Читать книгу Saving Sophie: A compulsively twisty psychological thriller that will keep you gripped to the very last page - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 25

‘Erin is dead.’

The cry had shredded her eardrums. The words replayed on a loop. It’s all Karen had thought about during the night. The relief of Amy being found: brief, temporary, now replaced with a new horror. The victim wasn’t Sophie’s best friend; it was Karen’s best friend’s daughter. Sophie’s friend since birth.

The call, late last night, traumatic in its entirety, had left Karen numb. Rachel’s response following the outspill of those agonising words: It was Erin, had been one of shocked silence. Karen had been unable to think of a single comforting phrase to fill the void, had only repeated the words I’m so sorry. Lame, useless words meaning nothing; offering no support. But no words could fit this situation.

Karen replayed the heart-wrenching call, Rachel’s desperation, the way her words had rushed out of her once the silence had been breached.

‘I don’t understand …’ Sobs, gasping, gulps of air. ‘The description … it was like Amy, not Erin. I hadn’t seen her. Oh, Karen. She’d dyed her hair, had extensions put in at the weekend … I had no idea.’

‘Oh Rach, Rach, love—’ Karen’s contribution to the conversation.

‘Help me, Karen, I can’t do this.’ Wracking sobs, interspersed with more gasping, the sound harrowing, tearing at Karen’s heart.

A deep pain gripped her. How was this happening? Why? And how could she help?

Now, after a few hours of disrupted sleep, she leant awkwardly against the kitchen worktop, while Mike stared at her. Karen cried. Her friend needed her. How was she going to support her when she struggled to even make it outside her own front door?

‘You have to go to her.’ Mike pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her. She allowed the closeness, the comfort, for a few seconds before pushing him away.

‘How can I?’

‘I’ll drive you over there after your counselling session. You’ll be fine.’

Sounded simple. Obvious. The reality was far more complicated.

‘I don’t think I can …’ She took some deep breaths, trying to stop the rising panic.

‘Oh come on, Karen, you’ve been having therapy, or whatever it is, for ever. Surely you can make it out of the house for this?’

The words cut, but there was an uncomfortable truth there. She really should be able to push herself to go to her friend. She looked down, unable to bear to meet the look of disapproval in Mike’s eyes.

‘She’d be here in a flash for you, you know that.’

‘Rach understands how difficult—’

‘She may understand why you can’t make a coffee morning. I hardly think she’s going to understand you failing to be by her side at a time like this.’

Karen could see he’d lost any remaining sympathy he might’ve had for her condition. He’d never understood it, not really. He’d been supportive for the first year, doing everything that required venturing outside, talking to her for hours, making allowances for her erratic behaviour – but he’d lost the ability to be compassionate when she hadn’t recovered as quickly as expected. Everyone had their limits, she guessed, and he’d found his.

‘I said I’d call her again at nine-ish.’ Her breathing shallowed.

Mike shook his head, turned away from her. ‘I’m going to work then. Let me know if you get your shit together, and I’ll take you to your best friend.’ He slammed the kitchen door.

Karen clawed at the top buttons of her cotton shirt, popping a few as she attempted to reduce the restriction around her neck. Her breathing was out of control already, shallow breaths in rapid succession. She was going to choke. Her lips tingled as the carbon dioxide in her blood reduced. She had to act now or she’d faint. With trembling hands and a darkness in front of her eyes, she grappled in the cupboard under the sink.

She put her hand on the bag, withdrew it and began breathing in and out of it, the crinkling of the paper offering its usual reassuring sound.