Love Him to Death by Tanya Landman Page B

against one, but I doubted we’d stand much chance, especially as he’d just pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked it open.
    “Come over here,” he said, “and get what you deserve.”
    I looked at Graham. He gave me a faint nod and his eyes slid seawards. In that split second we made our decision.
    Let me assure you, climbing over a parapet and plummeting – what, thirty metres? – into the sea is not a pleasant experience. Don’t try it at home. The water whacked me so hard, it knocked the breath clean out of my lungs and I sank deep, deep down in a rush of bubbles, and soon I didn’t know which way was up. I thrashed and kicked but couldn’t tell if I was swimming deeper or back to the surface, and it was all just lung-bursting panic until a hand grabbed mine and pulled. That gulp of air as I broke through into the sunlight was the sweetest breath I’ve ever inhaled.
    I looked around. Graham was treading water a couple of metres away. The hand that had grabbed me belonged to Angelica.
    The pair of us splashing down so close to her seemed to have jerked her out of her dream-like state. Letting her husband frame her was one thing. Allowing the deaths of two innocent children was quite another. Her face had taken on a determined look.
    “Can you swim to the beach?” she demanded.
    “Yes,” I spluttered. It wasn’t that far – just around the rocks – and it wasn’t like there was a heavy current to contend with. Angelica struck out in a smooth crawl, and Graham and I kind of doggy-paddled behind, still winded by the long drop.
    When we reached the cove we were faced with a new problem. Bill was already at the top of the path, descending fast, the knife glinting in his hand. He didn’t look like he was after a cosy chat.
    Our only hope was the pedalo. Graham and I began to pull it across the sand and Angelica pushed from the other side, but we were all so panicked by the sight of Bill that our teamwork wasn’t exactly impressive. We reached the water’s edge just as he reached the beach. He was less than ten metres away now, but the soft sand was harder for him to run on than the cliff path had been.
    “Stop!” he screamed.
    I took strength from the edge of fear in his voice: he must think he couldn’t reach us in time. We gave the pedalo one last shove, then Graham and I jumped into the seats and started pedalling frantically while Angelica leapt onto the back.
    Behind us Bill’s heavy footsteps thudded over the last bit of dry sand and came splashing into the waves. Angelica stuck her legs in the water and kicked desperately to give us more momentum. Bill lunged, but her sudden spurt of energy took us beyond his reach. And thankfully Bill wasn’t a good swimmer like Angelica. Once he found he was out of his depth, he turned back for land, defeated.
    “If we can get round to the big beach there’ll be loads of people,” I puffed. “He can’t do anything to us there.”
    For a while we pedalled along the shoreline in silence. But after five minutes or so I couldn’t help asking, “It was Bill, wasn’t it? He killed all of them. Starting with Mick.”
    The pedalo lurched as Angelica moved up to perch between me and Graham. “You know about him?” she said incredulously. “How?”
    “Well … we kind of worked it out,” I said. “It took a while, though. Bill’s Mr Nice Guy act is very convincing.”
    “Tell me about it,” she said wearily. “It was years before I saw through him. If I had done so sooner, Mick might still be alive.”
    “You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Graham put in helpfully. “Con men don’t go around with flashing neon signs on their heads saying DON’T TRUST ME, I’M A GIT. They’re charming. Likeable. Plausible. That’s how people get taken in.”
    “Perhaps you’re right. I was so young when we met! Just a kid, really. I didn’t know any better.” She let out a sad, tired laugh. “He made me ditch my friends. I thought it was romantic that he