The Wicked Girls Read Online Free PDF Page B

texts?’
    ‘Texts?’
    ‘I’ve been texting you all night. I tried calling too.’
    ‘Yeah? Oh.’ He picks his phone up from the bedside chest of drawers, holds it out so she can see the blank display. ‘Sorry.
     I switched it off. I was tired.’
    She feels a twinge of resentment, squashes it down. He doesn’t suspect that anything is wrong. You can’t blame him for that.
    ‘Christ,’ he says, ‘you smell a bit ripe.’
    ‘Sorry,’ she says, and bursts into tears.
    Vic lurches forward and pinches the back of her neck between thumb and palm, like a masseur. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Hey, I was just
     saying, Amber. It’s OK. It’s no big deal.’
    Her tears dry as suddenly as they’ve come on. She finds that this is often the way with her emotions and that, though she’s
     good at controlling them, tears are rarely far from the surface.She loosens his grip, stands up and eases herself out of her trousers, rubs the place where his hand’s just been. Feels guilty.
     Stop it. Stop it, Amber. It’s not his fault. Be nice.
    Suddenly, she doesn’t want to tell him. Doesn’t want to tell him because she doesn’t know how she wants him to react. Doesn’t
     know if she could bear sympathy, doesn’t know if she could bear not to get it. The last time Amber saw a murdered body, there
     were days of pretending, of hugging it close to herself, of hiding. A bit of her wants to try it again with Vic: to see if
     the outcome will be different this time. Stupid thought. The police are swarming all over Funnland, the park is closed. She
     could keep it to herself for no longer than it took him to go in for his shift.
    ‘Something happened,’ she tells him; keeps her voice even, controlled, as though she’s discussing a surprise electric bill.
     She keeps her back turned, doesn’t trust her face.
    Vic sits forward. ‘What?’
    Amber folds up the trousers, lays them on the chair. ‘At work. Tonight. I … oh God, Vic, there’s been another girl killed.
     At work.’
    ‘What?’ he says again. ‘Where?’
    ‘Innfinnity.’
    ‘Innfinnity?’ She hears him hear the word, take in the implication of what she’s just said. Amber’s the only one who ever
     goes to the mirrors at night. It doesn’t take long for him to understand that she’s the one who found her.
    ‘Babe,’ he says. ‘Oh, babe. You must have been so afraid. You should have called me. You should have let me know.’
    She’s annoyed. Turns and glares. ‘I did. I called and texted. I already told you. All night. Turn it on. You’ll see.’ They
     don’t have a house phone, just pay-as-you-go mobiles.
    He picks the phone up again, switches it on. ‘Amber. I’m so sorry.’
    She sits on the edge of the bed as the phone lets out a series of incoming-message beeps. Rubs her neck again. Vic kneels
     upbehind her and bats her hand away. Starts to knead the muscles: powerful, working-man’s hands squeezing, pressing; strong
     fingers straying upwards, brushing the line of her jaw. She has another brief flash of the swollen face, the bruised lips
     parted to show young white teeth. Shivers and closes her eyes. He presses the heel of his hand to her spine, pulls back on
     her shoulder. She feels a tiny skeletal clunk somewhere deep down and sighs with relief. When I was young, I had no one to
     do this for me. I thought back pain was just part of the human condition. Thank God for Vic. Thank God for him.
    ‘What was it like?’ he asks. ‘Who was she?’
    ‘Some poor little girl. Can’t have been more than twenty. All dressed up for a night out. Oh God, Vic, it was awful.’
    ‘But how? What happened?’
    Amber sighs. ‘I don’t know. If I knew that, I’d either be psychic or a policewoman, wouldn’t I?’
    The hands fall abruptly still. ‘You know what I mean, Amber.’ He sounds offended.
    ‘Sorry,’ she says, hastily. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just been … a long night …’
    He forgives her, thank God, and the hands start