Trust No One - Keri Beevis Page 0,15

barking orders to Alexa to turn on lights as she went, she threw the mail down on to the growing collection on the table – it was mostly spiralling credit card bills that she was avoiding – and reached in the cupboard for a glass. She opened the vodka bottle, poured a large measure and topped it up with Diet Coke from the fridge.

Shower, dinner (though to be honest, she wasn’t really hungry) then she would upload another one of the selfies she had taken at the weekend on to her social media accounts, where she was looking glammed up and gorgeous, pouting for the camera with come-to-bed eyes. The picture would attract plenty of attention from her male friends and she knew it would piss off Peter.

She had finished her drink and just fixed another one, when the doorbell rang.

Peter?

Despite the cosy scene she had just left, there was no doubt in her mind that it was her boss. Perhaps she had misjudged the situation. Maybe Caroline’s trip had been cancelled; that was why he had found it harder to get away.

She rushed to the door, threw it open… and was dismayed when she found Janice Plum standing on the doorstep. ‘What do you want?’ Fern didn’t bother to hide her disappointment.

‘We need to talk, Fern.’

‘I’m busy.’ She started to shut the door, and was shocked when Janice stuck her foot out, stopping it from closing. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? I said I’m busy.’

‘And I said we need to talk. This is important.’

Fern hesitated, understood from the determined look on Janice’s face that she wasn’t going to get rid of her easily. Giving in, she pulled the door wide open. ‘Ten minutes. And it had better be good.’

She turned and walked back to the kitchen. Heard the door close and heavy footsteps as Janice followed. Leaning back against the counter, she sipped her vodka and Coke, scornfully eyeing her old friend. Whatever did the stupid woman look like in her oversized pink jumper, emblazoned with the sequinned words ‘Hot Stuff’, that clashed with her bright red hair, and her skinny jeans that were two sizes too small?

‘So go on, what is it?’

‘I need to show you something.’ Janice started rummaging through her oversized handbag.

‘What?’

‘I’ve been trying to contact you.’

‘I know.’

‘You didn’t reply.’

‘I’ve been busy.’ Fern made a point of looking at the clock and sighing dramatically. ‘What do you need to show me?’ she asked impatiently.

‘They’re in here somewhere.’

‘Well, chop-chop, I don’t have all night.’

In frustration, Janice tipped her bag upside down, the contents spilling out.

‘Be careful,’ Fern scolded, furious as screwed-up tissues and tampons landed on her table. She picked up a lipstick that had clattered to the floor. A dark red shade that she suspected made Janice look more Rocky Horror than Marilyn Monroe.

‘Here they are.’ Janice waved three letters at her.

Fern snatched them, reading the words, the blood draining from her face as she got to the third one. ‘What are these? Some kind of sick joke?’

‘I don’t think they’re funny.’

‘Where did you get them? Who sent them?’

‘The first two were put through the letterbox, the last one was left on my windscreen.’

‘Who have you told?’

‘No one.’

The woman was lying. ‘Who the fuck have you told?’

‘I swear, no one, Fern. I promised I would never breathe a word to anyone and I haven’t.’

‘What about Martin?’

‘He doesn’t know. I swear he doesn’t.’

‘So who the fuck sent these? Someone knows. Unless of course you’ve done something else I don’t know about.’

The dig was cruel, Fern knew that. She was just so bloody mad at Janice right now. Her evening had already gone to rat-shit and it was getting steadily worse. This was bad. If someone knew the truth, it could be the end for all of them.

‘I haven’t done anything and I didn’t tell anyone.’ Janice’s bottom lip was trembling, at first Fern thought in anger, but then drippy great tears spilled onto her reddened cheeks.

Oh for fuck’s sake. She handed a sheet of kitchen roll to the blubbering woman. ‘Here.’

‘Than-thank you.’ Janice wiped her eyes, honked her nose. ‘I thought… I thought maybe you got a note too.’

‘Nope. Nothing.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m bloody sure. Do you not believe me?’

Janice’s eyes shifted hesitantly to the pile of unopened mail on the table. ‘I just…’

Fern followed her gaze, shifted guiltily. ‘I’m busy. I haven’t had time to go through it.’

When Janice remained silent, the guilt kicked up a notch. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll look. I’m