Autumn Read online

  ‘I bought this for my wife’s birthday last week and she doesn’t like it,’ he says. Judging by the age of the customer in front of me, if she isn’t a gold-digger then his wife could be anywhere between sixty and eighty years old. Can’t imagine I’ll be wearing underwear like this at that age.

  ‘I see,’ I say, taking the negligee from him and holding it up. There isn’t much of it. Definitely not to be worn in winter. ‘Didn’t she like it? Do you want a refund?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘No. Actually I was wondering whether you had it in any other colours,’ he says, taking me by surprise. His face turns lobster pink with embarrassment. ‘She doesn’t like black,’ he explains, ‘says she’d rather have red. Says it makes her feel more… you know.’

  I’m going to be late for the meeting. I’ll have to hand this old gent over to a colleague, but there’s never anyone about when you need them. I start leading him over to the customer services desk when something catches my eye over by the main doors. I can see Gary Bright, the area finance director, down on all fours. He looks like he’s being sick. Is he choking? His laptop’s on the floor and there are confidential papers blowing all over the place. I look for Jenny Clarke who’s the duty first aid officer but Christ, someone else is down now. A woman just to the left of me has collapsed against the customer service desk. Bloody hell, she looks like she’s suffocating. She’s clawing at her neck and her face is bright red, eyes bulging.

  Shit, Shirley Peters from sportswear is on the floor at the bottom of the escalator now. Her skirt’s caught in the mechanism. She looks as if she’s just—

  Oh God, what’s that?

  I can feel something at the back of my throat, like I’ve got something trapped. I try to clear it but I can hardly swallow and the more I cough, the worse it gets. Something’s scratching the back and sides of my throat and I can’t clear it. I need to get some water. It’s still there. It won’t go. Stronger now, getting worse. Christ, it feels like someone’s got their hand around my neck.

  Need to get help. Jesus it hurts.

  It’s stinging and burning. Bloody hell, I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe.

  Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

  Oh fuck, I can taste blood in my mouth.

  Just don’t panic. Slow down. Try and breathe. Try and—

  #

  Starved of oxygen, Amy fell back into a rail of designer dresses, pulling half the display down on top of her. She gagged and retched as blood dribbled down the inside of her inflamed throat. Unable to focus, she was momentarily aware of frantic, terrified movement all around her.

  She clawed at her neck and began to thrash about as the remaining oxygen in her blood stream rapidly disappeared. Already numb, she felt no pain when the back of her head thumped against the hard marble floor.

  Her mouth and chin now covered with blood, Amy tried to stand but couldn’t. The world became dark and the screams around her became muffled, then fell silent.

  Less than a minute after infection, Amy Steadman was dead.

  JIM HARPER

  I’m in big fucking trouble. I can’t believe what I’ve just done. Christ knows how I’m going to get myself out of this one.

  There are mistakes and there are mistakes. There are minor indiscretions you can brush under the carpet, and there are fucking huge mistakes that you know are going to cost you big time and haunt you for the rest of your life. This is the biggest of all the fucking huge mistakes I’ve ever made. This is the worst thing I could have done.

  I’m in a hotel room. It only took me a couple of seconds to get my bearings after I woke up. I’m here on a course from work. This is only day two of five but the way things are going it could well be my last day in the job. It’s a quarter to eight and the first session of the morning starts in less than an hour. I’ve missed breakfast but that doesn’t matter. I couldn’t eat anything. I feel sick to my stomach. Problem is, this isn’t my hotel room.

  I’m keeping as still as I can, lying on my side and looking out of a crack in the curtains at a dull and rainy morning outside. I’m trying to work my way back through the events of last night, trying to remember everything that happened. We’re here for the week – Monday through to lunchtime Friday. There are seventeen of us from different outlets up and down the country. We had a formal meal last night to break the ice and get to know everyone, then we moved into the bar. And that was where we stayed. I got talking to a couple of lads from up north, then I ended up with two girls who work in my area. I’d met one of them before, but I didn’t recognise her friend. Turns out she was Helen Hunter – the daughter of Bill Hunter, my area director and one of the nastiest bastards you could have the misfortune to come across. My missus, Chloe, works in his office.

  And here’s where things get really, really fucked-up. I haven’t plucked up the courage to look yet, but I’m ninety-nine per cent sure this is Helen Hunter’s bed, and I’m equally certain that Helen Hunter is in it with me. Whoever it is lying next to me, she’s just wrapped her arm around me and she’s kissing my neck.

  Don’t react. Keep calm. Just keep calm and get things in perspective. Am I completely sure it’s Helen? I’m having trouble remembering last night clearly. I remember sitting in the bar with the two girls, drinking hard. I was starting to get to the stage where you know you’ve had a few and your body’s trying to tell you to stop. Sometimes the beer plays tricks on you: the alcohol sort of waits for a while, then creeps up and rushes you all of a sudden. I’d been fine all night but I knew having another drink would have been a mistake. Thing is, I know I stayed for at least two more pints after that. One of the girls went to bed and I remember being left there with the other. It was definitely Helen. The rest of our group were long gone and we were the only two left in the bar.

  We were having one of those conversations where you start discussing things you know you shouldn’t be talking about, but you can’t stop. She started telling me about her relationships and sex, then moved on to her likes and dislikes in bed (concentrating more on the likes). I started to get more and more uncomfortable and, at the same time, more and more turned on. She was flirting with me (okay, I was flirting with her too) and I remember thinking I was going to have to try and be a bit more distant in the morning because we’ve got a whole week to get through together and I didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. Problem was, by then I’d already done more than enough, and what happened next was inevitable.

  I remember us finishing our drinks and leaving the bar. We walked through the lobby together and went up to our rooms. We walked down the same corridor and I started to get jumpy because I thought she was following me. I stopped outside my room and took out my key and she did the same with the room next door. She made some cheap comment about fate and coincidence and destiny or something and I just mumbled because my brain had stopped functioning properly. I remember thinking that I should just go into my room, shut the door and go to bed but I was having one of those moments where my brain was trying to stay in control but the booze and my dick had long since taken over.

  Helen Hunter is a cheap (but fucking gorgeous) tart with a reputation for being a marriage-breaker and sleeping around. I kept telling myself to turn and run but instead of walking away from her I walked towards her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered something filthy in my ear, can’t remember what. I remember smelling her perfume and the booze on her breath, then feeling myself getting hard. We kissed. One kiss, then another, then another and another until we were practically eating each other’s faces. My hands started to wander. I grabbed her backside and pulled her closer. One thing led to another and… and that’s why I’m in trouble now.

  It has to be said though, what I remember of last night was damn good. She lived up to her reputation. She was half-undressed by the time we’d made it onto the bed and I was completely undressed seconds later. The lights were full on and the curtains were open but neither of us cared. All I could think about
was fucking her senseless. There was no hint of passion, just sheer lust. It felt like minutes, but I remember looking at the clock on the bedside table at one o’clock, then again at two and then three. At some point one of us had turned the lights off and we’d finally fallen asleep.

  Despite the fact what I’ve done is wrong whichever way you look at it, it was bloody good. Just lying here thinking about what she did last night is making me feel horny again…

  ‘It’s ages yet until the course starts, Jim,’ she says from behind me, her breath tickling the nape of my neck. She starts dragging her nails over my skin, just enough to hurt. Christ, she’s barely done anything but she’s really turning me on. I should try to be strong and tell her no, but what’s the point? The damage has already been done. Might as well lie back and enjoy it ’cause the shit’s going to hit the fan later…

  Helen rolls me over and I look up into her face. She’s fucking beautiful – an absolute gem. For a second it’s easy to forget that I’m married and that the woman I’m in bed with is my boss’ precious daughter, because I can’t think straight. All I can do is react to what she’s doing to me. Now she’s sliding down underneath the covers, biting my chest and licking me and she’s not stopping there. She’s going lower. I put my hands behind my head and lie back. Might as well make the most of it.

  #

  Quarter past eight. It’s over. The sudden frenzied excitement and lust has gone and all I feel now is panic and regret. What have I done, and why have I just done it again? Helen’s grinning at me like an idiot but then, compared to me, she’s got nothing to lose. Chances are I’ve already lost everything. How the hell am I going to be able to look Chloe in the face now? After the last time I promised her this would never happen again. I mean nothing to Helen. This has just been a bit of fun for her. I’m another one of her victims, another conquest, another notch on the bedpost, and some other poor bastard will probably be taking my place in this bed tonight. I should have known better. I knew what she was like. She’ll walk away from this without a bad word being said, and I’ll take all the flack. If Bill Hunter finds out then I’ve fucking had it. I’ve probably just thrown away my marriage, my house and my career for one night of sex. What a fucking idiot.

  What do I do now? She’s out of bed and I’m left lying here on my own, looking up at the ceiling and trying to work out how I’m going to blag my way out of trouble. Easiest thing would be to grab my stuff from the room next door and do a runner, but I know I can’t do that. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid again. This is definitely the worst yet.

  She’s in the shower. Despite the fact that we’ve just spent the night together and I’ve already explored every available inch of her naked body, I feel embarrassed now because she’s undressed. I try not to look but I can’t help myself and she knows it. She’s flirting again. She knows I’m watching, and she probably knows what I’m about to say. She’s doing everything she can to put me off.

  ‘Look,’ I say, clearing my throat, ‘we need to talk.’

  She doesn’t answer. I don’t know if she can hear me over the noise of the shower. Most of the course delegates’ rooms are on this floor so I don’t want to shout but I don’t have any choice. This won’t wait.

  ‘Listen, I’m going back to my room now. I had a great time last night, Helen, but what we did was wrong…’

  She peers around the side of the shower curtain, making sure she shows more than enough bare flesh to make me lose my train of thought.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ she says. ‘Play your cards right and your whole week will be as good as last night.’

  I try to protest. ‘You were great last night, but I made a mistake. I’m sorry. We should just pretend it never happened and…’

  She’s shaking her head. ‘Too late for that,’ she says, grinning. ‘You’re going to learn more in this little room than you will on the course. I’m going to do things to you that are barely legal. You’re mine for the rest of the…’

  She stops talking.

  The expression on her face changes.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I ask. Bitch is just playing with me again.

  She’s rubbing at her neck, ‘I… I can’t…’

  She massages her throat with one hand and grips the shower curtain with the other to keep herself steady. Christ, she’s suffocating. She’s trying to breathe in, but it’s like she can’t get any air. She’s looking at me with wide, frightened eyes and I don’t know what to do. I just stand there. I can’t move. I want to help but I don’t know what to do.

  Her legs buckle and she falls, pulling the shower curtain down with her. Her head hits the faucet with a soft thud that makes me feel sick. Now she’s lying in the bath, shaking and choking, and there’s blood pouring out of a deep gash on the side of her head. It’s washing down the plughole, mixing with the foam and running water like something out of Psycho. I turn off the shower. Christ, there’s blood everywhere. I need to get help.

  I run to the bed to get my trousers. My legs are wet from the shower and I can’t get them on. I trip over, then crawl around the room. I grab the phone and ring Reception to get them to call an ambulance but there’s no answer. No one’s picking up.

  I’m standing in the bathroom door again now, half-dressed, and Helen’s not moving. I can’t bring myself to touch her. I have to do something, but Christ, I think she might be dead.

  ‘Helen?’

  I must be a real spineless bastard. For a split second I actually feel relieved because I realise now I might have a chance of salvaging something from this mess. I can tell them I was in the room next door and I heard her fall down so I came into help and I found her like this… But hold on, isn’t that going to make things worse? My clothes are in this room. And it’s not just my clothes, there will be hairs and fingerprints and God knows what else all over the bed and probably all over and inside her too. Fuck, what if they say I did it? What if they think I pushed her over in the shower to keep her quiet about what we’d done together?

  Got to get out of here.

  I grab my things and run to the door. I try to leave the room but then I see her body again and I stop. I have to help her, but I’m too fucking scared. I run out into the corridor, then stop because there’s another body. Jesus Christ, it’s a porter. I don’t want to get any closer to him. I can see his face and it’s all twisted and contorted with pain and there’s blood on the carpet around his mouth.

  There’s another body further down, just outside one of the rooms. It’s Steve Jenkins from the Southampton branch. I sat opposite him at dinner last night. And there’s another on the stairs… one of the course tutors, I think.

  I can’t handle this. I go back into my room and pace around the bed, trying to make sense of everything that’s happening.

  I can’t hear anyone outside.

  I try the phone again but no one answers. Same with my mobile. I’m really fucking scared now. I’ll wait for a couple more minutes, then I’ll go and find help.

  #

  James Harper hid in his hotel room like a frightened child for hours before finally plucking up courage to go out and look for help. The smell of burning forced him to move. The hotel kitchens were on fire and the fire was spreading down the building.

  He searched the rest of the hotel but he was the only one left alive.

  SHERI NEWTON

  Of all the shift patterns I work, this is the one I hate most. I can handle starting early in the morning and working through the day, I don’t even mind starting in the afternoon and working through the evening, but this shift I just can’t stand: sat here from midnight until nine in the morning. It’s not too bad at weekends because there’s usually plenty going on, but mid-week like today the time drags.

  The graveyard shift has been worse than usual today. There should always be two of us in on late-lates but Stefan called in sick last night so I’ve been sat here on my own for almost eight hours. There’s been nothing to do and hardly anything to see
. Between two and three o’clock the pubs and clubs were clearing out so there was some activity on the streets for a while, but after that everything went quiet until around seven-thirty. That’s when the office-workers started to arrive in dribs and drabs.

  This job is arse-backwards: I want to be busy when I first come on duty, not when it’s close to clocking-off and I’m too tired to concentrate. By this time my eyes are starting to get heavy. Okay, so this job’s not physically tiring, but sitting in front of seventeen screens watching CCTV footage of a shopping centre, an office block and the surrounding streets is enough to put anyone to sleep. Still, as I keep reminding myself, it just about pays the bills. It’s easy money really. I don’t have to do anything much. Even if I see something suspicious all I have to do is call the police or security and let them do all the dirty work. I just stay here and watch.

  This has been the slowest shift I can remember. Hardly anyone’s out and about on Monday night, fewer still during the early hours of Tuesday morning. I’ve seen absolutely nothing tonight. I watched a drunk get arrested in the high street about two hours ago but bugger-all since then. The only screen I’ve watched with any interest is my phone. I can’t even text anyone, though, ’cause they’re all asleep.

  It’s just after eight now, and here we go. At last. First sign of trouble for the day.

  The cameras cover all the public parts of the shopping centre, as well as the access roads, main delivery entrances, and the reception area in the office block. There’s a driver unloading around the back of one of the electrical superstores. He’s just fallen out of the cab of his truck, clumsy sod. Bloody hell, what’s the matter with him? He must be drunk. The bloody idiot can’t even get up. Christ, how can these people let themselves get in such a state and then get behind the wheel? Don’t they have a conscience?

  Hold on, he’s moving again now. He’s trying to pick himself up, but he’s grabbing at his throat like he’s choking on something. Is this for real? I can’t see anyone else around to help. I’ve got a direct line to the loading bay. I’ll try and get someone to go see to him…