Page 52 of The Reaper
“I’ve got all your school reports in here. Every single one of those teachers told your poor mother what a reprobate you were. You terrorised the other kids and the staff. You were a menace. I’ve got the notes from your counselling sessions that your mum took you to as well, although God knows why she bothered. When my Vinnie left, she thought she could help you with those children’s mental health groups that referral unit you attended had suggested she use, but that was pointless. All you did was waste their time and spout crap, tainting my Vinnie’s good character.”
She started rooting through old papers, shuffling through it all like she was some mediocre Poirot on a mission to prove I was the villain.
“These pictures you drew in school, they show what a head case you were. I mean, what eight-year-old draws pictures like you did, of torture and death? I always knew you were a wrong ‘un.”
It was starting to become glaringly obvious what was going on here. She had no fucking evidence at all, and no idea about who I was, or her precious Vinnie.
“Stella,” I scolded sharply, cutting her off and forcing her attention back on me. “I get that you hate me. I don’t like you that much either. But what the fuck is all this?”
She gazed at me with her mouth open, then said, “It was you. You’re the whole reason I lost my Vinnie.”
“How? Spit it out, woman.” I was losing my shit and fast.
“You drove him away.”
I took a moment to take in what she was saying.
“He never could stand to have you around. Every time he used to come to visit me, he’d tell me all about the trouble you were in at school, the trouble you caused at home. You made his life a misery. He couldn’t stand it anymore. If it wasn’t for you, he’d be right back where he belongs.”
Was she really as clueless as she was pretending to be?
“And you think threatening me, sending letters telling me to leave Brinton Manor is going to bring him back?”
“I haven’t sent you any bloody letters,” she shouted. “And regardless of whether you leave or not, he will come back. Your mum rang me just this morning to say she’d seen him again, on the corner of her road.” She waggled her bony finger at me. “Mark my words, when he does come back, he’s gonna whoop your ass for the way you’ve spoken to me over the years.”
She knew nothing.
She could be bluffing, but I doubted it.
Her evidence was a ridiculous folder full of childhood bullshit. Her accusations were all flimsy threats centred around what she saw as my misbehaviour. As performances went, this one would be Oscar-worthy if she did know about Vinnie’s death and was covering it all up to trick me. Stella was an evil bitch, but she wasn’t that good. In front of me was a woman who thought I’d driven her son away. Nothing more, nothing less. My paranoia about her knowing more was just that––paranoia.
“Bring it on,” I snapped sarcastically, knowing a reunion with a dead man wasn’t on the cards, not until I finally rocked up in hell, and that wasn’t happening anytime soon.
Stella tutted and got busy rearranging her valuable evidence back into her folder. I didn’t bother saying goodbye, I just stalked out of there, slamming the door behind me.
So, if it wasn’t Stella, who was it?
I got on the phone to my mum, still wracking my brains, trying to think why someone was watching her house, sending me letters, trying to pretend that Vinnie wasn’t dead at all. Mum was no use though, she was even more blinkered to the truth than Stella, so I hung up. Maybe I had missed something all those years ago? But whatever it was, I needed to get a hold on it, and fast.
Desperate to pull myself from the dark headspace I was trapped in, I tapped out a text message to the one person I wanted to see above anyone else. The one who always quietened the noise in my life. I needed a fix of my little raven, and nothing and nobody would ever get in my way of that.
ChapterTwenty-Three
LEAH MAY
Icouldn’t stop thinking about him. All the voices in my head had been replaced with thoughts of him; what he was doing, what he was thinking. When he messaged me and asked me to come to the club to see him, I almost couldn’t contain myself.
I put one of my short black dresses on and styled my hair, so it fell in loose curls down my back. I applied light make-up and spritzed myself with perfume. All the while, nervous butterflies danced around in my stomach, as desperate to get to the club and see him as I was. When I emerged from my bedroom and walked downstairs, I could see the living room door wide open. Dad was reading the newspaper, and he peeked his head over the top when he heard my footsteps.
“Are you off out?” He closed the newspaper, folding it and putting it on his lap so he could give me his full attention. I stood in the doorway, debating whether to tell a little white lie to appease him, but I couldn’t. It was time he started seeing me for the adult I was.
“I’m going out with Devon.”
He nodded and steepled his hands under his chin.
“Is he picking you up?” He gave me a stern, knowing look and added, “A gentleman would pick a lady up. I hope he isn’t asking you to meet him on some street corner somewhere.”
“Of course he isn’t.” It bugged me that he’d think that low of Devon. “He’s picking me up, but I wanted to go out to the car as soon as he got here, save him parking up and getting out.” Truth was, I still wasn’t ready for Devon to come in and get the third degree from my dad.
