.

‘How many times, Bree? Why, why, why did you do it to me? How many times did you let him fuck you?’

Bree closed her eyes, praying, trying anything she could to let her imagination protect her from what was about to follow. As Johnny began to undo his belt, she imagined the crystal-blue waters of a faraway ocean, the sparkle of the sea as she dived in. And as Johnny roughly pulled at her clothes she saw the racing dolphins. And as his hands touched her body she saw herself leaping out of the cooling ocean into the mirrored blue sky to soar over the mountains and high above the trees over the planes and fields to a place far away.

‘I’ll leave you to it, Johnny.’ Ma Dwyer smiled at her son as she opened the door and left the room.