He’ll get me, she’d said, he’ll break his way in here and he’ll get me.
She’d said nothing of the dog, not one word. Only that her son was a monster, and had been since birth. As if children are ever born evil. Children are sculpted by their parents, I’d seen it a thousand times over on those estates. I’d battled with a whole host of questions in my time with her, all of them fizzing on the tip of my tongue. Questions about Callum, about the dog, about his prison time... I’d asked none, of course, bar those necessary to do my job.
I need security, alarms, extra locks. I need window bars on this place, and one of those fireproof boxes to catch the mail. You’d better get them for me, or I’ll go to the papers!
I assured her I’d do my best. I was doing that a lot lately.
And you’re sure he’s a danger to you, Mrs Jackson?
He’ll fucking kill me if he gets chance! I’ll be dead! He’s got a temper, that lad. A temper like you’ve never seen!
But I had seen it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Hell, I needed a distraction.
I checked my Edgeplay login. Five new messages. A couple of idiots with one-liner chat-ups, some guy from Manchester, and someone I’d met once before. I flushed at the memory. A hotel room in Kensington and too much wine. He’d been good, but rough, and I’d been careless. I’d been reckless, in fact. Stupid. He’d given me a damn good fucking but left me bruised for days, requiring a trip down Accident and Emergency after an overly zealous fisting attempt. I clenched my legs at the thought. Fucking ouch.
He’d been good, though. His dirty voice, his edgy sadism... like Masque without the finesse... without the restraint, too.
Maybe...
My handset buzzed in my hand. Text message from Raven. Impeccable timing.
How’s the hunt for Mr Dangerous? xx
I smiled as I replied.
One or two contenders. xx
She didn’t leave it long.
Edgeplay? x
I screen shot his profile, attached it to my reply.
He’s top of the list at the moment. x
Buzz.
Are you fucking mental? Craving some medical intervention? x
I’d been questioning that myself.
Pickings are slim. I’m contemplating my options. x
I spied Christine approaching, leaving me just enough time to read the last of Raven’s messages.
Be careful, Missy. Don’t you dare fucking go alone! x
“Not disturbing you, am I?” Christine sneered. “I’ll hang around while you finish up on Facebook if you like.”
“I wasn’t on Facebook,” I snapped. “I’m on lunch, anyway.”
She pointed to the clock, two minutes past lunchtime. Pedantic bitch. I figured she’d come along for another moan at my lack of attendance at her meeting, but no.
“I just intercepted the strangest call, about you, Miss Harding.”
“A call? From who?”
“Janine Scott.”
I felt my colour drain. “Janine Scott?”
“These tenants try their luck, don’t they? They must think we were born yesterday.”
“What did she want?” I hoped my poker face was a good one.
“She had the most incredible story. It must have taken her hours to concoct the stupid thing. She claims you took a trip to her flat yesterday, and stole her dog.”
“Stole her dog?”
“Quite. That’s not the best of it,” she smirked. “She only claims that you’re in league with Callum Jackson. Apparently you stole her dog and gave it to him.”
“Callum Jackson?”
“Yes!” she laughed. I’d hardly ever heard Christine laugh. I found it quite unsettling. “She was quite put out when I told her the scenario was entirely impossible.”
I smiled. “I can imagine.”
“She must think we’re an office full of halfwits. I assured her in no uncertain terms there’ll be trouble if she continues with this nonsense. Honestly, these people! Anything for sensationalism. Out for compensation, of course.” She handed me a scrawled note. “Here’s the detail. I haven’t written it up.”
“Thanks,” I smiled. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Oh, and Sophie,” she said, before wandering off. “Your mother called, asked that you call her back. Apparently you’ve been ignoring her messages?”
Yes. Yes, I had.
“I’ll deal with that, too.”
She rolled her eyes in a thoroughly patronising manner. “Seems you have a lot of things to be dealing with, Miss Harding. Best get to it. Chop-chop!”
Bitch! The note went straight in the bin, along with any intention to call my mother.
It could all wait, the whole sorry lot of it.