Page 137 of Child's Play

‘Don’t be too sorry, Veronica,’ Kim said, taking out her phone. ‘This is the bastard that killed your sister.’

One Hundred Seven

Stacey let herself into the flat at almost one in the morning.

The scent of jasmine welcomed her even though she’d been avoiding it all week. Along with the familiar aroma she detected a sweet, sickly, cloying smell in the air. Some kind of fruit pie, she guessed. Devon baked when she was stressed.

She removed her coat and laid it over the back of the sofa. She didn’t turn on the lights. She didn’t need to. She knew Devon’s flat almost as well as she knew her own.

As she walked through the lounge she took care to avoid the brightly coloured craft bag containing Devon’s numerous failed attempts at knitting. The oversize needles had been used more for sword fights between the two of them than for actual garment making.

Against the wall between the bathroom and the bedroom was a two-foot high stuffed dog with a misshapen face, so ugly that he’d been in their favourite vintage store for months. Eventually they’d felt so sorry for him and given him a home.

Feeling sorry for a stuffed toy, she thought, shaking her head.

She slipped soundlessly into the bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth while waiting for the anxiety to pass. This was a conversation she’d avoided all week, and she was being unfair to them both. And perhaps she had left it too late.

She opened the bedroom door into total darkness. Blackout blinds covered both windows. Night raids as an immigration officer often meant Devon had to try to catch sleep in the day.

Stacey undressed silently and crawled into bed.

Devon’s deep rhythmic breathing drained the tension from her body.

‘You know that I know you’re here, right?’ Devon asked, clearly.

‘Of course,’ Stacey said, moving a little closer.

Devon moved away without turning. ‘Why are you?’

Oh, she wasn’t going to make this easy and nor should she.

Stacey had been tempted to talk to her boss, seek an opinion from a completely objective person, but earlier tonight she’d realised that she didn’t need to.

All week she had been thinking of what she could possibly lose but tonight she had been surrounded by pain. To her left had been Ellie Lewis, already damaged and barely holding on to her sanity. A man being rushed to hospital after murdering three innocent people, and a woman who had lost everything sobbing beside her car.

And all she could think of was what she had to gain.

Yes, she’d panicked. Yes, she’d been frightened and yes, she’d acted like a stupid child.

‘Ask me again, Dee,’ she said, tracing a finger gently down her lover’s spine.

No response.

‘Please,’ she whispered.

Devon turned in the bed and faced her. No light shone upon them but Stacey knew every feature by heart.

Devon cleared her throat and reached for Stacey’s hand.

Her voice was quiet and nervous when she spoke.

‘Stacey Wood, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Stacey beamed in the darkness.

‘Yes, my sweetheart. I will.’

One Hundred Eight