She shivers and tries to keep still. Nearby she can hear Eva sucking in her breath, a wheeze of pure terror coming out of her as she exhales. She is in shock. Her blood pressure will be dropping and she may even pass out. Trish has to act. She can’t just sit here like a wet rag doing nothing. If she pushes forward the blade will go straight into her neck. If she moves back, Celia could swing around and turn it on Eva who isn’t functioning properly. Her reflexes will be slow. There is no way Eva could fight Celia off, not when Celia is holding a weapon as sharp as this one. It’s deadly, the sharpest knife in the house. Even Russ thought it dangerous. Were it not for the terror she feels at this moment in time, she would laugh out loud at the irony of it all.
Trish lifts her head slightly and stares into Celia’s face. Aren’t a person’s eyes the windows to their soul? Maybe, just maybe, if she looks deep enough into them, she will find something in there, some dim and distant flicker of recognition, something she can reason with. Something that will save their lives.
Trish stares hard into Celia’s wide eyes, into the blackness of her dilated pupils, searching for something – anything she can clutch onto and reason with. Her blood thickens, running like sand. There is nothing. Celia’s eyes are empty. It’s like looking into a bottomless pit. Trish’s skin prickles and she finds herself saying a silent prayer. She hasn’t prayed since she was a child at St Hilda’s primary school yet the words come back to her like it was yesterday. She pleads with God to instil some sense into this woman, to make her put the knife down and let Eva leave here unharmed. Trish doesn’t particularly care about herself; it’s the young one she’s concerned about. Eva’s life matters. So many years ahead of her. She deserves a chance. She deserves to live.
She hears her daughter’s voice and winces. She wants her to stay quiet, to not draw attention to herself. It feels as if every second is vital and as if every movement, every whisper of air that is in this room, could be the thing that tips Celia over the edge; the catalyst for bringing about their final few seconds.
‘Celia, please listen to me,’ Eva says breathlessly. ‘I think you are a truly amazing person after what you’ve been through in your life, but please don’t let this be the end of us. We’re a team, you and I. We need each other, don’t we?’
Every sound is accentuated as Trish waits, every thud of her heart, every breath that exits her body is heightened in the near silence of the room as she waits for Celia’s reply.
The silence doesn’t last long. A deep thudding echoes around them, piercing the sinister lull that has settled upon the room and sending Trish’s blood pressure soaring.
Nobody says or does anything. Surely, they all heard it? Or is her mind playing up, making her think there’s a way out of this, when in fact they are all done for?
She daren’t breathe. Celia’s eyes don’t move. Her face is locked into a grimace as she grips the knife even tighter. If she were to force it a little bit further, Trish is sure her main artery would succumb under the pressure. She can feel every pulse, every throb in her aching body under the cold metal of the thin, pointed blade.
The air is still. No more banging. Whoever it was has gone. Their chance to escape, the person who could have helped them, has walked away. Suddenly Trish is angry; angry at the predicament she is in, angry at this Celia lady who has burst into her home and done this terrible thing to them, but most of all she is angry at herself for letting it all happen. She should have insisted Celia leave as soon as she walked in. She had bad vibes about her from the outset. She could tell by the way Eva looked at her when she saw her; the way her face crumpled when Celia marched in and sat down opposite her. And of course she lied to Trish to get in the house. She is definitely no friend of Eva’s. Whether or not she even knows Gareth is irrelevant. Anything that comes out of her mouth is absurd and meaningless. She is insane.
Trish exhales softly and tries to steady her breathing. She’s weathered storms like this before, hasn’t she? Russ never used a knife against her though. His fists were his weapons. She feels the edge of the metal, sharp and cold against her skin and decides enough is enough. This pathetic creature is deranged enough to keep them here all day. Something has to give. She has to get things moving and end this situation. She has to save Eva.
Her breath billows out of her in a staccato rasp as she summons up all her strength, tenses her muscles and makes her move.
31
Eva
The actual events happen faster than my mind’s ability to process them. The knock on the door could have been our chance, but we were all too terrified, too frozen and incapable of logical thought to do anything, so whoever it was, left. I heard their footsteps as they walked back up the path and I wanted to scream at them to come back, to help us, to call the police. But I didn’t. I didn’t do any of those things. I sat unable to move, my heart thrashing around my chest, my blood soaring round my body.
And now this is happening. I don’t know why she is doing it, but Trish has grabbed at Celia and is trying to wrestle the knife out of her hands. I should help her but my body is fixed into place, blind terror freezing me to the spot.
I watch as my mother tries to pull Celia’s hands away from her throat. The blade is still perilously close to her skin and there is a tug of war as it seesaws one way then the other, rocking violently in Celia’s hands.
I have to snap out of this. I need to move to break this up, or to call the police. My mind is so muddled and terrified I momentarily forget which number it is I need to call.
A whimper forces its way out of my throat as I stare at the sight before me. Celia has the strength of ten men. She has somehow managed to overpower my mother and is now leaning over her, the knife dangling over Trish’s face.
Snap out of it! Move, body, fucking well move!
With an almighty roar, I spring up out of the chair and grab Celia’s hair, feeling the softness of it under my palm as I tuck it tightly around my fingers and pull at it with all my might. Her head whips to one side and she lets out a howl of pain and anger. For a brief second, her eyes lock with mine. I go dizzy at the very sight of them. There is fire in there. Her entire body is ablaze with unrelenting hatred and madness. She is salivating like a rabid dog and her skin is almost translucent. A pulsing vein throbs at the side of her temple.
‘You fucking bitch!’ she spits wildly.
My legs almost give way under me as she swings her head back round to face my mother again, leaving me holding a handful of Celia’s hair. A chunk of red strands dangle from my clenched fist. My mouth goes slack as I stare at the bald patch on her head where I have ripped her hair free. Spots of blood seep out of each and every tiny pore, covering the patch of scalp where her long silken hair should be. She seems impervious to it now. Adrenalin will be pumping through her system, masking the pain, fuelling her strength and anger, driving her on.
I lean towards her again, but she is too fast for me, whipping round with her free hand and hitting me across my face. I feel the blow but won’t let her see how much she has hurt me. My cheek throbs and it feels as if my face is about to split in two, but I refuse to cave in. I scramble up on my knees and push her aside. It’s like trying to shift solid stone. She stays put, her body immobile no matter how hard I push. There is a sudden snarl and I watch as Trish uses both her hands to shove her to one side. Celia falls on her back, the knife still clasped in her hands, the blade pointing skyward. She isn’t there for long.
Within seconds she is up again and running at me with the serrated edge pointing towards my face. An unearthly growl escapes from her mouth, her features twisted and crumpled into a tight grimace. I watch as the glinting blade aims its way to my neck. Celia is fast but Trish is faster. Grabbing her round her ankles, she drags Celia to the floor, the knife flipping out of her grasp and landing close to where she falls. I run to get it but again she is nimble and has her fingers curled around it before I can get there, despite the fact she crashed to the floor with a clatter that would
have felled a lesser person.
There is a deep throbbing sensation behind my eyes and I feel horribly cold. How much longer can we go on like this?
My head hurts as I crane my neck around to try to find the phone. I spot it on the floor next to where my mother is laid trying to catch her breath. It’s now or never. I will have to let Trish fight Celia off while I call 999.
Celia sees me move and already she has worked out what I’m going to do. With cat-like reflexes she pounces, snatching up the phone with one hand while holding the knife up with her other.
Suddenly I see red. A dark mist descends behind my eyes and I charge at her with my head down like a raging bull. The top of my skull crashes into her stomach and knocks her backwards. The phone flies out of her hand and lands with a crash on the marble fireplace. Small splinters of plastic fly out at divergent angles but I no longer care. I am beyond any type of rational thought.
I look down to see Trish getting up to her feet. Celia sees it too and gives a swift kick to the side of her head. There is a sickening crunch as Trish falls back onto the floor with a thump. My fury doesn’t dissipate. If anything it grows and multiplies, making me feel stronger than I have ever felt in my entire life. I can do this. If I keep a clear head, I can overpower her and bring this thing to an end. She may be strong but I have the intelligence to outwit her. It’s clear that Celia’s sanity has long since evaporated into the ether, and as far as reasonable thoughts and brainpower is concerned, she is running on empty.
I let out an almighty howl and charge at her, my arms splayed out above my head, my mouth wide open, a burning rage licking at my brain.
My screaming has the desired effect, momentarily unnerving Celia, making her drop the knife at her feet. She leans down to pick it up and I seize my chance, barging into her. She falls back, her spine hitting the floor closely followed by her head. It doesn’t stop her but then having seen her in action, I knew it wouldn’t. I continue to roar into her ear, spit from my mouth dripping onto her face. I will do anything to distract her. Anything at all.
We both grapple for the weapon, our fingers interlocking as we sweep the floor around our feet with desperate hands. We grab at it at the same time, Celia’s fingers below mine on the handle. Immediately I feel her pull at it, to try to wrench it out of my grasp but I am stronger than I look. I keep my hands wrapped tightly around it even though my arms are aching and my head feels fit to burst.
I have to beat her. This is absolute lunacy. She has lost all sense of direction and as far as I can see there is no easy way out of this. There will be no winners, whatever the outcome.
I hear a moan coming from my mother who is slowly coming round. I daren’t take my eyes away from Celia. I just hope Trish has the good sense and enough energy to clamber away, get another knife, and plunge it deep into Celia’s back while Celia is fully focused on me.
Our fingers continue to slip about over the smooth handle, each of us frantic to keep possession of it.
I feel a sudden pain in the top of my head and air exits my lungs in a cold rush as Celia brings her free hand up and pushes her fingers into my eyes. The pain is excruciating, like fire has set in behind my eyeballs. I am sure that I’m going to throw up. Bile travels up my gullet, and I let out a scream, reeling back away from her, my fingers uncurling from the knife handle, my other hand covering my eyes as I rock back and forth in agony.
I crumple to the floor, sobs bursting out of me. Celia stands over my head and I imagine the warped smile on her face. She doesn’t see Trish behind her, creeping up on her. Trish is weak and injured, but I watch with blurred vision, my eyes feeling as if a ton of grit has been thrown in them, as she sinks her teeth into Celia’s ankle and bites down hard.
The shriek is intense, filling every corner of the room as Trish continues to bite at Celia’s leg, her teeth grinding at the bone.
I try to see where the knife has landed but everything is hazy and distorted and there is still a terrible, crushing pain in my eyes. I bend down and feel about with my fingers, driven by anger and fear and terror. I need that knife. Our lives depend on it.
Continuing to grope about with limited vision, my fingers land upon something hard and I know immediately that it’s Celia’s foot. Her shrieks have stopped and an ominous silence now fills the room. I back away. I can hear a scuffle and a moan from my mother.
Then I hear it – the dreadful, unforgettable sound of metal being swished about in the air. And then a deep, gurgling rasping sound; somebody choking, trying to breathe.
Somebody dying.
I scramble around blindly, my freezing fingers trying to find a way out of here, a path to survival. Again I land upon Celia’s foot. I recoil quickly, falling back on my haunches. She is there above me – standing watching me. I feel her tug at my hair, pulling my head up towards her. There is a long drawn-out scream as I leap to my feet and spring at her, my nails clawing at anything I can reach.
I have no idea where the knife is. My eyes are still in agony. Celia has a distinct advantage over me, but I can’t let that slow me down. This is a fight for survival. And I very much want to survive. I don’t want to be the victim in this scenario. It simply wouldn’t be fair. Out of the two of us, I am the one who deserves to live, but of course fairness doesn’t always come into it, does it? Bad things happen to good people every day of the week. Karma is a non-existent ideology thought up by society to make us feel better about some of the awful things that occur in everyday life to decent honest people.
Celia and I are locked together in an almighty struggle to regain control of the knife. Our feet slip about on the floor and our bodies twist and turn as we rotate this way and that in a bid to fight one another off.
My leg slips sideways and my foot lands upon something hard, something long and slim that scrapes on the floor as I rotate my body away from Celia’s vicelike grasp.
Almost colliding, we reach down at exactly the same time, our heads barely touching, the heat from Celia’s stale breath caressing my face, making me retch. I swallow down the bile and take a deep breath, holding it within my chest. We are poised, time suspended as we both place our fingers on the handle of the knife.
32
Gillian
She knocked once and got no reply but now she has to do something. The final scream has sent ripples of shame over her skin. She should have barged in there earlier, gone with her initial instinct that something was terribly wrong and just walked right in. But she didn’t. She took the coward’s way out and left without doing anything.
Gillian dashes down the back path and peers over the garden fence to look at the house behind her. She should go back there and just march right in. But then, what if she puts herself in danger? She needs to be careful, and get some help. She shivers again at the memory of it; all that noise and that dreadful, dreadful scream…
Dropping the garden rake, Gillian rushes back into the house to find her phone. It was on the kitchen table last time she saw it. Jesus Christ why did they not get a landline installed? She races around the kitchen, her fingers sweeping across every surface. It takes her a couple of minutes to locate it, tucked behind the curtains. Her hands are sweating, her fingers trembling. Every minute feels like an hour. She almost drops it as she shoves it in her pocket and rushes out into the hallway, stopping to grab her coat then putting it back on the hook again. She can’t seem to think straight.
She pulls it back off once more and flings it over her shoulders before heading out the door. Something is wrong in that house. She can just feel it.
By the time Gillian races back to number forty-three, a shadow has already disappeared out of the back door wearing a heavy coat, their head hidden under a hat, their collar pulled up against the sharp easterly breeze.
The shadow heaves a sigh of relief as they make it safely out of the house unnoticed and head over the road, standing staring out to sea like any of the other tourists milling about. Just another person taking in the sights, that’
s all they are. Just an innocent bystander waiting for the story to unfold.
Gillian knocks, then holding a pocket of cold air deep in her lungs, she turns the handle and walks in.
33
The End
She watches as the crowd outside the house disperses. Anything for kicks. These people would stand here all day if they had to, just so they could catch a glimpse of a dead body. That’s their link to pain and death – seeing it all from a safe distance. They know nothing about suffering these people. They have no idea.
She notices a young woman at the front who thinks she’s in charge. Even with the breeze coming in from the sea, she’s standing there wearing nothing more than some sort of cheap looking strappy top and jeans that have seen better days. How strange that these folk seem to have claimed this scenario as their own, as if everybody’s lives belong to them.
The television van that turns up soon disperses the crowds, sending them scattering off in the hope of an interview. She smiles. Such shallow behaviour. So fickle and thoughtless.
She turns and heads away, thinking that the beach looks more inviting. Fewer people, less noise. A bit of solitude away from all of this.
It’s bracing but bearable, being so close to the water. Plenty of dog walkers to hide her, to keep her away from any prying eyes. She walks behind, keeping in line with them until she reaches the steps at which point she departs, heading back up to the path.
She fights back tears. It’s over. It’s all over. Everything is behind her. She did what had to be done.