Deadly Obsession (6 page)

‘
I
f you don't understand
something, Amy Barrowman, then you should say so. You'll never amount to anything if you don't start asking questions.'

The voice was angry and belonged to Mr Hawker, Amy's weak-chinned French teacher at the Stephen Hague Comprehensive School in Manchester's Moss Side, a place where Amy begrudgingly found herself Monday to Friday for most of her teenage life. School was not something she enjoyed, to be honest. There were too many things that needed answers, that warranted questions, that required Amy to engage her brain on subjects that didn't really interest her and Mr Hawker was right, fourteen-year-old Amy Barrowman didn't really ask a great deal of questions.

‘Stand up, Barrowman.' Mr Hawker was waving Amy's homework at her from the front of the classroom where the rest of the class were eagerly waiting to see what happened next. ‘The homework was to write an essay on the delights of French cuisine, as in the marvellous world of French cooking. I was imagining a report on
Flamiche
and
confit de canard
, on
cuisses de grenouilles
and
escargots
, not the fact that your kitchen at home has flowery wallpaper and a tiny breakfast bar that won't fit you and your parents at the same time. What were you thinking?'

Amy watched as a few drops of spittle shot from Mr Hawker's mouth as he reprimanded her. He was not an attractive man and reminded Amy of Mr Garrison from
South Park
, one of her TV guilty pleasures that she loved to watch on her small portable in the privacy of her own bedroom at her parents' council flat back home.

‘I just heard you say cuisine, sir, and I thought you wanted a report on our kitchen at home,' offered Amy sheepishly. The sound of giggles erupted from her classmates.

‘You thought? You thought? You don't think further than the end of your nose, Barrowman.'

‘But I didn't understand what we were supposed to do.' Amy tried to interject.

‘So you ask me. I set this homework last week. That's seven days ago, girl. Surely even you might think to ask in that time if you don't understand something. You can redo it for next lesson. And this time I want to know about the fineries of French food, not flaming Formica worktops.
Tu comprends
?'

Amy gave a meek ‘
oui
' in response and sat down once again as Mr Hawker handed her the essay back, a sea of red pen slashed across it. Her mind drifted off as she stared at the clock at the front of the classroom, willing away the minutes until the end of the lesson and home time.

‘
I
thought
you'd already completed that French homework,' said Enid Barrowman, as her daughter bent double over their kitchen breakfast bar writing into her folder, a bank of books and dictionaries spread out either side of her.

‘I did, but I misheard the teacher and ended up writing about the wrong thing, so I have to do it again,' said Amy without looking up.

‘You never listen, always in a world of your own, aren't you, young lady?' I don't know, what are we going to do with you?' Enid came and stroked her daughter's hair, which was a deep shade of brown streaked with blonde hair dye she had bought Amy from the local market. Enid adored her daughter, who reminded her of herself when she was a young teenager. ‘Have you nearly finished? Are you off out tonight? It is Friday so no school tomorrow.' There was genuine interest in her voice.

‘Five more minutes and I'll be done.' Again Amy didn't look up. ‘Then I'm going to my room. I want to play my music.'

‘What are you locking yourself up for yet again? All you do is sit in your room and play your CDs. You should be out with the other girls, having fun and …' Enid hesitated before adding ‘… meeting boys.' Even without Amy looking up, Enid could see her daughter's cheeks colouring a deep shade of ruby red. The opposite sex was never Amy's favourite topic of conversation.

‘Right, I'm done.' Amy slammed her French folder shut before grabbing it with her other books and running off to her room. ‘See you later, Mum.' Enid sighed as she watched her daughter's bedroom door slam and heard the first burst of one of Amy's CDs pulsate through the wall.

‘What's the racket?' said Ivor Barrowman, walking into the tiny kitchen about thirty seconds later. ‘I can hear that in the front room. It's putting me off
Mr Bean
.'

‘It's Amy playing her music again. That girls spends too much time in her room.'

I
t was true
. Amy did spend a lot of time in her room. But it was her favourite place. While other girls her age chose to spend their time meeting boys on graffiti-plastered corners of the council estate she and her parents lived on, she would much rather ensconce herself in her bedroom surrounded by the things that made her truly happy. Her CDs and her DVD player that her mum and dad had saved up for months to buy her for her
thirteenth birthday.

Who needed the rough boys on the estate offering her cigarettes, a spliff, a love bite or a quick finger behind the wheelie bins when she could surround herself with the much nicer charms of The Backstreet Boys, Usher and Enrique Iglesias as they stared down from the posters that decorated her bedroom walls? They wouldn't let her throw her life away with a teen pregnancy and a lifetime of benefits and trips to the job centre to try and make ends meet. Amy had seen it happen to lots of girls on the estate where she lived. It was a tired old tale. She didn't criticise them, if it made them happy then great, but when she finished her days at school she didn't want to think that life stopped at the corner shop where she did her paper round.

It was that paper round that allowed her to buy her CDs. She'd bought the new one by Britney after seeing her cavort around with a snake on the VMA Awards on TV. What a girl. Amy would love to be like her when she grew up. And she was definitely going to buy the first single by that group put together on the
Popstars
TV show that she tuned into every week. She'd practised being just like them in front of the mirror, singing into her hairbrush and flicking her fringe to the beat.

Music was where Amy could lose herself. It took her to amazing places, to highs that no inner-city estate spliff could ever do. There was such a wealth of fabulous songs out there. She'd bought a
Music Through The Decades
CD set from a local charity shop. It was the best 50p she'd ever spent. Each of the four discs housed a collection from eras before her time. The swingy girliness of the sixties, the glam rock of the seventies, the poppy joy of the eighties and the raving dance of the nineties. Amy loved them all.

Her friends mocked her at school, said that she shouldn't be listening to that ‘old shit' when she tried to teach them about it. One or two agreed with her but in general it was a case of ‘that's what my granny used to listen to, give me The Chemical Brothers any day of the week.' Couldn't they see that there was so much joyous, awe-inspiring music to choose from? A history of harmonies.

Music was fourteen-year-old Amy's world and even though she didn't have a huge amount of friends, even though she didn't have tastes that everyone agreed with and even though she didn't always get it right in French at school, or in any lesson for that matter, she would show them all.

Amy lay back on her bed and listened to her eighties CD. The Bros tune ‘When Will I Be Famous?' came on. Apparently they were like a UK Backstreet Boys back in the day. Great tune. She shut her eyes and imagined herself dancing along to the energising beat.

What was it Mr Hawker had said to her earlier? That she'd never amount to anything. He could shove his French cuisine where
le soleil
didn't shine. She promised herself that the one thing he would be eating in the not too distant future would not be a plate of snails or a portion of frogs' legs, it would be his own words. As would everybody.

S
taring
out the train window as it pulled into Manchester's Piccadilly Station Amy felt a canvas of sadness envelop her. She knew it would. It was her first time back since she'd lost Riley and Laura and everything reminded her of them. Things they'd seen. Places they'd been. Moments they'd shared. Bittersweet tears, a fusion of happy laughter-filled memories and sadness about moments never to be repeated.

As Amy descended from the train, her suitcase bumping down the stairs as she pulled it behind her, she took a deep breath and felt the frostiness of the November air hit her face. It stung slightly and parking her case to one side for a few moments she adjusted her scarf and hat, pulling it into place to cover as much exposed skin as possible. The air was biting, a wind blowing down the platform causing the fringed ends of her scarf to ripple in the breeze. It was a Liska scarf that Laura had given her for her last but one birthday. She adored it and just the feel of its fleeciness reminded her of Laura. It comforted her and was one of the few good things about the onslaught of winter; it gave her the chance to wear it again. It was one of her few designer items that she had not attempted to sell in order to pay her rent.

The iciness of the air was a complete contrast to the large blazing globe of deep-orange sunshine that shone out from a poster across the platform from Amy. It advertised a local travel company that specialised in ‘wild and wonderful' holidays. Immediately it transported her back. How many years was it? Four? Five? It was the company that she and Riley had used to travel to South Africa with, on one of their glorious holidays together as man and wife.

Just seeing the poster brought it all back. Safari Vacations, for those who like to walk on the wild side …

T
hen
, 2011

‘
S
o on behalf
of Safari Vacations, may we welcome you to Inverdoorne, one of South Africa's most popular game reserves and a place where today on safari you will be able to see the big five, that's if they're playing ball of course. If we know one thing about animals, it's that they do what they want when they want.'

‘What's the big five?' whispered Amy to Riley, her hand in his as they stood listening to the guide currently filling them in about what the day ahead held for them.

‘According to the website it's the five animals that were originally said to be the most challenging to hunt in Africa but have now become the most sought after creatures to see on safari. There's the lion, elephant, buffalo, rhino and …' He paused, obviously trying to recollect the fifth which seemed to be escaping him.

‘I'll take you as the fifth, especially looking so hot in those shorts,' grinned Amy. ‘You suit the camouflage look and you certainly bring out the animal in me, Riley Hart.' She moved her hand from his and placed it across his backside, giving one of his buttocks a playful squeeze, much to the amusement of a middle-aged rotund lady from Bedford who was standing behind them. The woman had been on the same flight as them from Manchester out to South Africa, having booked with the same company.

‘Get a room you two,' she joked. ‘You're upsetting the wildlife.'

Riley turned to face her and mouthed the word ‘sorry'. He wasn't, just the mere touch of Amy's hand turned him on.

But the safari came first. ‘Easy, tiger!' he smiled, taking Amy's hand in his once again.

‘Is that the fifth of the big five, then … a tiger?' asked Amy.

‘No, it's the leopard,' he said, finally remembering what he'd read on the website. ‘And hopefully today we will see them all.'

The voice of the safari guide filled the hot, dusty African air again. ‘So if you'd all like to follow me to the jeeps we can start the safari and attempt to find some animals for you.'

‘And hopefully some sun too,' said Amy. ‘I thought it was going to be blisteringly hot out here.'

‘It will be,' replied Riley as they walked towards the fleet of jeeps awaiting them. ‘The web said it would be cold in the morning and seeing as it's just a little after 7am it's no surprise really. Give it a couple of hours and the sun will be beating down. In the meantime, I'll just have to warm you up, won't I?' He pulled Amy towards him, wrapping his arms protectively around her. ‘And there are blankets in the jeep if you're too cold so we can always spread them over ourselves if need be.'

‘As long as I can slip my hand underneath the blanket and play with your “big five” if you get my drift. There must be something about the safari experience that brings out the animal in me. I've been horny ever since waking up.'

‘We'll sort that out later, don't you worry,' said Riley, planting a kiss on Amy's forehead as he pulled her even closer. ‘Now,
big five
… you cheeky bugger. I think we know I'm a lot bigger than that, don't we? I'm thinking the ‘big nine' would be more apt, don't you?' He laughed as they settled into their seats on the jeep.

‘Too much info, you two! Keep it in your pants.' It was the rotund lady again who was now seating herself behind them. ‘And FYI, I've not been horny ever since I woke up, I've just been ravenous. They do feed us on this trip, don't they?'

Amy and Riley could both feel their cheeks reddening as the jeep's engine burst into life and they headed off to start the safari.

It was hours later that they finally returned to their on-site guesthouse. The day had been an amazing one and there had been food, much to the enjoyment of the lady from Bedford, but not even the delights of a Harrods hamper could have compared with the animals that Amy and Riley had witnessed during the day. They had seen a female rhino enjoying the first drink of the day with her young calf, a herd of zebras excitedly skipping along, their movements almost choreographed with the skill of a professional dancer and even a couple of hippos lazily wallowing in water to try and escape the ferocity of the overhead sun. Add that to the oryx, wildebeest and springbok they had seen and it made for the perfect day.

Amy's favourite had been seeing the lions in the wild. Their proud manes and silky coats entranced her with their deadly beauty. She'd longed to get up close to them but was savvy enough to know that these were no friendly moggies looking for a stroke and a purr-inducing tickle behind the ear. These were killers, beasts who ruled the lands they strolled.

Amy's dreams of touching the wildlife did come true though during a moment that had become the highlight of her day so far, a moment that she was discussing with Riley as they lay on their backs staring up at the night sky behind their Bedrock-style guest-house. It was a luxury chalet that any Fred and Wilma would have been proud to call their home.

‘Can you believe we were able to stroke the cheetahs? That was so amazing!' squealed Amy, still high from the experience and the bottle of champagne she and Riley had enjoyed over dinner. ‘It was incredible to see them walking so tamely with their handlers. How wonderful of the people here to rescue and rehabilitate cheetahs that might not have lived had they not been saved. What a rewarding job. I couldn't believe we were actually able to stroke them. I could so work here.'

‘Not thinking of leaving me, are you?' remarked Riley, his voice traced with a hint of worry.

‘They were fabulous but I'd rather stroke you any day of the week. Your bite is pretty sensational.' Amy ran her hand across her T-shirt and let it rest on her right breast. She could feel her nipple stiffening as she rubbed her finger gently across it. It was still a little bit tender from where Riley had been nibbling it with his teeth during an afternoon sex session they had enjoyed the moment they had arrived back at the guesthouse. Given the horniness Amy had been experiencing all day and the flower petals sprinkled liberally across the bed, the mood was one hundred per cent sexual and it had been mere seconds before they had both shed their safari clothes and made love. Their movements were frenzied and urgent, almost animalistic, the subject matter of the day perhaps influencing them sub-consciously. Riley had feasted on her body, allowing his tongue to dive straight into the sugary folds of her wetness, searching to quench his sexual thirst in the same way a parched beast would seek out the nearest watering hole. His own appetite satiated, Riley had moved his mouth to Amy's breasts, feasting on the rosy pink buds he found there. Mixing the ferocity of a lion with the tenderness of a baby kudu, one of the many antelopes that roamed across the plains of Inverdoorn, he had expertly taken her peaks between his teeth as he ploughed the hardness between his legs into her. Their orgasms combined as Amy let out a howl of exultation worthy of a hyena.

‘You all right there?' asked Riley, noticing Amy's hand on her breast.

‘I was thinking about your bite. My boob is still quite tender, not that I am complaining. That was sensational, you were like a man possessed.'

‘Possessed with love for you, yes. Now check out these stars. Have you ever seen anything so crystal clear?'

‘Never,' mused Amy. She and Riley had spent the last half hour lying on a towel on the floor outside the back of their guesthouse, as suggested by Inverdoorn's staff. The night sky was pitch black but the stars and constellations dotted across the sky were sparkling unlike anything Amy had ever seen. Like rhinestones placed upon a sheet of the most luxurious black velvet. It was magnificent.

‘They're not like this over Manchester, are they?' questioned Riley.

‘Nothing could outshine you, my love,' said Amy, her voice purring with suggestion.

Riley spotted it straight away. ‘What are you after, Amy Hart? Are you trying to butter me up, young lady?'

‘I was just thinking about those cheetahs again. How do you think they'd look at the house in Sale?' Amy smirked to show that she was joking.

‘I'll buy you a concrete one to put by the front gates, all right?'

‘But I want a kitty cat,' mocked Amy. ‘A nice big one.'

‘Then that's what you shall have, my angel. The biggest kitty cat in Britain,' replied Riley, rolling over to plant a kiss upon her lips. ‘I promise.'

A
s Amy walked away
from the travel poster and out of Manchester's Piccadilly Station to the nearest taxi rank, she let herself smile. Riley had given her the biggest kitty cat of all, The Kitty Kat Club. He'd kept his promise. But now it was gone, taken from her, as was he. And she needed to see whether that was about to change.