Guilt: The Sunday Times best selling psychological thriller that you need to read in 2018

He closes his eyes. ‘I feel it,’ he whispers.

I stand on tiptoes and whisper in his ear, ‘And now you must do it to me.’

We stop his blood. We wipe his wound with antiseptic, and dress it.

He is nervous. I sense hesitation as he cuts me. But it feels good. So good. The pain. The pain that takes pain away. The moment of euphoria. Euphoria that no one but a cutter understands. The euphoria that cannot be explained.

He helps me stop my blood, eyes holding mine as he bandages my wound. We hold hands and snuggle back in bed, limbs entwined. We kiss for a while, snogging like teenagers for the first time at a party. Before snogging became foreplay. Suddenly Sebastian breaks off.

‘I don’t trust your sister,’ he announces.

His words shoot into me like bullets. My body springs away from him a little. ‘Why ever not?’

‘She’s twisted.’

‘Twisted? You’re joking. She’s a rampant goody two-shoes, not like us.’

He is lying on his back now, dark hair tousled, distinct against the white pillow. I see in the moonlight that he is shaking his head.

‘No, she’s the one who’s twisted,’ he repeats.

I am knocked back by his attitude. Miranda, you always treat him so kindly, so thoughtfully. He spends so much time in your flat. Or at least he was doing until Mother visited, and now that she’s left he’s come straight back.

‘She’s very caring,’ I say indignantly. ‘Sometimes she comes over as a bit bossy. But her heart’s in the right place. If she’s too bossy sometimes it’s only because she cares. I know she seems a little self-righteous at times … but …’

‘Self-righteous. That’s it,’ he almost snarls. ‘You’ve put your finger on it. It’s the self-righteousness that I don’t trust.’

It’s the self-righteousness that I don’t trust.

His words reverberate in my head. I shudder inside. For a split second I know what he means, here and then gone. I push his words away. I love my sister. Always will. Always have.

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Sebastian (#ulink_64fb5d1c-de4e-59af-8f4f-3515de003722)

Jude, I don’t like to admit it but the cutting turned me on. I am disgusted with myself. How could hurting the woman I love make me feel hot? You can’t imagine that, can you? Maybe it’s because it made me feel part of her. But it’s not going to happen again. I am going to help her to stop. You must know I can’t bear to hurt someone else I love. Not again.

I walk across the bedroom and reach for my diazepam. I sit, head in hands, waiting for it to calm me. I close my eyes and see you all once again on the driveway, waiting for me to get the car out of the garage.

The turn of Mother’s head. Father smiling, putting his fingers to his mouth and stroking his moustache. You stand there looking at me, afternoon sun shining from behind your head like a halo. That is how I think of you sometimes. Like an angel shining down at me from heaven, surrounded by the flowers that lined the driveway: lupins, dahlias, delphiniums. I couldn’t even bear to keep the flowers that grew there. I removed them. The driveway is surrounded by shrubs and bushes now. No colour at all.

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Miranda (#ulink_bc031e29-f38a-5556-9ad8-7e5f70f8bf37)

Ten o’clock on Monday morning. Sitting at my desk. Anastasia Sudbury, our accountancy partner, is walking towards me, flanked by Sebastian, who is carrying a cardboard box. What can she want? Except for our assessments, she doesn’t usually communicate with staff as junior as Sebastian and me. She normally looks through associates as if they are air.

They arrive at my desk, Sebastian grinning like a fox.

‘Good morning, Miranda,’ Anastasia says.

That’s something. I didn’t think she could remember my Christian name.

‘Tax and Acquisitions are merging together for a new case, and Sebastian is coming to work with you for a while,’ she says, gesticulating towards him with her right hand.

He nods and his grin widens. Over-whitened teeth so perfect he should be in a toothpaste advert. She points at the empty desk space next to me. Sebastian sinks into his new chair and starts to unpack his box.

‘Notes on the acquisition you’re dealing with,’ Anastasia says, thumping a thick manila folder onto the middle of my desk. ‘Seb’s dealing with the acquisition cost. You’re sorting out tax liability.’

‘What about my current tasks?’ I ask.

‘Obviously they’ll have to be kept in the air too,’ she snaps.

I sigh inside. I’m already so busy. But what Anastasia wants, Anastasia gets. I know from experience it’s best not to argue with her. Although, for my sins, I’ve tried to no avail on a number of occasions. However difficult it is, I must cope with this.

‘OK. Fine. I’ll get on to it, right away,’ I reply.

‘Please do. I need the first indicative briefing in three days’ time.’

Three days. Doubtless I could do with three months. She saunters away through the junior office, back towards her lair, ignoring everyone as usual. Everyone pretending to ignore her. Silence reverberates across the thin layer of pretence. As soon as she has gone, happy background chatter begins again. I turn to Sebastian. He is still unpacking his files and papers.

‘Welcome,’ I say and try to smile. But I am worried about how much work Anastasia has just asked me to do; and about having to sit next to him. So the smile doesn’t manage to spread around my face. ‘When did you know about this?’ I ask.

‘I’ve known for a while, but Ana asked me not to say.’

‘Ana? Are you on familiar terms with her then?’

‘Is anyone?’ he replies.

I laugh. ‘Well, talk to you later. I really need to get my head around this.’

I open the file in front of me. The largest tax and acquisitions merger in the history of Harrison Goddard. Hours and hours of work. I close my eyes and try to stop thinking about all the other things I need to do. But I can’t. Tax accounts for Edmonson’s International, Berlin Bank, J. J. Cohen solicitors, Abe Pharmacy, AJT Consultancy, march across my mind. I need to keep calm and get on with it.

At first I can’t believe what’s happening. I feel a hand stroking my inner thigh. Thinking I must be imagining it, I grab it instinctively and push it away. Then I feel it again. I open my eyes. Sebastian. His hand is on my inner thigh. He is leaning towards me, grinning.

I gasp for breath. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

He doesn’t reply.

‘Sexually harassing me?’

‘No.’

‘What are you up to then? Making a pass at me?’

‘Giving you an opportunity to feel a real man’s hand on your body.’

I try to think of something clever and witty to say, to demean him. But my reactions are too slow. Instead, I jump up and rush to the toilets, locking myself in the first cubicle, putting the lid down and using the toilet as a seat. I sit, head in hands, trembling. I have never been sexually harassed before.