His and Hers

Sometimes I think Anna knows that I killed those women as well as her father. I can think of no other reason why she picked up the knife Catherine dropped in the woods and hid it in her handbag. I think she must have recognised it. I borrowed it from Jack’s house after all, from a set I gave them as a wedding gift.

‘What are you making?’

but I could not see. It took a long time for her to put the noose around her neck, but it wasn’t until afterwards I discovered she had changed the knot. Something her father taught her how to do when they went sailing, apparently.

but most mothers will do anything for their daughters. I did.

Killing Rachel brought my daughter home to me.

Killing Helen and Zoe helped me to keep her close.

Killing Cat Jones meant Anna could get her job back on the One O’Clock News, and I would be able to watch my little girl on TV every lunchtime again

When I let myself into Anna’s hotel bedroom – I cleaned that place for years – she looked like a little girl, fast asleep in her bed. It made me feel sad to see her drinking so much, but I understood why.
Alcohol was always my drug of choice too. I tucked her in just like I used to, tidied away her rubbish, and put a bottle of water by her bed. It felt so good to take care of her, even if she didn’t know I was there. She reminded me of a bird with a broken wing. I wanted to fix her, and I knew that if my plan worked it would be good for Anna’s career too, a

I might have retired, but I still had the keys, and people rarely change their locks. I finally knew the real reason why my Anna left Blackdown. It was because of them, not me.

They had to pay for that.

And they weren’t the only ones.

I knew who they all were once I found that picture.

And I knew where they lived; I’d cleaned all their houses.

It was a suicide note.

I don’t know how many times I read it, but day turned into night outside the window, and the thoughts inside my mind were just as dark.

She described the terrible things that had happened on the night of her sixteenth birthday, and I felt sick with disgust and mad with rage all at once. I read about the drugs Helen Wang had given her, the men Rachel Hopkins tried to make her have sex with, and how Zoe Harper mutilated our cat as a warning not to tell anyone.

It was a long time ago, but I remembered that night

Nobody suspects a little old lady with dementia of killing people.

Nobody suspects a little old lady with dementia of killing people.