she couldn’t help wondering if it was more to do with the death of Karen’s sister when they were just children. Understandable that she should be jealous of Bea having Fran, but that was no reason to dislike her. Bea couldn’t help having a sister any more than Karen could help not having one.
She shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance.
‘It was just a shock. I was expecting a book about a woman who finds out the book she’s reading is about her, and I pulled out a book about me.’ She gave a laugh. ‘Huh, that’s ironic, right? I never even thought about the book it was supposed to be.’
‘Did you get it?’ Karen asked.
‘Get what?’
‘The other book?’
‘Oh, yeah, it came the next day. I haven’t started it yet, but you can borrow it when I’m done.’
‘Thanks.’ Karen was in the kitchen now, pulling out sauces and napkins, but she stopped to look at Bea. ‘I was thinking, if you got the book you ordered, then it wasn’t just a mix-up of the two, was it? I mean, they didn’t just put the wrong book in the envelope.’
She carried the tray into the sitting area and placed it on the coffee table, then sat down on the sofa, folding her legs underneath her, and leaned over to take a slice of pizza.
Bea paused, her own slice already halfway to her mouth.
‘I hadn’t thought of that. God, do you think someone sent it to me on purpose?’ She had a sickening thought and threw the pizza back into the box. ‘Do you think it was him?’
‘No,’ Karen said quickly, leaning forward and placing a hand on her friend’s knee. ‘No, Bea, I don’t. One,’ she sat back again and checked off a finger, ‘he doesn’t know where you live.’
‘I live in the same town I grew up in, about four streets from my parents. I’m hardly Osama bin Laden.’
Karen held up a second finger. ‘Okay, two, it’s been sixteen years and you’ve not once heard from him. Three,’ she continued before Bea could interject, ‘you and I both know what happened to Kieran Ressler. The accident he had left him severely brain-damaged. He will never walk again. The last thing on earth he’ll be thinking about now – if he even has one cohesive thought a day – is sending you reading material.’
It took a second for Karen’s words to sink in, although it wasn’t so much her words that made Bea relax as the way she said them. She wasn’t speaking to convince or reassure; she was stating facts in a take-’em-or-leave-’em kind of way, confident that she was right beyond reproach. When a person was that sure in their convictions, it became much harder to argue with or disbelieve them.
Bea picked up her pizza again, but didn’t tuck in in the way she’d been desperate to five minutes ago.
‘So if someone sent it to me, who was it? There was no note, no “saw this and thought of you”.’
‘Hmmm.’
Bea stiffened. ‘Do you know?’
Karen shook her head, but she was lying and Bea knew it.
‘You do. Tell me.’ That was why she’d been so sure it wasn’t Kieran Ressler. Because she thought she knew who it was.
‘I don’t know, Bea, I promise. But I do have an idea I want to look at. If I’m right, you’ll be the first to know about it.’
Bea nodded, satisfied. She was used to a certain degree of ‘don’t ask’ with Karen – it came with her job. So much of her day she couldn’t talk over with anyone. Bea wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut – not in the admirable way Karen could. She had never been one for keeping secrets.
‘Did you keep the packaging?’
They’d finished the pizza an hour ago – well, Bea had. Despite her initial loss of appetite, she’d never been one to turn down food. Karen, however, had always been a picky eater and had barely touched her half. They’d watched The X Factor and now Karen was in the kitchen clearing away the rubbish and pouring them drinks. Neither woman was drinking alcohol: Karen was driving and Bea didn’t much feel like getting drunk and maudlin.
‘What packaging?’ Bea called back, flicking through the channels. This was why she went out on Saturday nights – the alternative was so bloody depressing.
‘For the book. Do you still have it?’
Bea tensed. She’d been hoping the subject was closed, forgotten.