Halfway House

By Helen Fitzgerald Welcome to our regular feature showcasing the talents of the nation’s best writers.

She wasn’t coming over well. “Some people have described you as a psychopath,” the interviewer said. This woman had been so friendly before the cameras came on (“How was Tuscany, tell me everything?”) Now, she was a mean girl with an ipad: “Hashtag Sugarbabykiller,” she said. “Hashtag Impaler.”

Lou remembered her father’s most recent advice: “Only answer direct questions.” She said nothing but feared her anger was showing. She must not sit so stiffly. She must try to look victim-esque, by being nice, on the inside. She must listen to the mean girl, and then say something to prove she’d listened.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say, probably because she had failed to listen. She would listen now. But what was the point, trying to be likeable, looking the way she did? She’d bought a new suit for this interview – grey, understated, serious, not attractive or murderous in the least. She’d straightened her hair and pulled it behind her ears. She’d used concealer under her eyes, nothing more. Then someone grabbed her in the green room and dragged her to hair and makeup. She should have stopped them but there were mirrors and lights and bottles and brushes. It was irresistible; a trap.

“Just for the cameras,” they’d said, glossing and curling her hair, piling on eyebrows and lashes and lips – and, ta-da, she was Lou the Impaler, Hashtag Lusciouslou, Hashtag Yespleaselouise. Hashtag…

“A master manipulator, a cold-blooded killer,” the mean girl said.

There was a dead man in her head now, skewered. She needed to firm up her face, which should be sad, and sorry. She needed to focus, for Sixty Minutes. She must loosen her neck and shoulders and she must listen to the mean girl.

She’d asked her a question – at last – but Lou hadn’t heard it. It was probably something about the murder: Where did she learn how to do that?! Or it might have been about being cast out into the sugarbaby badlands. People loved hearing about all that. Or maybe the mean girl had just asked about Edinburgh, where it all began, or at least where it all began again. That sinister word: Edinburgh. She focused – and the interviewer repeated it. Edinburgh: the most beautiful city in the world, the city she had chosen as hers.

About the author

Helen Fitzgerald is the bestselling author of adult and young adult thrillers.

She worked as a criminal justice social worker for over ten years and lives in Glasgow. Halfway House is published by Orenda, price £9.99