Read The Shining Skull for Free Online Page B

smiling.
    The newspapers were calling him ‘the Barber’. He didn’t like that. They didn’t understand. They didn’t realise that it was
     necessary.
    He stared at the computer screen. He had hoped there would be something new . . . more instructions. But there had been nothing
     today so he left the homepage with its image of a yellow beach beneath an unnaturally blue sky and walked over to the window.
    He looked out at the row of shabby Georgian houses opposite, their stucco façades flaking with age and the salt breeze from
     the sea. They would have been there when she walked the earth for the first time. She might have seen them: she might even
     have stood there on that very street. She had attracted crowds in Morbay back then.
    A woman with long fair hair was walking down the street, displaying too much midriff and a lot of leg. He licked his lips.
     The hair didn’t look natural but she would do. If circumstances presented her to him.
    As soon as she disappeared from sight, he shuffled over to the table which stood next to the computer desk. He had laid out
     his trophies carefully, having tied the ends with white ribbon neatly – with love – and the hair lay in skeins like newly
     spun flax. He picked each one up carefully and put them back in their special box. Velvet lined. The best.
    He would go to the lock up garage later and take the car out. Tonight he might get lucky again.
    Pam Peterson put the local newspaper down on the coffee table. With this Barber about, for the first time in her life she
     was glad she wasn’t blond.
    She thought of her husband’s colleague, Rachel Tracey – the woman who saw far more of him than she did – and couldn’t resist
     a wicked smile. Rachel was just the Barber’s type, she thought before telling herself that jealousy wasn’t an attractive quality.
     And since her ill-advised little fling in the early summer, she had let the moral high ground slip from her grasp.
    She remembered it now with a shudder of bitter embarrassment. Flirting with Wesley’s future brother-in-law’s old schoolfriend,
     Jonathan, who’d come up for the wedding, had seemed like a great idea at the time – a respite from work, motherhood and a
     husband whose job seemed more important to him than she did. A bit of harmless fun that lifted her spirits and made her feel
     attractive again. And what woman doesn’t want to feel desirable? But things had gone too far; had slipped from her control
     like a kite in a hurricane.
    Then Neil Watson had caught them together and in that heart-shrinking moment of guilt and regret she had suddenly seen things
     clearly. Jonathan was shallow and maybe a touch amoral. A purely temporary temptation. She realised then what she could lose
     and from that time on she’d tried her best to make amends. To be patient and understanding. And not to complain about the
     hours Wesley spent at work. But it wasn’t always easy.
    As soon as she heard Wesley’s key in the door, she rushed into the hall to greet him, making an effort. He stepped into the
     house, bending to kiss her. ‘How are things? School OK?’
    ‘As well as can be expected with an inspection in a couple of weeks. And my class isn’t the easiest I’ve had. I’ve got four
     kids with special needs. And some of my year six girls are right littlemadams – doing those Leah Wakefield dance routines in the playground. If they put as much effort into their work as . . .
     ’
    ‘Leah Wakefield?’ Wesley made a point of not keeping abreast of popular culture.
    ‘She’s that tarty teenage singer who writhes about showing all she’s got – hardly a suitable role model for eleven-year-olds.’
    Wesley gave her what he considered to be a sympathetic smile, hoping that fashions would change by the time Amelia reached
     that age. ‘Kids OK?’
    ‘They’ll be glad you’re back before their bed time for a change,’ she said, then immediately regretted her sharpness.
    ‘I’ll make the