at the smell. She looked hopelessly around the room for anything that might help her but there was nothing.
She had never felt more helpless.
‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘We need help!’ She needed a grown-up. She needed her mum. Her stepdad.
Marie stopped vomiting.
Stopped crying.
Talking.
Her stillness, her silence was even more terrifying.
The girls huddled together. Help, Carly called again but it was only in her head. Nobody was coming.
Nobody.
All she had was the clown and a wall of scrawled words.
You’re going to die.
Panic shook her hard.
They were all going to die.
A noise?
Again the sound of sliding bolts. This time Carly didn’t stand. There seemed little point. Her energy had gone, her fight too.
‘I’ve brought something that will help you,’ Doc said as soon as he stepped into the room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Leah
Now
The photocopier repair man… it’s him.
Panic slams into me. My chest so tight I cannot cry.
I am so, so scared.
Calm yourself.
Three things but there’s nothing to see in this toilet cubicle.
My breath comes too quickly. I don’t want to touch anything but dizziness forces me to stretch out my hands and steady myself against the walls.
Calm yourself.
The flush handle.
Cistern.
The PLEASE WASH YOUR HANDS poster on the back of the door Calm.
But calm is a million miles away. I’m trapped here in this small space with him outside the door.
Again.
The contents of my stomach rise, splattering the bowl of the loo. The smell takes me back until I am kneeling in the filth of that dirty room, terrified my twin was going to die. Terror pulses deep in my gut. I’ve touched the toilet seat with my gloved fingers, my sleeves. My skirt has brushed the tile floor. I want to rip off my clothes and burn them. Scrub my skin until it’s pink and raw.
The door swings open. I press my hands over my mouth to suppress my scream before I remember where my hands were resting just seconds before. Revulsion strokes me with its filthy fingers.
I whimper.
‘Leah?’
I can’t answer. I’m frozen.
‘Leah? Please, what’s going on? Jesus, have you chucked up? Christ, the smell is making me gag.’ I hear Tash retch.
Slowly I stand, brushing the germs from my knees, invisible insects from my skin.
Scuttling. Scuttling.
The floor of the cubicle sharply shifts. I stumble.
‘You’d better let me in before I kick this door down and don’t think that I can’t. It’s me or Jim the rep and he needs a new hip.’
That sliding bolt. I can’t stop shaking.
‘Is he gone?’ I whisper.
‘Who, Jim—’
‘The photocopy guy?’
‘Yes. Why—’
I push past her. Grab my bag and coat.
Run.
The streets are busy. I see him everywhere, walking into the chemist, punching numbers into the cash point, loafing at the bus stop.
I’ve left my car behind, knowing it will be quicker on foot, knowing that parking would be a problem when I get there, but without its steely casing and locking doors, I feel vulnerable.
At last I hare into the right street. Thunder up the steps and push against the front door. It’s locked.
‘Francesca!’ I bang on the door, not caring if she’s with another patient. ‘Francesca!’
It’s been so long since I’ve been here, I wonder if she still rents this as office space but the plaque by the doorbell tells me she does. She might have a day off. I pull out my mobile to see if I can find her home address online when I hear footsteps behind me. I swing around. It’s Francesca and for a second I am so relieved I can’t speak.
‘Leah?’ She looks wary, afraid. I must appear as though I’ve gone mad. Sweat streaming down my forehead, my hair wild and cheeks burning.
‘Please help me,’ I rasp. With one last worried glance over her shoulder, she ushers me inside.
While Francesca makes tea we both know I won’t drink as I haven’t handed her my own mug, I wash my hands three times in the bathroom before shaking them dry and pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. My clothes feel vile, my skin filthy, but it’s the best I can do for now.
‘It’s back,’ I say as soon as she returns to the room.
‘Your contamination OCD?’ Her eyes flicker to my gloves.
‘All of it.’
She gives a sharp intake of breath.
‘Look, Leah, I don’t know if I’m best placed to treat you any more.’
‘It’s back.’
‘I can recommend a colleague—’
‘It’s back,’ I say again, before I follow up with a ‘please’ filled with desperation. ‘I know I stopped coming and I ignored all of your messages asking me why. I’m sorry but I was feeling