Free The Creeper by Tania Carver Page B

student. That’s all.’
    Anni thought of what had happened with Suzanne Perry and was glad she wasn’t. She smiled politely.
    He returned it.
    He was trying, she thought. To be polite, to be at ease. But he hadn’t offered her tea.
    ‘Nice painting, by the way.’
    The smile became slightly more genuine. ‘Thank you. I like it, something a bit different. Got used to it, really. Forget it’s there until someone points it out to me.’
    ‘Must have cost a bit to have done.’
    A small laugh. ‘Had a friend, aspiring artist. She wanted subjects, models. Cost me nothing.’ He couldn’t hide the pride in his voice. ‘But . . .’ He waved his hand as if dismissing it. ‘All in the past. A long time ago.’
    Anni kept her attention on the wall. She pointed at Superman. ‘What about the guy next to him?’
    ‘Oh. Him.’ He smiled again, and this time he looked like a university teacher about to address a class. ‘What do you think he sounds like?’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘Superman. His voice. What do you think he sounds like? Timid? Shy? Does he stutter?’
    ‘I doubt it,’ Anni said, wondering where this was leading, ‘Authoritative. In command. That kind of thing. American.’
    He nodded. ‘And Clark Kent?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘His alter ego. Clark Kent. How does he talk?’
    ‘Erm . . .’ Anni had never given the matter much thought. ‘Like . . . a normal bloke?’
    Anthony Howe nodded, as if she had just confirmed a thesis he had personally created. ‘Exactly. If he spoke like Superman he would never fit in, would he? Not at the Daily Planet . Not bumbling, mild-mannered Clark Kent, would he?’
    ‘No.’
    Anthony Howe sat back, folded his arms. Thesis proven. ‘We change. We don’t have just one voice. We have several. Depending where we are, who we’re talking to at the time, how we want to be seen, to come across. Different voices for different situations.’ A smug smile. ‘One of the first things I teach my students. If you’re going to be a speech therapist, find out which voice - which persona - the patient needs to use most.’
    She couldn’t resist the next line. His arrogant statement set him up for it.
    ‘And which persona did you use with Suzanne Perry?’
    His expression - his demeanour - changed. The set of his mouth hardened. His eyes narrowed, were lit by a dark, ugly light. He moved his body towards her.
    And in that moment, Anni wasn’t so ready to believe that Suzanne had been making it all up.

18

    T he death knock. The bit Phil hated most.
    It made him think of his own parents, Don and Eileen. What it would be like if one of his colleagues turned up on their doorstep with news of him. And now, of course, there was Marina. And their daughter Josephina.
    Everything had changed when she was born. He had been there at the birth, holding Marina’s hand as she screamed the baby out. Afterwards, he kept trying to understand the conflicting emotions he had gone through. It was a polarising experience. On the one hand there was his child, his daughter, coming into the world. Joyful, yes, but also terrifying. Another life. A huge responsibility. And there was Marina. Screaming out, her body twisted with pain. And the blood . . . he hadn’t expected there to be so much blood. It came gushing out of her, the weight of it pooling in the sheet underneath her. He had hated to see her suffering, and also hated the fact that he was helpless to do anything about it. But then there was the baby . . . And she more than made up for it.
    But it was the responsibility that hit him most. A parent. A father. He had noticed himself do different things. Not take chances at red lights. Drive more carefully. Look both ways before crossing the road. Cut down his alcohol and takeaway food intake. Start running again. Because it wasn’t just him any more, or him and Marina. It was their daughter, and he had to be there for her. Because if something happened to him or Marina, Josephina might end up having the