Anita nodded nervously. ‘If you’re sure this is the best plan . . .’
‘I’m sure.’
He paced, checking his watch every thirty seconds until twenty minutes had elapsed. ‘Okay, let’s do it.’
He strode into the garden, grabbing the spade on the way, and headed straight to the flower bed. The moon cast just enough light for him to see what he was doing as, with a final glance at Lucy’s dark bedroom window, he began to dig, ripping the plants from the earth and scattering them across the lawn. This time, he tore them apart, kicking at them and mutilating them so there was no way she could rescue them again. She would be furious. She would want – no, need – revenge. He thrust the spade into the dirt again and threw a shrub behind him.
But as he pushed the spade into the soil a final time, he struck something that didn’t feel like earth.
He paused, setting the tool aside and peering closer.
‘What is it?’ Anita asked from behind him.
There was an orange plastic bag in the flower bed. He stooped and, digging his fingers into the dirt, grabbed the edge of it and pulled it free.
Anita came closer, hand over her mouth, eyes as wide as the moon above.
Jamie looked up at her over his shoulder then returned his attention to the bag.
Tentatively, he reached inside it. He felt something soft.
Fur.
He snatched his hand away and fell on to his bottom, the bag gaping open on the lawn before him.
‘What is it?’ Anita urged. ‘Tell me!’
Fighting back sickness, he pulled the plastic bag towards him and pulled it open, peering inside.
The fur was black.
He scrambled to his feet and stared at Anita. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’
‘What? For fuck’s sake, tell me!’
‘It’s Belle. It’s . . .’
At that moment, they heard a door slam on the other side of the house. Lucy. She was coming. And Jamie didn’t feel ready, not now, not after what he’d just found. He had been wrong, so wrong. Lucy had hurt a cat. Had killed it and stuffed it in this bag, knowing they would find it. He was going to vomit. Anita had her hand clamped over her face and was inching closer to the bag, trying to gather the courage to look inside.
There was something coming towards them around the edge of the house. A shape in the darkness, far too small to be Lucy. It came closer and Jamie stared in disbelief.
It was Belle.
Anita saw the cat at the same time, gasping with relief and running forward to gather her pet into her arms, hugging her tight and murmuring, ‘Where have you been? Where have you been?’
Jamie approached the carrier bag, snatching it up and reaching inside. Yes, black fur. But it was soft. Not stiff and cold like a dead animal would be.
He tipped the bag upside down and a soft toy cat dropped on to the lawn.
He thought he could almost hear Lucy laughing.
Inside, with another bottle of wine open, Anita kept giggling nervously.
‘Oh my God, the relief. I thought, I really thought . . .’
‘She’s a bitch,’ Jamie said. ‘An evil fucking bitch.’ He thought back to when he’d heard the door slam. That must have been Lucy, throwing Belle out. She’d had the cat locked up while she played her little game.
Anita had stopped laughing. As she lifted her glass to her lips, Jamie noticed her hand was shaking.
‘She wanted you to be horrified, don’t you see? It’s a warning. Mess with her again and next time it will be Belle. She might love cats but she’s still prepared to sacrifice one to make you suffer.’
‘Maybe she’s justified,’ Anita said. ‘After all, she thinks it was me who vandalised her garden.’
‘Which you – I mean, we – would never have done if she hadn’t already tried to drive you out. Remember, Anita, she’s a psycho. She’s evil. She might not kill a cat but she would happily kill you if she thought she could get away with it.’
Belle was in the kitchen, eating a tin of tuna that Anita had opened as a special treat. The smell wafted into the living room.
‘We’ve gone too far,’ Anita said. ‘We need to stop now, Jamie.’
‘No way.’ He had already drunk half the bottle of wine, his hangover from earlier forgotten. ‘It’s too late. We’ve goaded her now. She’s not going to stop. But maybe you could get a friend to look after Belle for a few days? Just in case.’
Anita exhaled. They were side by side on the sofa again. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’
She swallowed the wine in her glass in one gulp and Jamie followed suit. It rushed to his head, mixing with the adrenaline in his veins. He had a tight feeling around his temples but his body thrummed with excess energy. He got up, paced back and forth, sat down again.
‘The note said if I disturbed her garden again I’d regret it.’ Her cheeks were flushed, little spots of pink around her collarbone. ‘I’m scared, Jamie. Feel.’
She reached out to him and he took her hand in his. It was surprisingly cold, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel.
She laid her other hand on top of his and he realised how close she was sitting, their legs pressed together. Though her hands were cold, he could feel the warmth coming off her through the fabric of his jeans.
‘I need a hug,’ she said. ‘Is that okay?’
He let her hug him. It was awkward, squished together on the sofa, and he shuffled so he could put his arms around her, intending to pat her back. There, there. But as he lifted his face, hers was right there, her lips an inch from his, the only sound in the room that of her breathing, deep and slow.
Their lips met. Later, he would try to convince himself that he tried to pull away, that he at least had the decency to have second thoughts, but it wasn’t true. He could blame the alcohol, the energy that pulsed through him like tremors that rumble through the ground after an earthquake. He could blame all that, but really he could only blame himself.
Their tongues met, and then he was breathing heavily too, kissing her hard, panting as she broke free to pull off her top and unclasp her bra, and then they were kissing in a frenzy, hands everywhere, and he was half-naked too and somehow they were both naked and shortly after that he was inside her, lying back on the sofa while she rode him, rocking back and forth, crying out, raking fingernails across his chest, taking one of his nipples between her fingers and twisting it, pulling his hands to her breasts and moving faster and faster, head thrown back to expose her throat.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside her and she stopped moving, a flicker of disappointment on her face before she dismounted and flipped over so she was on her back, Jamie propping himself up above her, desire draining away.
‘Use your fingers,’ she said, grasping his wrist and guiding him, while pulling his head towards her chest.
He did what she told him, stroking her clitoris with his thumb, his middle finger sliding inside her, mouth on one nipple then the other. She pushed hard against his hand and he felt a convulsion inside her, the strength of her orgasm, and that made him hard, made him want to fuck her again.
The moment they were finished, Anita said, ‘Excuse me’, and left the room, heading for the bathroom. Jamie lay back on the sofa, head throbbing and queasy with regret. He heard Kirsty’s voice, echoes of their earlier phone call. It was as if he had betrayed her, though he countered that instantly with justification: it wasn’t like they were together.