Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama), Carole Williams [ebook reader 8 inch .TXT] 📗

to cover her tracks from her visit to Benny, Delia dashed along to Rocky’s room to find he was still in bed, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling and shaking uncontrollably.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed when he saw her.  “I feel so ill, Delia.  I can’t get out of bed.”

“I’ll soon fix that,” she said firmly, diving into her cavernous bag for the tiny packet of marijuana Benny had given her.  “Here,” she said, passing it to him.  “Enjoy.”

While Rocky occupied himself rolling a joint, Delia dug in his suitcase for some clean clothes.  He didn’t possess anything smart so jeans and a sweater it had to be but then it didn’t really matter what he wore.  The only place he would be going after visiting Richard would be the morgue.

Neither of them was particularly hungry, Delia because she was desperately nervous and Rocky’s only need was for the dope he was smoking, so they skipped breakfast.  Allowing time for the drug to take effect on him, Delia walked down to reception, paid the bill and made sure the hire car she had requested for the next fortnight was waiting outside.  The dark green Volvo saloon was in the car park with its delivery driver, who insisted Delia accompany him to spend a frustrating few minutes walking around every inch of the car to make sure it hadn’t any scratch marks or dents and the interior was spotless and well maintained.  Then, after a lecture about returning it in the same condition as she received it, he allowed her to sign the necessary documentation and handed her the keys.  Little did he know that he would have to collect it from Oxford later that day.

Delia dashed back up to Rocky’s room, pleased to see his shaking had ceased and he looked fit enough to leave the hotel without blurting out anything inappropriate as to where they were going and what they were going to do.  Delia had told him repeatedly before they left the States that he hadn’t to do anything and everything would fall into place and with that, he had to be content.

The normal route from London to Oxford, which took just over an hour, was along the M4 and up through Maidenhead but Delia had things to get rid of and didn’t want anyone finding them on the roads they would have been expected to take.  So, once clear of the hotel she turned the car east instead of north and headed towards Hounslow and Richmond.  Rocky had no idea of how they would get to Oxford so never questioned her route.  He just sat quietly beside her watching the scenery or closing his eyes and dozing.  Delia found what she wanted in Richmond; a busy shopping centre with toilets.  She left Rocky to roll up another joint in the car, removed the duffle coat from her suitcase in the boot, and dashed into the ladies carrying her leather handbag.  She waited impatiently in a cubicle while two other women used the facilities but once she was alone, she removed the wig from her bag and stuffed it as far as she could into the bin by the entrance door.  The duffle coat was hung on a hook in another cubicle.  Hopefully, someone would take it but even if it was handed in as lost property, she couldn’t see how it could be linked to her.  Walking back to the car park, she slid the glasses, still wrapped in tissue paper, out of her bag and threw them into another bin. With a smile on her face, she returned to the car and jumped in.

“Right.  Let’s head for Oxford then,” she said gaily, starting the Volvo and heading out of the car park.

“I thought we already were,” said Rocky, puzzled by her words.

Delia grinned.  “Would you like some music to keep us company?” she asked, turning on the car radio which blasted out Roberta Flack’s ‘Killing me softly’.  Delia grin widened.  Richard wouldn’t be killed so softly.

An hour and a half later they were wending their way through heavy Oxford traffic towards the Radcliffe Infirmary.  The drive had calmed Delia’s nerves but as soon as they turned into Walton Street, she suddenly felt sick and faint and gripped the steering wheel tightly.  What if something should go wrong?  What if they were disturbed?  What if Richard guessed what she was up to?  The tension increased as she stopped the car in the street just down from the house where he resided in the ground floor flat.

Rocky was fidgeting in his seat and becoming agitated.

“I’ll be glad when this is over.  Give me some more weed, Delia.  I can’t go through with this without some.”

“Not here.  Let’s get into the flat first,” she said.  “Richard won’t mind.”

They walked along to Richard’s front door which was painted a deep, dark red; the colour of blood.  How appropriate, Delia thought.  She kept a finger on his bell for longer than was necessary, half hoping he wasn’t there and they could go away again and forget the whole idea and the other half wanting to get the task over with as soon as possible but after a few moments Richard opened the door, a big welcoming smile on his tired face when he saw his twin.

Delia stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek.  “Gosh, Richard.  You look exhausted.  Don’t you ever let up?”

“Very rarely,” he shrugged.  “If I’m not on the wards I’m studying.”

“You’re mad,” said Delia.  “Anyway, I have rather a surprise for you,” she said as Richard stood aside and she and Rocky could walk into the hall.  The smell of marijuana emanating from Rocky was sickly sweet and almost overpowering and Delia noticed Richard raise his eyebrows as they moved past him into the lounge.

“Richard … meet Rocky … our half-brother, would you believe,” Delia announced dramatically with