Page 7 of Worse Than Murder

‘There’s no rush,’ Dr Wilde said. ‘Take time to say goodbye. Come and find me when you’re ready.’ She turned on her heel and left the room. She couldn’t get out fast enough.

When we’re ready? When can anyone ever be ready for killing their mother?

The atmosphere plunged as me and Harriet made eye contact.

‘Mum always hated your job,’ Harriet eventually said. Her voice was low and heavy with vitriol. I’d never seen her so full of venom.

‘I know.’

‘She dreaded getting the call saying you’d been killed or maimed in the line of duty.’

I nodded.

‘In the past few years, things have happened to you that have hurt this family. You’ve been shot, kidnapped, knocked unconscious and driven into a reservoir. You’ve been stalked. Even on Christmas Day, someone came to your house and put a noose on the front door to taunt you. The signs were all there that one day something horrible, something devastating, was going to happen to your family. You could have stopped all of this horror from happening.’ Harriet spoke slowly. She was struggling to keep hold of her dark emotion. I could see she was shaking with fear.

‘Nothing I could have done—’ I began.

‘You are poison,’ she interrupted.

I hated myself even more for doing this to Harriet. She looked drawn. She seemed to have aged twenty years in the past few days. She was barely recognisable as the confident, fun-loving single mother I admired.

‘You’re the angel of death. Everywhere you go, everyone you’re in contact with either dies or has something shocking happen to them. You’ve killed my boys, Matilda.You’vekilled them.’

There was nothing I could say. I was already blaming myself.

Harriet sniffed hard. She tucked her knotted hair behind her ears and composed herself. ‘Joseph and Nathan will be buried at Hutcliffe Wood next Tuesday at ten o’clock. I don’t want you anywhere near there.’

‘What? Harriet, they’re my nephews.’ I needed to say goodbye to them.

‘You killed them,’ she said again. Her harsh voice was a mere whisper, quivering with pent-up anger itching to escape.

‘I had no idea…’

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ she said, wiping away tears as they fell down her face in a torrent. ‘I can’t stop you coming to Mum’s funeral, but I don’t want you anywhere near me. I don’t want you to look at me, or talk to me, ever again. As far as I’m concerned, I’m an only child.’

‘Harriet.’

She stood up and headed for the door. ‘I’m going outside for some air. We’ll talk about what to do for Mum when I get back. But when this is all over, you and me are finished. I never want to see you again.’

‘Harriet, wait,’ I jumped up and grabbed her arm. That was a mistake.

She shook me off and spun round to face me. Her eyes were wide. She looked as if she was about to lunge at me and gouge my eyes out.

‘When Dad was shot, Mum begged and pleaded with you to leave the police force. She told you to think of what you were putting her through every time you went to work. You ignored her. This is the consequence of that. You killed my dad. You killed my sons. You killed my mum. And you’ve killed me.’ She leaned in close, her face a mere inch from mine. I honestly thought she was going to hit me. I wish she had done. ‘Ifuckinghate you,’ she spat.

Harriet stormed out of the room, leaving me on my own.

I went back to the bed, sat down, and took my mother’s hand in mine. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to her. I meant it but it sounded hollow. Harriet was right. I’d destroyed everything.

* * *

I don’t know how I got through the next week. The day of my mum’s funeral is a blur. I remember returning home to my house and I didn’t know what to do. I poured myself a drink, a large vodka, and I wondered what was the point in carrying on anymore. I rummaged around in the messy drawer in the kitchen and found a few boxes of paracetamol. I managed to get together around twenty. Would that be enough? That’s how bad it was. I wanted to die. I was prepared to kill myself.

I didn’t, obviously. I think the thought of killing myself frightened me more than the act itself. I packed a bag and headed for the Lake District. I needed to leave Sheffield behind, confine it to the pages of history. Philip and Sally had reached out to me when the news of what had happened had broken. They offered me a place to go if I needed time away. That’s what I needed. Time away.

I’ve been here a month now. I haven’t spoken to them about what happened yet, about a serial killer plaguing me, taunting me, destroying everything in my life, and they haven’t asked, either. They know I’ll open up when I want to, in my own time. They’ve learned, from when Carl returned home, that it’s important to allow the one who is suffering to recover in their own time. They’ve been so good with Carl and his recovery. And now they’re being good to me.

My life now consists of going out every day to run or swim in the lake. Sometimes more than once a day. Right now, I’m running. I run until my legs are numb and it feels like my lungs are about to explode, and when I get that feeling, I run harder. I need to feel the agony. I need to punish myself. Many times I have to stop in order to throw up beside a tree. Then, I’ll give myself a few minutes to recover, swill my mouth out with the water bottle attached to my hip, then off I go again, running, running for my life, running away from myself.