The Vow - Debbie Howells Page 0,11
and I follow it until it eventually opens out onto sloping grassland. Wanting to push my body, to reach the top and feel the force of the wind around me, I take the steeper of the two paths. Narrow and chalky, it’s slippery underfoot. Oblivious to the water soaking through my trainers, I constantly check my phone, racking my brain for the smallest detail that might make sense of everything, tears filling my eyes as I think about the future I’d believed lay ahead of us. A future that’s been disrupted, unexpectedly, without warning or explanation, leaving me in unknown territory, where I no longer know what tomorrow holds.
At the top, I keep walking as my emotions overwhelm me; walking faster, racked with sobs, until physically and emotionally, I’m exhausted. Losing track of time, I berate myself when I realise how late it’s got. What if Matt’s come back and he’s at home, wondering where I am? But I know he isn’t. If he was, he would have called me.
As the light fades, I turn to make my way back, dusk descending into darkness by the time I reach my lane. But it’s not too dark to know that while I was out, someone’s been here. As the house comes into view, I see that there are flowers on the doorstep.
Chapter Four
When I pick it up, the bouquet is heavy enough that it takes both hands to carry it inside, as it occurs to me fleetingly that Matt might have sent it. Pushing the front door closed with one foot, I carry it along the hallway to the kitchen.
Switching on the light, I place the bouquet on one of the worktops, taking in the densely packed white lilies and tulips, intermingled with deep red velvet roses – expensive, hot house varieties, with lavish layers of elaborate wrapping concealing the bag of water encasing the stems. Peeling off the envelope that’s been attached, I imagine an apology – or an explanation, then my mind races. Maybe it’s a surprise and Matt’s already here waiting for me. Filled with hope, I call out. ‘Matt? Honey? Are you there?’
The silence adds to my already fraying nerves, the scent from the lilies cloying, the significance of red and white flowers not lost on me. Silence has a weight, I wanted to explain to the police later. If I could have felt what it contained, listened to its secrets, maybe it would have told me where Matt was.
Through the kitchen window, a sudden movement catches my eye. ‘Matt?’ Spinning round, I knock the bouquet, watching as it sways for a moment before falling sideways, then slipping slow motion to the floor.
As water leaks out onto the dark slate, I curse my clumsiness. Crouching down, as I go to pick it up, an alien scent reaches my nostrils, growing stronger, more abhorrent, as simultaneously I notice splatters of red on the white tulips. Recoiling, shock hits me as I realise. It isn’t water on the floor. The stems of the bouquet have been wrapped in blood.
*
‘I went for a walk. They were on my doorstep when I got home.’ My voice echoes in the silence of the kitchen. ‘I assumed they were from Matt – an apology or something.’
‘You’ve no idea who might have sent them?’ As she stares at the flowers, PC Page is smaller, younger than I’d imagined from talking to her on the phone. Slightly built, her straight fair hair doesn’t quite touch her shoulders.
‘No.’ Shivering, I stare at the blood still splattered across the floor. ‘This was with them.’ I pass her the card I’d found in the envelope. ‘There was no name on it.’
‘Do you recognise the handwriting?’ She picks up the card, frowning as she reads it. It has with sympathy for your loss printed in one corner and a message written across the centre.
Kill one man and you are a murderer.
‘No.’ I shake my head, then as the pungent odour of rust fills my nostrils again, fold my arms around myself. I’d started to clear up the blood before leaving it, realising the police should see it. Now that they have, I need to get rid of it. Going over to the sliding doors, I open them, letting the cold air flow in, trying to imagine the kind of sick bastard who sends flowers with their stems encased in a bag of blood.
‘This happened when?’ PC Page glances at my clothes.
‘About an hour ago. I had to change.’ I