We present an extract from When They See Me, the latest thriller in the Shaw & Darmody series by Gill Perdue, author of If I Tell.
An au pair disappears in the heart of suburbia. When her body shows up, all eyes are on the only witness to her abduction, a two-year-old child.
A serial killer hides in plain sight. Can Shaw and Darmody find him before he strikes again?
I like a woman to look smart and, above all, elegant. Of course, if it came up in conversation in work or socially, I would never say that. I know perfectly well how it would sound to any women who might be present. The patriarchy. Now, they're all full of the right to dress comfortably – why should they dress to please men? Et cetera. I imagine my mother’s horrified reaction to that concept! I never saw her in a flat shoe - not once. Her early training in ballroom dancing left her with a love of glamour, I suppose. She dressed with a certain formality– skirts or dresses, or little suits. In summer, when other women wore sandals or flats or even flip-flops, she would change to a lighter shade of court shoe. She had one pair that I adored – sling-backs with kitten heels made of soft suede with snakeskin trimming around the top.
Yes. My mother dressed smartly. Even pruning the roses or clipping the wisteria that grew over the porch saw her wearing a blouse or cashmere cardigan, an A-line skirt cut to the knee, below which tapered her shapely legs (encased in tights – mink was the shade she preferred), and her black, everyday court shoes. Anything lower made her feel clumpy. And Mummy was never clumpy. My mother was light on her feet. She walked with a bounce in her step, as though puffed along by small gusts of wind, her elegant arches always on display, like the dancer she was.
She and I both took pride in her beautiful feet. After all, it was I who wielded the blade. We soaked them first, then she sat in the low armchair with her legs outstretched, feet resting on a towel, wiggling her toes while she waited. I carried the basin carefully with two hands – up high against my chest to keep it steady. I was determined to do everything right, to preserve our closeness, as this was the closest I got. I clutched the edges of the basin with my white, skeleton fingers, terrified it would slosh or spill. That happened once, and she was very angry. I never made that mistake again.
My favourite part was when I took hold of both her feet and laid them in my lap on the paper sheet. She would sigh and rest her head against the back of the chair. Sometimes she would even close her eyes. I held her feet, and her legs would relax and roll outwards as though her knees were no longer on speaking terms. A tunnel was created then, leading from the edge of her skirt to a dark place I couldn’t make out – a slice of fabric in shadow with a strange scent I would inhale andpuzzle over, trying to identify it. Metal. Vinegar. Loam. Something ancient and subterranean.
I would bend forward and grasp her foot, bringing it closer and setting it down precisely – and the heel precisely placed on my groin. A towel and newspaper separated them but, even so, I felt the weight.
It is so important for a woman to pay attention to these things. They should never be neglected. The hair, also, should be sleek and swept off the face to reveal the features. In her thirties, Mother pinned hers up in a neat chignon.
Later, a chic, short, swept-back style which suited her delicate neck. Locks of long, unkempt hair make me shudder.
With the au pair, it was the first thing I had to address.
When They See Me is published by Sandycove
