Chapter Thirty-Nine
Her car was in for its paint job; she’d driven around with ‘BITCH’ etched on the hood for long enough. She assumed Maria was the culprit, and was considering sending the re-spray bill to Franco; it was his bloody nutter of a girlfriend, after all.
Sometimes she was pleased she to be a woman and not a man, she could never date women, all those dramas and ‘time of the month’ emotions. Some women were an utter nightmare, even she was scared of them.
She dragged herself into work, buses were on strike so she battled her way through the sardine sweaty, overcrowded underground. She hated the underground, never feeling quite safe; a sitting duck for fire, terrorists, pick pockets and creepy undesirables with smelly armpits.
Surfacing safely onto Piccadilly Circus, gratefully breathing in fresh London polluted air, she picked up her regular coffee and biscuit breakfast combo, and she rushed, head down, through the reception of Harvinger Larvsen, straight to the lift. There seemed to be a lot of people hanging around, but she was too tired to bother to find out why.
“Morning, girls,” she sang, in the direction of the two receptionists, as cheerfully as she could muster, not in the mood to chat, she was exhausted. She’d had a heavy night of unsettling dreams and images again, it was becoming a habit.
She must have tossed and turned all night, her bed was a mess and she was covered in sweat when rudely roused by her ‘effing annoying’ alarm clock. Her body ached, her throat was parched and she had a searing headache. She hated mornings, she stood under the shower for twenty minutes to rejuvenate her body; she was not a morning person.
It was only as the lift doors closed that she noticed Mrs B and Tracey hadn’t replied to her cheery hello. They were glaring at her open mouthed, as if she’d just murdered a new-born baby in front of them… what’s eating them today? She’d probably used their soya milk by mistake. Woe betides anyone who came between Mrs B and her section of the communal fridge door in the staff canteen.
She swapped flatties for heels just as the lift door opened, and headed straight for her desk, mumbling a cheery “good morning” to the rest of the office as she slumped in her chair.
Her head hurt, she retrieved her biscuit and gratefully found a dog eared pack of headache tablets at the bottom of her bag. She stuffed the oversized bag into the bottom draw of her filing cabinet and, with some effort, squeezed it shut. Knocking back a few of the tablets with a swig of coffee, she brought the cup to her mouth and noticed new bruising on her wrist... where had that come from?
She shook her head, she was so clumsy recently, always covered in bruises, most of which she couldn’t explain. In the shower that morning, she’d noticed two small round thumb shaped bruises on her inner thighs… where the hell had they come from? Maybe she had thin skin?
The office seemed deathly quiet; she looked around to see all eyes on her, the mood distinctly hostile.
“What’s up, someone die?” she asked the girl sat nearest to her, Kelly.
“No, but someone is about to,” said Kelly.
“Who?” Tara began to feel cold, oh no, it was happening, they had found out about her. “Who, Kelly?”
“You… you silly mare... have you not seen the papers this morning? Facebook? …. You’re trending on Twitter.”
Kelly chucked the day’s press cuttings on her desk and opened up a news homepage on her computer monitor.
“It’s gone viral, you’ve got some explaining to do girl,” she whispered. “Pete Wells is spitting exocets, wants to see you. You may need some brandy in that coffee. Go to the loo and have a read, I’ll cover for you... NOW... get outta here quick.”
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THE PENANCE LIST Complete, Steamy Psycho Thriller
Mystery / ThrillerWith his childhood stolen, a target on his back, and time running out, he's ready to stand for the boy he once was and make those who honed him into a killer, pay. His sex is served hard, his revenge cold, and his redemption uncertain. A provocative...
