Someone Who Isn't Me, Danuta Kot [good books to read for adults TXT] 📗

is looking after me. It’s called customer service and if more people thought about it, this would be a better place to shop. You don’t listen to her, love, and I hope your kitten makes it,’ he added to Becca as he hitched on his pack and made his slow progress to the door.

The exchange got Becca through the rest of the afternoon. Each time she saw Sheryl’s scowl, she thought about the old man telling Sheryl off, and it pushed away what she had seen in the paper.

It was as if there were two people in her head. One was still staring at the headline, not believing it, not wanting to believe it. The other was frightened – frightened of the pig, the creep who’d come talking to her about Andy, as if he knew about her, knew about the lame jokes and the chats and more.

And he’d said that Andy might be in trouble… got into trouble. With the kind of people you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of, if you get me.

He’d been right. Andy had been in the worst kind of trouble there was, and Becca had done nothing.

She found she was shivering as she stood outside the shop, grabbing a quick ciggie in her break. The smoke made her stomach feel acid, and a wave of sickness washed over her. She nipped the cigarette out and stowed it back in the packet.

Fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out her phone. She unlocked it and the local news appeared on the screen. She stared at it blankly as the story of Andy’s death scrolled past, once, twice, SUNK ISLAND KNIFE ATTACK… The third time, she almost tapped it, then stopped. Andy was gone. She didn’t want to know any more.

Instead, she scrolled down to Kay’s number. But what would be the point of telling Kay about Andy, about the rest of it? What could Kay do? Oh, she’d listen and she’d say things that might make Becca feel better, but she couldn’t tell Becca what to do. She wouldn’t know.

Anyway, Kay was busy. She was moving and she had a job working with some bunch of losers so Becca shouldn’t be bothering her now.

Jade? Jade had her own problems with Lewis.

There was no one to tell.

Andy must have been in trouble, and the pig creep had been looking for him in the pub with his Do you work every night, and all that shit.

Would Andy be OK now if she had told the pig creep what she knew? What did she know that he wouldn’t? They’d know who Andy worked for and what he was doing. But they wouldn’t know about the stuff in the cellar.

She took out her phone and went back over her texts. There weren’t many – she’d deleted most of them, but she’d kept the ones where he’d asked her out. She read through the exchange again:

Good want to do something later? Go to a club?

Yeah

Wait for you xxx

He’d sent some really nice ones, after. She’d kept those too, and then this one:

Sorry sorry sorry got 2 go away work back on Friday miss you xxx

But after that, it was like he was another person, all the texts were about the bags she’d seen Carl with, and could she get into the cupboard and all that sort of stuff.

She didn’t know what she’d wanted him to send, just something that showed she was his girlfriend, something daft, something Andy.

But there’d been nothing. It was like he was saying, ‘Get me the information or it’s all over.’

And now it was.

Andy was dead and someone had killed him.

Chapter 15

Sunk Island

When the alarm went, Kay could barely peel herself off the pillow. Her eyes were sore, her body felt stiff and achy and all she wanted to do was snuggle down under the covers and go back to sleep.

Milo, sensing her movement, leaped up on the bed and started pushing his nose into her face. The broken night didn’t seem to be bothering him.

Grumpily, she got up and went downstairs. What had happened last night? Rain falling from the gutter had made her think there was someone walking round out there. That’s what had woken her up.

Except…

As she put the kettle on and opened a packet of Weetabix, this comforting explanation became less and less convincing. Yes, there had been rain falling from the gutter, but that was outside the kitchen door, at the back of the house. Something had woken her up in her bedroom, which was at the front of the house.

A bike. Or a car. Or…

Catherine Ford’s voice spoke in her head. You’ll be on your own. At night.

Yes. OK. But she wasn’t some hysterical teenager getting spooked by strange sounds after dark. She was an adult woman and she needed to deal with this like an adult. She poured boiling water over the teabag in her cup and added milk, then set off to take a look round the house.

There was no evidence of a break-in anywhere, though the events were clearer in her head now. She’d heard – no, she’d thought she’d heard – the sound of a door closing quietly. That could have been anything – sounds were deceptive at night.

The door under the stairs had been open. She could remember catching her dressing gown on it. But she could remember closing it before she went to bed.

Or could she?

It was closed now. She opened it and tried the door in the wall that led into the fuel store. That was locked tight.

Her waterproof was hanging up by the door. She pulled it on over her dressing gown and slipped her feet into her wellies, which she’d left in the porch. They felt cold and clammy against her bare skin.

As soon as she opened the front door, Milo came racing through and was past her and into the garden, his tail wagging wildly as he explored all the scents laid down