His mind lurching frantically from thought to disjointed thought, he couldn’t tell if he was awake or still dreaming. A moment ago, he’d been running, the long landing in front of him stretching on to eternity, the door ahead of him growing more distant, the floor like treacle beneath him, sucking his feet in. The room he was trying to get to was empty when he reached it, stark walls, nothing to tell him why he was there. And then the door slammed behind him and the dark descended, and there was no door, no window, no way out of his nightmare.
Guessing he was awake, as the sounds of the night reached him – the resident in the adjoining room coughing, the lonely hoot of a tawny owl – he raised his head from his pillow, and a new sense of panic started to take root inside him. He wondered at first whether the figure on the other side of his room was a figment of his imagination. When it approached, he didn’t recognise the person looming over him. The features were familiar, yet not. Fleetingly he had a memory, but it floated away before he could grasp it, disappearing into the night like a soft white djinn. Tormenting him. Always the memories tormented him, hovering on the periphery of his recollection.
But he wasn’t hallucinating, he soon realised. This person was real, tangible. He could hear the controlled breathing, as if they were holding their rage in. By the amber glow of the fire escape light spilling in through the bay window, he could see the seething sheen of malice in eyes that seemed to be looking right into his soul. He smelled the cloying odour of floral cologne, and he knew it; knew who it belonged to. He groped for the name of the face that danced just out of his reach, sifted through the quicksand in his mind. He couldn’t catch hold of it before the face was lost to him.
This individual meant him harm. Cold certainty settled like an icicle in his chest. ‘What do you want?’ he rasped, his throat thick with fear.
The loud silence that followed was filled with tacit threat. And then, ‘I know what you did,’ the person whispered. The voice, tight with suppressed emotion, tugged at the frayed edges of his consciousness.
Another soundless minute ticked by. And then the figure moved, its penetrating gaze holding his briefly before it turned away from him. His heart thrashing wildly, he strained to hear the sounds above it: soft footsteps; the window opening; rain plopping heavily from the roof. Her name – the woman who was long ago lost to him – he heard that, too, carried mournfully on the wind that whistled through the trees in the grounds. A distant dog howled, soulful, blood-chilling, the primeval cry of an abandoned animal. And then…
‘She’s here, Bernard,’ his visitor said softly. ‘She’s waiting for you.’
There was always one. Eyeing the ceiling, Cathy sighed in despair, then came around from behind the bar to peel the last hanger-on away from the jukebox. Whitney Houston belting out ‘I Will Always Love You’ wasn’t helping Jimmy O’Conner’s maudlin mood any.
‘Come on, Jimmy.’ Hooking an arm through his, she steered him towards the exit. ‘Whitney will still be here tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, but my bird won’t, will she? Dumped me, she did, after only three weeks. Did I tell you?’ Jimmy said dejectedly.
‘You did, Jimmy. About a hundred times.’ Cathy manoeuvred him another stumbling yard forward, collecting up his cigarettes and motorcycle helmet from his table as they went.
‘Bought her a hairdryer an’ all for her birthday. Cost me a day’s soddin’ wages, that thing did.’
‘Ungrateful mare, she doesn’t deserve you.’ Cathy oozed sympathy, although after a long night pulling pints in platform shoes that were killing her, and with her daughter waiting for her in the living room, her patience was wearing thin.
‘Should’ve stuck with you, Cath.’ Jimmy emitted a nostalgic sigh. ‘We’d have been good together, you and me.’
God forbid. Jimmy was clearly remembering their relationship in a way that did less damage to his ego. After an excruciatingly long six months going steady with him, Cathy too had dumped him. She had her sights set higher than a farmhand whose idea of a romantic night out was a lager and lime followed by a ride on his clapped-out Honda 650 and a quick shag in the sand dunes. A bloke who never had oil under his fingernails or stank of pig shit was more Cathy’s type.
‘Yeah, we would have, Jimmy.’ She encouraged him the last few feet towards the door, opening it and ejecting him into the crisp night air. ‘That boat’s sailed, unfortunately. I’ll probably be getting engaged soon.’
Jimmy laughed scornfully as she handed him his helmet and fags. ‘Oh yeah, who’s that to then? Not that tosser who’s been stringing you along for the last God knows how many years?’
‘He hasn’t been doing anything of the sort,’ Cathy informed him sniffily. ‘He’s been very good to me, paying my rent and everything.’
‘Least he could do, innit,’ Jimmy commented, flicking his fag packet open and sticking a cigarette into his mouth. ‘Given what’s on offer.’
‘Piss off, Jimmy.’ Cathy scowled, offended at the implication. She’d rather have her gas bill paid and the odd posh meal out than a poxy lager and lime any time.
Eyeing her thoughtfully over his cigarette, Jimmy lit up. ‘Still can’t believe you dumped me and went back to him,’ he said, taking a tight draw. ‘Broke my heart, you did. I loved you, y’know, Cath. Still do.’
‘No you don’t.’ Cathy sighed tiredly. She really wished he’d stop doing this; hanging around every night like a jealous spurned lover in the hope that she and her bloke would split up again. ‘You just want what you can’t have.’
‘Strikes me you do an’ all. Nice little house with a white picket fence? Roses round the door and a faithful hubby to snuggle up in bed with?’ Jimmy curled his lip in a sneer. ‘Ain’t likely to get it from some bloke who turns up when he feels like it, are you?’
‘Get lost, Jimmy.’ Cathy made to close the door.
Jimmy, though, clearly wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Give us another chance, Cath, go on,’ he said, stumbling forward and making a grab for her.
‘Jimmy…’ Cathy pressed her hands to his chest, trying to keep him at bay. ‘Get off!’
‘Oi!’ Mike, the landlord, appeared behind her as Jimmy attempted a clumsy kiss. ‘Sling your hook, Jimmy, or I’ll get the law to see you off.’
‘What?’ Letting go of her, Jimmy stepped back, looking surprised. ‘I was only after a kiss. She was well up for it a few weeks ago, weren’t you, Cath?’
‘Jimmy, you’re drunk,’ Cathy pointed out, exasperated. ‘You’re embarrassing yourself. Just go, will you, before Mike calls the police.’
‘Right. Like that, is it?’ Jimmy wiped an arm across his mouth and looked her up and down disdainfully. ‘You’re going to regret it, Cath, trust me. You don’t want a bloke pissing you about like that prick you’re seeing. I’d have seen you all right. You know I would.’
Cathy eyed the sky. ‘What, on your income? And living in that smelly flat above the curry house?’ She laughed in bemusement; then, noting the flash of humiliation in his eyes, decided she should perhaps be a bit more careful of his feelings. It was clear he still had a soft spot for her. It wasn’t his fault he was a loser. ‘I know you mean well, Jimmy, but let’s face it, that’s just not my style, is it?’
Jimmy swept his gaze over her again, taking in her cow-print platform shoes, short black satin skirt and metallic top – all brand new and purchased from her catalogue. ‘Nah, suppose not. Think I prefer the old style, though. Less tarty.’ Giving her another disdainful sweep of his eyes, he shrugged, and turned to amble towards his motorbike.
Cheeky bastard. Cathy noted the definite weave to his walk as he went. God, what an idiot. Tall, if a bit spindly, he was reasonably good-looking, in a dark, broody biker sort of way. She might have been flattered he was so jealous if he didn’t insist on acting like a complete dickhead. ‘Don’t forget your helmet, Jimmy,’ she called after him. ‘Wouldn’t want you damaging your one brain cell, would we?’
Now considerably miffed, she banged the door shut after him and went through the bar to the private quarters where her little girl waited for her. Poor thing, she would be exhausted. Cathy hated having to bring her here while she worked but, with no money to pay for a childminder, she didn’t have any choice.
‘Come on, sweetie,’ she said, rousing her daughter, who was curled up on the sofa in the living room, the book she’d been reading abandoned on the floor.
‘Are we going home now, Mummy?’ she asked, sitting up and kneading her eyes sleepily.
‘We are, sweetheart,’ Cathy assured her, picking up the book and placing it on the coffee table, then taking her by the hand to lead her back to the bar.
‘I’m off, Mike,’ she said, collecting their coats and her bag. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Mike paused in his glass-washing. ‘You all right?’ he asked her.
Cathy fed her little girl into her coat and straightened up. She noted the concerned furrow in his brow, and was glad he cared enough to have intervened. Drunk or not, Jimmy had been well out of order tonight.
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she assured him. ‘He’s just jealous. He doesn’t mean any harm.’
Mike didn’t look convinced. ‘Just watch what you’re doing with him,’ he warned her. ‘Likes his booze too much, does that one. And watch how you drive, as well. There’s black ice on that road into Meliton. It’s always treacherous at this time of year.’
‘I will, don’t worry. I’m a big girl now, I can look after myself.’ Cathy gave his arm a grateful squeeze as they walked past him to the door.
Clip-clopping across the car park, she paused to ferret in her bag for her car keys. Finally locating them amongst the debris at the bottom, she approached her little van, opening the back doors for her daughter to climb inside and then went around to the driver’s side. Then stopped as someone shouted her name. ‘Catherine Tyson! Wait! I want to talk to you.’
Cathy turned, her brow knitted curiously. ‘About?’
‘My husband, you little slut,’ the woman growled.
Her…? Hang on a sec, what had she just called her? Stunned, Cathy might have demanded to know where the cheeky cow got off calling her names but for the fact that the woman was now advancing menacingly towards her. Shit! Sensing trouble, she whirled back around, fumbled the key into the lock and wiggled it frantically.
‘Keep away from him,’ the woman seethed, the flat of her hand slamming the driver’s-side door shut just as Cathy had wrenched it open.
What the hell was she doing? ‘Let go!’ Cathy cried, attempting to grapple the door open again. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘I’ll leave you alone when you leave him alone,’ the woman spat, her face so close to Cathy’s that she could almost taste the pungent aroma of floral perfume.
‘I dunno what you’re on about.’ Cathy tugged uselessly at the handle. ‘I haven’t been anywhere near your husband.’
‘Lying little trollop. Do you think I’m stupid?’ the woman snarled. ‘If you don’t stay away from him, I swear to God I will claw your pretty eyes from their sockets and feed them to the landlord’s fucking dog.’
Oh God. Hearing the malevolence in the woman’s voice, Cathy’s blood froze in her veins. She was stark raving mad. ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,’ she whimpered, feeling dangerously close to wetting herself. ‘Let go of my door, or—’
‘Or what? What will you do, hmm? Run? In those ridiculous shoes?’ There was a mocking edge now to the woman’s voice. ‘Scream? Cry?’
Icy fear prickled the length of Cathy’s spine as she felt the woman’s hand lock around the back of her neck. ‘Please…’ she croaked. ‘My daughter…’
‘Do not see him again.’ Sharp fingernails dug mercilessly into Cathy’s flesh, the woman increasing the pressure. ‘Don’t ring him. Do not go anywhere—’ She stopped, sucking in a sharp breath as one weighty-soled shoe stomped heavily down to grind her toes into the gravel. ‘Bitch!’
Cathy wasted no time. As the woman stumbled backwards, she yanked the driver’s-side door open and threw herself inside, dropping the lock fast.
‘Mummy? What’s happening?’ her little girl said bewilderedly from where she was curled up with her Sindy doll in the back of the van.
She was scared. Hearing the tremble in her voice, Cathy cursed her incompetence. She’d known that bringing her here was a bad idea. She’d witnessed all sorts of things a child shouldn’t, and now this. ‘Stay down,’ she hissed, lunging across to drop the lock on the opposite side, and then flicking the headlights on.
Halfway around the front of the car, framed in the full beam, the woman fixed her gaze hard on Cathy’s, a wild, feverish glare that chilled her right down to the bone. She meant to hurt her. Cathy’s heart thrashed against her ribcage as she watched the woman look frenziedly around. Looking for something to smash the windscreen with?
Oh, sweet Jesus. ‘Stay down, baby,’ she whispered, shoving her key shakily into the ignition and turning the engine over, only for it to splutter and die.
At once, the woman’s gaze snapped back to hers, a surprised expression crossing her face, which soon gave way to a petrifying smile of quiet triumph.
Sweat popped out on Cathy’s forehead. With a sharp knot in her windpipe, she watched the woman turn back to her own car – a great Mitsubishi Shogun – moving with surprising agility despite a now obvious limp. What was she going to do?
But Cathy knew. Swallowing back the acrid taste of terror, she pictured it: the Shogun ramming into her tin-sided van, crushing it like an eggshell. Nausea sweeping through her, she turned the key again, eased out the choke and tried desperately to start the vehicle once more. The engine coughed, a coarse, throaty sound like an old man who’d smoked too many Woodbines, but still it stubbornly refused to spark. God! Please! Tears spilling down her cheeks, Cathy prayed with all her might as she eased the choke further out, then closed her eyes, relief crashing through her like a tidal wave, when the van finally juddered into life.
Cautioning herself not to stall it, she reached for the gearstick, crunching through the gears then plunging her foot down to reverse sharply before yanking the wheel around and screeching out of the car park. The woman wouldn’t follow her, surely? Attempt to run her off the road?
Drive, Cathy instructed herself. Panic twisting her stomach, the small wheels of her van jolting through potholes on the neglected country lane, she glanced in her rear-view mirror. Bright light slicing high across her vision confirmed that the Shogun was behind her, intent on possibly doing just that.
Shit! She snapped her gaze back to the windscreen and switched on the wipers, but they only made the smear of muddy ice on the glass worse. Her water container was empty. She’d meant to fill it up. God, please help me. She leaned forward, using her cuff to try to make a big enough hole in the condensation on the inside to see through.
The motorbike came out of nowhere.
Losing traction on the blind bend ahead of her, it skidded sideways across the front of the van like a hockey puck across an ice rink, before Cathy even had time to blink.
Yanked from a dark, dream-filled sleep, Claire snapped her eyes open and then sat bolt upright, flicking on her lamp as she heard scuffling followed by a dull thud outside her bedroom door. Her panic subsided a little when she remembered the baby gates she’d installed at the top and bottom of the long oak staircase, but still she wasn’t confident her father wouldn’t get past the gate at the top and tumble down it. Without carpet, in keeping with the rustic decor of the house, those stairs could be lethal. A haunting image of her mother lying like a broken ragdoll at the bottom of them flashed chillingly through her mind, and she shook off the shiver that ran through her, threw back her duvet and scrambled out of bed.
What on earth was he doing? It was obvious it was her father wandering about, but she’d moved everything he could possibly bump into on his incessant trips to the loo. Flying to the door, she dashed out – and then froze, her heart leaping into her mouth as she came face to face with not one, but two men on the landing, one of whom was close to being forced over the stair rail.
‘Dad!’ she cried, launching herself towards them. ‘Dad, let him go!’ She tugged on his arm, to no avail, then attempted to prise his hands from her husband’s throat before he throttled him. ‘Dad, please…’
‘Call the police, Ruth,’ Bernard growled, and Claire’s heart started the downward trajectory it always did when he addressed her by her mother’s name. ‘Thieving piece of scum, breaking into decent people’s homes. Ought to be—’
‘Dad, for God’s sake, stop!’ Claire shouted, her desperation rising as she heard her husband gagging. ‘It’s Luke.’
Bernard faltered, his gaze perplexed as it flicked towards her. ‘Who?’
‘My husband,’ Claire clarified, a hard lump clogging her throat. ‘Please stop.’
His forehead furrowing into a puzzled frown, Bernard looked back to Luke, blinked in bemusement and then, mercifully, relaxed his grip.
Oh God. ‘Luke…’ Claire moved to help him as, clearly shocked and disorientated, he struggled upright. ‘Are you okay?’
‘For fuck’s sake…’ Luke rasped. ‘Are you insane?’ Stepping away from the rail, causing Bernard to blunder backwards into the landing wall behind him, he eyeballed the older man with a combination of disbelief and palpable fury. ‘What the hell were you doing?’
Bernard’s expression was now nonplussed. ‘Going to the bathroom,’ he supplied innocently.
Claire felt her heart ache for him. A proud man, he’d always carried himself tall, but his posture was now stooped in defeat, his once sharply intelligent brown eyes rheumy and awash with uncertainty.
‘Bloody maniac,’ Luke muttered, fixing him with a disdainful gaze.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Bernard’s mood switched in an instant, as it tended to. Pulling himself up to his full height, he stepped towards Luke again, his eyes narrowing.
Nerves knotted Claire’s stomach. Fearing a stand-off, she readied herself to intervene, and then almost wilted with relief as, after scanning Luke’s eyes briefly, her dad’s mood appeared to shift again, confusion crossing his face before he turned away to walk back to his bedroom.
Luke laughed scathingly and shook his head. ‘Yeah, no problem, Bernard,’ he called angrily after him. ‘Apology accepted.’
‘Luke, don’t make things worse,’ Claire whispered, her heart sinking.
‘Me?’ Luke stared at her, in disbelief. ‘He bloody well attacked me! He could have killed me.’
‘But he didn’t realise it was you,’ Claire pointed out. It was well past midnight, and Luke would have crept in. He and his mates had no doubt been the last to leave the local pub again. Luke had apparently been appointed chief organiser of his best friend’s upcoming stag night, and judging by the smell of beer, he’d had a fair few while he was at it. Claire tried not to mind him going out. She couldn’t help thinking that he might have volunteered for the job, though, preferring to be at the pub rather than here. She hadn’t said anything, possibly because she’d felt too tired to pursue it, but she’d been devastated when she’d joined him there one night and noticed a group of girls, also on a boozy night out, one of whom was blatantly giving Luke the eye. She was sure she could trust him, but a nagging seed of doubt had taken root inside her when she’d caught him glancing in the girl’s direction.
‘Who the bloody hell else would he think it was?’ Luke grumbled, as Claire tried again to ignore the awful knot of uncertainty in her tummy. What would she do if he did more than look? If her best intentions to care for her father drove her husband away?
‘He thought there was a stranger in the house,’ she said, and then immediately wished she could reel the words back in.
Luke’s expression said it all. I rest my case. He sighed. ‘He doesn’t know me, Claire. He has no idea who I am.’
‘He’s confused,’ she reminded him. ‘You obviously startled him.’
‘He’s not the only one,’ Luke muttered.
Guessing where this was leading, Claire felt her heart sink another inch.
‘What are we doing here, Claire?’ Luke asked, on cue.
He didn’t want to be living in her father’s house; that was glaringly obvious. He’d been dead set against them moving in when she’d suggested it, and had only relented when she’d pointed out that if they sold the place, the entire proceeds might end up paying for care home fees. Plus, there was the fact that she’d actually wanted to look after her father. Luke wasn’t likely to be any happier about the situation now he’d been half strangled to death. Claire felt awful for him. She could see the livid bruises forming on his neck already. There was no point going into it all again now, though. They would only end up arguing, and that would wake Ella, leaving her tired and fractious in the morning.
‘I know why you’re doing this, and I understand,’ he went on, working to control his agitation, ‘but it’s becoming impossible. He’s not just confused any more. He’s aggressive. Dangerous. Surely you can see it’s time to organise some proper care for him? Professional care. Ella’s only four years old. Quite apart from the psychological effect it might have on her, she’s haemophilic, for God’s sake. What if he turned on her in the middle of the night? Or left the front door open again? He’s not safe for a child to be around.’
Claire reeled under that attack. Did he think she wasn’t aware of Ella’s illness? That she hadn’t struggled, as he had, to accept the cruel twist of fate that had given their precious daughter the mutated gene that made her a carrier? With her own mother dead and buried and no other family history of haemophilia they’d been able to trace, did he imagine she didn’t somehow blame herself, every minute of every day? Ella’s symptoms were mild, thank goodness, but did he really think Claire didn’t worry about her and watch over her constantly, terrified she might cut herself? Bruise herself and bleed internally? She lived in terror that she might not get her daughter to a hospital in time for the blood-clotting-factor injections to be administered.
‘That’s not fair, Luke,’ she retaliated, hurt and defensive. ‘I never leave her on her own with him. I’m always here when—’
‘Because you’ve given up your job,’ Luke reminded her, exasperated. ‘You’ve given up your life. You can’t do this, Claire. It’s not fair on you. Not fair on anyone, least of all Bernard. He needs twenty-four-hour care. With the best will in the world, it’s just not possible for you to give him that any more.’
‘I know.’ Claire’s voice rose in frustration. She was becoming increasingly aware of that. She wanted to scream with exhaustion sometimes, but what good would that do? The two of them were constantly at loggerheads. She couldn’t blame Luke for being annoyed and frustrated. She had so little time for him lately. And with her perpetually tired and her dad just the other side of the bedroom wall, the intimacy between them had dwindled to non-existent. He was worried, clearly, wondering where this would end, but right now, she needed his support.
‘I’ve been…’ looking at various options, she was about to say, when Ella’s door squeaked open and she emerged nervously onto the landing.
Guessing she’d been woken by the noise, Claire stepped towards her, but Luke was quicker. ‘Hey, gorgeous girl,’ he said, bending to sweep her into his arms. ‘What’s up?’
Ella looked worriedly at him from under her long eyelashes. ‘I heard shouting,’ she said, her voice tremulous. ‘I was frightened.’
‘There’s n. . .
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