Nineteen

Eleven months earlier

Clouds gathered, dispersed and gathered, their colours shifting from white to a steely grey in the course of an afternoon. The wind aided their descent into darkness, moving from a steady breeze to a progressive gust, the trees bending apologetically, submissive, repentant in their willingness to conform to nature. Leaves didn’t dance within the unseen physical energy. They whirled in a frenzy, their sense of direction lost to them.

The darkness of the approaching storm enveloped an eerie lightness as if some invisible force ignited a celestial lamp. The effect was ethereal, elusively deceptive and ominously threatening.

Shelly was sprawled on the window seat, her laptop perched on her knees, the screen lighting her face and creating a fluid mass of light and dark. It was her usual spot when she was working.

Observing her from my vantage point of the doorway, I was once again struck by confusion.

Why was she still here?

Why was I still here?

Moving to this house was something I’d never envisioned in my life plan. However, what was even more confusing was that I was living here with Shelly.

How the hell had that happened?

But it wasn’t just about the here and now. Wasn’t just about why she was living here. It was so much more than that.

“Hey baby.” Shelly’s husky voice penetrated my thoughts. “You coming in?”

Coming in?

But before I voiced my question, I realised I was standing in the threshold of the living room. I released a noise that could’ve been mistaken for a small laugh and stepped into the room.

“Come, sit here.”

She moved her laptop to the small table to the side of her, bent her knees up and leaned forward to pat the small space at the base of her as if in invitation.

“The storm is just about to start.”

She flashed me a smile, one of the ones she always flashed when she wanted something. Her teeth were perfect, straight and white. Her mouth had a slight curve to it when she delivered this smile, giving the impression of being lazily in control. It was her lady killer smile; it was her fake smile; it was a wolfish grin.

The air was expectant, both inside the room and outside in the ever-growing darkness.

“Katie?”

Her voice broke the silence, the smile she’d sported faltering slightly.

I moved forward but stopped just shy of the seat. Shelly held her hand up, the gesture mimicking gallantry but implying dominance.

My fingers flexed, twitched, complied. Her hand was cool, rough, suffocating.

She pulled me, a short tug, and I was beside her.

Next, I was seated at her feet on the seat.

Shelly gave me the smile again before turning her attention outside.

The dying light of the day curled around the contours of her face highlighting and dramatising the flawless features of Shelly Morgan. Her eyes seemed almost black, the depths of them bottomless, only lit by a glint of light that appeared to shimmer across each eye in turn. The hand she had extended to me was now flopped over one knee, her fingers moving as if playing an imaginary piano. Such a beautiful hand. Long elegant fingers, nails manicured, the femininity blending perfectly with masculine strength.

The hand lifted, fingers pushing themselves through short, thick hair, the flop of it taken from her forehead only to fall perfectly back into place.

“Still waiting for the rain,” Shelly announced.

And I was still waiting for something other than this.

I moved as if to leave but she stopped me.

“I want you to stay here with me.”

And I wanted to leave. But I stayed. As always.

Silence and expectation once again took hold. I looked outside at the gathering force building magnanimously; it was almost ready to break the anomalous dark and light of the sky. Maybe the downpour would serve to dispel the spell I was under, believing my silent invocation of a higher being would enable me to break my prison.

“You need to learn not to anger me.”

I swallowed, the noise of it booming in my ears.

She leaned forward, her hand rising quickly. I flinched, my head jerking to the side, my eyes half closing only to flutter madly.

“Hey.”

Her voice sounded concerned but I knew she wasn’t. She stretched her fingers out and touched the bruise that started on my cheekbone. Her attention was fully absorbed by the action, her eyes following the trail of her fingertips as they moved around the swelling and discolouration. Then they moved to the side of my mouth to tentatively touch the protective crust covering the split in my lip caused by an angry fist.

Shelly sucked in, made a clicking noise and shook her head.

“You know I don’t want to hurt you, Katie. It breaks my heart.”

Her eyes widened; long lashes should’ve given them the appearance of beauty but the blackness of the irises signified the blackness of her soul.

The windowpane rattled loudly, the noise startling Shelly enough for her to stop touching my face.

A short laugh escaped her and I was unsure if she was laughing at the rattle, her reaction, or the fact that she had once again hit me and I’d taken it like a bitch. Like her bitch.

“I don’t like reprimanding you, Katie, but if you insist on acting like a child, then …” she sighed, shrugged, opened her hands wide as if to show she had no other choice, “then you have to be taught a lesson.”

She patted the back of my hand, the sentiment patronising.

“Tell you what. I’ll make us a cuppa.”

Shelly grinned and leaned forward. For a moment, I thought she was going to kiss me and I flinched. Thankfully, she didn’t see me recoil. She was too busy standing up, too busy stretching and making a yawning, crying noise as she stretched her muscles.

“And…” she leaned over, her pretence of looking out into the storm evaporating as she turned to look into my eyes, “If you’re a good girl, I might even throw in a biscuit.”

That smile again. Still one for the ladies, still fake, still wolfish.

She grabbed my hand and lifted it to her mouth, her lips brushing over the surface, the tingle left from her kiss acting like an army of mites with their only objective being to burrow into my skin. I tried not to shudder; tried to smile at her. Thankfully, Shelly either didn’t care enough if I liked her touch or not, or she was too thick skinned to realise that I hated her. She was too fixated on what she was going to do next, how she was going to make it up to me.

Then she was gone, her tuneless whistle filling the air.

I relaxed slightly, a pain shooting through my side as I did so. I knew without looking that I would be covered in bruises. Shelly’s kicks from earlier had all hit their mark. I was just glad I’d pulled off my penitent look as I didn’t want a repeat performance.

Today had been worse than all the other times she’d hit me. Other times had involved slapping, shoving, pinching and pushing. All despicable actions for one person to do to another, whether they were in a relationship or not. All inexcusable in their own way, but ignored, forgotten, cast aside, qualified and justified as the reactions of a woman who had been pushed to breaking point by a stupid, insensitive fucker like me.

Shelly had not started like this. The physical violence was the last technique in her strategy to break me. The verbal abuse started first. The belittling, the jealousy, the degradation and humiliation. The absolute belief that I was worthless, a slut, a whore, ugly and stupid became part and parcel of who I’d become. I couldn’t speak to anyone - male or female - without being accused of fucking them. Obviously, by the time she become physically abusive, I believed I deserved it. 

No. It wasn’t as simple as that. It was gradual. The name calling, the spitefulness, the cutting remarks about my appearance, my views, my choices - Shelly was so apologetic afterwards. The tears she shed, the absolute agony she was feeling was obviously more devastating than anything she’d put me through.

Why did I stay? Why did I allow this to happen to me? My thinking was distorted. Most of the time I was confused, doubts of my own sanity escalating every time Shelly twisted my words into her actions to point the finger back at me, accuse me of being in the wrong. I was ashamed. Embarrassed. Guilty of letting this happen. Not to mention how I deserved everything she did. Every word, every punch and kick and slap.

Initially, I wasn’t scared of her. Initially, I honestly believed I could change her, make her see that we could be happy instead of neither of us having any joy in life. By what I could make out, Shelly’s upbringing wasn’t the best, not that I’d met her family. That part of her life was off limits.

But then fear kicked in. Fear of what she would and could do, who she would and could hurt. On the surface, Shelly was charming. Beautiful and charming. If someone would’ve told me that she would be an abuser, I would’ve laughed.

I wasn’t laughing now.

The number of times I thought of Ruby and Evie, their warnings…

Now I was stuck in a house in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, financially tied through a mortgage with a woman I both feared and loathed. I hated that I wasn’t strong enough to say no and stick to it. Hated that I was manipulated into leaving my family and friends to live nearly two hundred miles away from where I felt safe. And I hated her. Most definitely hated her.

A smashing sound came from the kitchen, followed by an explosive “For fuck’s sake!”

A creeping realisation climbed my spine; would I be safe here with her? Even as the storm aggressively attacked my home, ravaged the landscape, would I be safer out there than in here?

Tentatively, I lifted my left hand and placed my fingertips onto the glass, the coldness of outside immediate. I quickly pulled my hand away, nervously looking over my shoulder as I did so. A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm and consume, but by some miracle I contained it.

A movement from the doorway caught my attention. Shelly was leaning on the frame, her expression unreadable.

“Everything okay?” Surprisingly, I sounded calmer than I was feeling. “Need help making a cuppa?”

Shelly stared at me, then looked past me to the window.

“What’re you looking at?” The lightness of her voice indicated she was not asking out of politeness. This tone of voice was usually the worst one. Cold. Accusatory whilst giving the impression of interest. This pitch was the one that always ended in assault in some way - whether emotional, physical, mental and even spiritual - I wouldn’t be relaxing quite yet.

Shelly straightened to her full five nine, her slim frame disguising the wiry strength that rippled under her dark grey Oxford shirt and black jeans.

“I said what’re you looking at?”

Shelly moved into the room, moved towards me.

The truth was I wasn’t really looking at anything or anyone. Just the strength of the glass. And me admitting that I wasn’t doing anything but pressing a pane of glass and thinking about how much I hated her was not the route I believed I should take.

“I thought I saw something. Someone.” The idea of this came from nowhere. I just wanted her to focus on something other than me.

She frowned, came to the window seat, leaned over and peered outside.

“Where?”

Shelly scanned the landscape, her eyes half closing, her expression inquisitively angered.

“Where?”

She turned and glared at me.

“You’d better not be fucking me around, Katie.”

Her body was leaning over mine, one arm stretched over me, the other at the side of the seat. I was imprisoned without even realising it’d happened. The only way to get away from her apart from her moving away would be to fight my way out. Fear had offered me choices of fight, flight, freeze and, at the moment, my body was rooted to the spot.

Internally, my tissue, muscle, bone was turning to jelly, my blood viscous. Every molecule within me thrummed a high-pitched alarm that burned inside my ears.

I lifted my hand, the effort of it agonising, and placed it on the glass, the coldness immediate.

“There. Down past the edge of the garden.”

I knew she was still glaring at the side of my face but I turned my attention to the outside knowing full well that if I looked at her now, all hell would break loose once again. I recognised the signs of her abuse now. Something had pissed her off in the kitchen so she would take it out on me.

“On the other side of the dry-stone wall.” I cleared my throat, the sound nervous.

I knew she still wasn’t looking outside. Her attention was fully on me.

“End of the garden, over the wall… And? Who, Katie? Who would be fucking stupid enough to be outside in a storm like this?”

I waited, knowing what was coming next.

“Stupid like you.” Shelly laughed, the pitch not of humour but of her own amusement. “Would you go outside in this, Ka-tie?”

I hated it when she said my name like that. Split the syllables, poured hatred in both parts.

She laughed again, tuneless and soulless.

Her hand grabbed my jaw and jerked me to face her, the pain of my bruising shooting through me making me clamp my teeth together. Shelly’s fingers dug more deeply into my skin, knowingly pressing on my injuries from earlier.

She leaned closer, her face mere inches from mine.

“Again. Who. The fuck. Is out there?”

Spittle left her mouth and landed on my face. Her grip was tightening. My brain was trying to conjure up a lie, an image. I couldn’t back down now, back down and tell her I hadn’t seen anything.

“It was… a… figure.” The words squeezed through my bunched lips. I tapped on the glass, tried to distract her.

Shelly pushed my head against the alcove’s wall, just a little slam. Her fingers had curled more possessively around my jaw, giving her more control.

“I don’t know if it was male or female.”

She cocked her head, her lip lifting slightly.

“Dark, the clothes I mean. Covered in dark.” My brain scrambled for more information, something to both distract and appease her. “White face. Really white.”

Not really the best image created but, surprisingly, it worked.

Shelly loosened her grip on my jaw and looked outside, her eyes once again scanning the ever-darkening landscape.

“I couldn’t even tell what the face looked like.” I searched inside my head for disturbing images and could only come up with the scream mask that could fit with the description I’d already given.

“Just white. And the eyes… they were just black like they were missing.”

Shelly turned to look at me and I knew I’d fucked up. Why couldn’t I have just described a normal bloke, a walker, a farmer, a something that wasn’t straight from the set of a horror film?

“You fucking…”

SLAM!

Something hard thudded against the window forcing a shocked sharp cry to escape my lips. Shelly jerked backwards, releasing her hold over me and I instinctively pushed backwards, the cushions underneath me giving way and allowing me to escape the window seat.

I tried to stop my fall, grabbing onto the windowsill, onto Shelly, onto anything. Each attempt stopped the fluidity of my descent. First the base of my back struck the stone floor, then my shoulders. Finally, my legs followed, the thump of them hitting the ground and sending shooting pains up through my body.

“You fucking cunt!”

For a moment, I was stunned and slightly disorientated. Whether this was because of the fall, the loud slamming noise against my window, or Shelly screaming obscenities, I was unsure. I was also unsure if the obscenities she was screaming were aimed at me or the thing that’d slammed against the window.

I tensed, expecting a kick but nothing came.

“I’ll teach you, you fucker!”

Again, I tensed. Again, nothing happened.

Shelly moved back from the window, leaned down and over me.

“I’m going out.” She was so angry, her face twisted viciously. “Don’t you go anywhere. I told you earlier. You’re staying. Get me?”

I should’ve stopped her. The weather was brutal, savage, and she could get hurt.

Yes. I should’ve stopped her but I didn’t. In fact, a spark of hope resonated within me. If she was going out, maybe I could leave, get in the car and escape this place. Escape her. Just get up and go.

Shelly shoved me backwards, my shoulders hitting the floor once again.

“Don’t even think about going anywhere.” She stood straight, deliberated doing something else to me but was once again distracted by another loud thud on the window. The muscles in her jaw and neck flexed crazily, her fists clenched and unclenched as she readied herself for battle.

Then she turned and left the room only to return with her boots in her hand.

As she was tying her laces, she was muttering something I couldn’t make out. The action of putting on her boots became the warm up to something quite unsettling.

Abruptly she stood, straightened, cracked her fingers and then directed her look onto me.

“I’ll take the car keys.” She gave me that smile again. “You never know, do you?”

Then she left. Moved through the kitchen and slammed open the utility room door. The groan and scrape of the bolts were peppered with Shelly’s swearing and I stayed perfectly still just in case she changed her mind and came back to check I was doing what I was told.

A sudden gust of wind swept into the room, lifting the corner of the magazine in a papery wave before a slam sounded and everything went silent.

I waited. Waited for her to shout, to scream, to swear. Waited for her to come into the room and drag me to my feet by my hair; waited for her to come back and slap me, punch me, throw me to the ground and kick me for being a fucking lying cunt.

And that is exactly what she would do when she realised there was no-one outside. Exactly what she would do when she discovered I’d lied to her to get her away from me. Exactly what she would do when she realised I’d sent her out into a storm for nothing.

Scrambling back onto the seat, I crawled to the window and peered outside once again. The light was fading, being eaten by the darkness, but it was not dark enough yet to blind me to the scene. Shelly was fighting against the wind, her head down, determination and anger being her driving force.

But even with the lack of light, I knew there was no one there. No dark mass, no black smothered figure facing my direction, or any direction for that matter because I’d made it up. Pulled it from a memory of a film I’d once seen.

Shelly glanced towards where I was poised and my breath caught and held. Then released. Released slowly, and with some semblance of control. This was not the time to allow myself to freak out by thinking up scenes of Shelly’s revenge; not the time to mentally embellish the unmentionable acts of violence she would rain upon me for no apparent reason other than she could.

I sucked in my bottom lip and gnawed the left side of it, wincing at the pain from my split lip. The storm was building momentum and I knew it was the matter of minutes before the clouds would have to give in to the inevitable, the rain bursting forth like a burst pipe and soaking Shelly to the bone.

Then another thought sneaked into my head: when it started to rain, Shelly would come back. Her mood would be dangerous, her desire to seek revenge for my deception would come in the shape of a determined force, out for destruction and penance. With the advent of rain, the approaching darkness, the unrelenting wind and the definite coldness, any person who’d been tricked into going out into this scenario would probably make sure the perpetrator would not survive the night.

Even if I called the emergency services to come all the way out to my house, what could I say? My girlfriend is going to batter me to death when she gets back from a wild goose chase I’d sent her on?  Even if they did take me seriously, Shelly would probably be back before they arrived.

I paused for only a moment before making my decision. My actions had consequences. I could be hurt in the storm or I could be hurt inside my home. Bashed over the head with a piece of wood by the wind or bashed over the head by Shelly. However, at least I’d a chance of surviving by being outside in the storm. This was not something I could guarantee when she got back.

I checked outside to see where Shelly was and she was just on the other side of the wall. I wasn’t too sure whether she was looking back at me or not as I couldn’t make out her features from where I was seated. My eyes tried to adjust to the lack of light but it was becoming too dark to make things out now and time was running out. If I wanted to escape before she came back, I had to act quickly. The main thing of note for me at this moment was that Shelly was at a fair distance from the house.

With that realisation, I slipped from the relative safety of the window seat and stood for a moment to collect my thoughts.

Boots, jacket, phone, purse.

That was it. And this thought led to another thought.

Freedom.

***

Chapter Twenty

Just before I left, I’d tried to call my parents but the landline was buzzing and clicking and trying to connect to something that was out of reach. My mobile had no signal either. No internet, nor any means of communication. I slipped my mobile into my pocket thankful I’d charged it earlier in the day.

  In the utility room, I reached up and grabbed a searchlight from the shelf and clicked the button. The LED light flooded the small area and I squinted through the glare it created before turning the torch off again. I didn’t want Shelly to see the light and know I was on the run.

The back door rattled slightly; the oak solidly resistant to the force of the wind outside but the latch seemed to cave with the responsibility of keeping the weather out. Being this close to the exit alerted me of the danger I’d face once exposed to the elements and I was tempted to change my mind. Maybe I should stay here. Maybe calling the police would be the better option after all. Maybe, just maybe, I could lock Shelly outside until the police turned up.

But what if they didn’t come? What if they said Shelly hadn’t committed a crime and the beating she’d given me was hours ago didn’t count? They would ask why I hadn’t called sooner if it was so bad.

I shook my head about how farcical everything was. Did I have to be on the verge of death before I could call it in?

My hand gripped the latch, the force of the storm vibrating through the metal and into me.

I couldn’t risk waiting around to find out how far she would go the next time she decided to teach me a lesson. 

I pushed the latch down and began to pull the door open. However, a gust of wind caught the door and slammed it inwards, my hand twisting slightly before my brain kicked in and I released my hold on the handle. The thud of the wood onto the wall was muffled by the wail of the wind as it breached the stronghold of oak and drove itself into my home. For a moment, I worried that Shelly would’ve heard the dulled thunk of wood onto stone and know what I was about to do. But that was ludicrous. I could barely hear the noise of it myself over the deafening sound of the wind.

Closing the door was a struggle. It would’ve been less hassle to leave it open but that would alert Shelly that I’d left the house. At least she may think I was hiding and spend time looking for me inside. The time she wasted doing that could mean the difference of her hunting me down or me being able to get away. And time was of the essence. I’d been procrastinating too long weighing up the pros and cons of making a run for freedom and facing whatever was outside or facing an angry abuser, and in that time the weather had worsened. The sky had become even darker, even more menacing; my determination to flee had become sharpened and desperate.

By what I could make out, Shelly had gone to the left as she exited the back door and would probably be circling the house. My only option was to go straight ahead as I left. That’d take me to the road and I could make my way to Rothbury from there. Obviously, I wouldn’t be able to actually go onto the road as I also knew there was a possibility that Shelly would come out in the car. But, I’d have to go near the road or else I’d get completely lost.

However, even though the decision to race straight ahead was the best choice, the actuality of moving forward was near impossible. But, as I kept telling myself, near impossible didn’t mean it was impossible.

I moved forward, the zigzag movement completely unintended as the wind battered against me. I couldn’t see properly as I had a job looking outwards as the pressure of the blast of nothing seemed to depress my eyeballs. The only thing I could do was to tilt my head downwards whilst looking coquettishly upwards to have a cat in hell’s chance of seeing anything. The darkness didn’t help either but I couldn’t turn on my torch.

I sensed movement from all sides and I was almost certain it wasn’t human - or Shelly; just debris, just remnants of fence or bush or tree.

Stumbling, falling, getting up only to repeat the actions all over again. My hands were bleeding, my knees must’ve been too, but I pushed on. Grazes and bruises were the least of my worries. I needed to centre my focus on escaping, on getting away, getting to Rothbury. Calling my parents, my sisters, my friends, anyone who could help me.

I delved my hand into my pocket and pulled out my mobile. Still no signal.

I’d keep checking. I’d just keep checking.

I had to keep my wits about me, though. Keep safe from the flying detritus and stay alert to my surroundings, stay avidly alert to being discovered or flattened or both.

The weather made knowing my exact position difficult, but I knew that I must’ve been close to the road. Yetlington was the closest village but I needed to get further away, needed to get to a bigger place, somewhere I could hide in plain sight. I usually used a Sat Nav to get me from A to B, but considering I didn’t even have a mobile signal, GPS seemed out of the question. I’d have to rely on my inner compass.  I just hoped that would work a damn sight better than my judgement of character.

Roads here were not huge four lane affairs. Unless I was closer to the bigger towns and villages where I would get a lane for both directions, roads tended to be single track with passing places dotted along the way. Driving along these roads were a test to nerve and mettle even in good driving conditions. Quite a lot of the time, running alongside these roads would be dry-stone walls separating the road from the fields - a wonderful way to keep livestock safe and drivers where they were supposed to be. On the road. My intention was to stay on the field side of the wall and follow the route of the road. At least I would have a bit more of a chance if Shelly decided to track me using the car instead of coming on foot. I’d see the headlights, be able to duck down behind the wall and pray to God that she’d keep driving. If she stopped and checked over the wall then I was well and truly fucked.

Getting to the road was difficult enough. The wind was vicious, unrelenting. Thankfully, the rain stayed off as it would’ve been a nightmare trying to clamber across the fields and through hedges if rain was pelting me as well as everything else that’d become unhinged in the throes of the storm. The ground was firm enough to give me at least some semblance of balance although I’d fallen over copious amounts of times already.

I must’ve thought it up. The splat of the raindrop was heard as well as felt. Considering the wind had drowned out just about everything else, this noise from one spot of rain was a miracle. Another hit me squarely in the face, the sting of it surprising considering the cold had made all my exposed skin decidedly numb.

There seemed to be a pause in both wind and rain. A slight interval as if the weather was getting its act together for its showstopper of a finale.

Then all hell broke loose. Rain vied for dominance against an unrelenting wind, its direction fractious and frenetic. The weight of it, the pelt of it was breathtaking, and not in a magically wonderful way. I could barely catch my breath; could barely see my hand in front of me through the downpour. Within moments, I was completely soaked, my hair hung in wet clumped masses obscuring my vision even more than it had been obscured already.   

Could things get any worse?

Apparently yes.

Lightning streaked the sky, the cut of it striking a blaze, the surrounding area illuminated by a haunting mauve. The shape of a wall appeared about twenty feet in front of me and I just hoped the road was on the other side of it. I just had to decide which way I should follow - left or right. My gut reaction leaned more to the left but I was reticent about following anything my gut suggested. If I’d have ignored it in the first place, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I would’ve ignored the “Just give her a chance … Just give her another chance … and another” and wouldn’t be running away from my home in the middle of a storm.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing but fucking useless at that precise moment.

Down I went again, the once firm ground now soaked and dangerous, my boots losing their ability to grip as the rain soaked into the soil and turned the firmness into mud. My chest was aching, burning, tightening with all the effort. Fear was a factor, too. I was terrified that Shelly would suddenly appear in front of me or grab me from behind.

Each foot I moved closer to the wall raised my hope of getting away even though the actuality of traversing each foot was agonisingly difficult.

But I made it. Eventually, I made it.

The solidity of the rough, soaked wall under my hands elicited a sob from deep within me. I knew I had to get to the other side of the road as I couldn’t travel alongside this side of the wall just in case Shelly decided to come on foot. She, too, would be on the same side making it easy for her to catch up to me.

Gripping the top of the wall, my booted foot wedging into a space where a stone should’ve been, I pulled myself upwards, a grunt leaving my mouth. The wind and the rain pummelled me, the stone slippy under my weight. I turned my body to lower myself to the other side, but just as I did, another flash of lightning illuminated the sky.

And lit me up like a neon sign. Lit me up and announced to the entire world that I was half on, half off a wall separating the field near my house and the road to freedom.

Not only did it light me up, it lit up the figure who was stumbling towards the wall where I was.

A figure. A person. A woman.

Shelly, in fact.

And the worse thing?

Even though she was stumbling, even though the wind and the rain seemed more insistent, more violent, more blinding, Shelly lifted her face and looked straight at me.

Fight, flight or freeze. Again.

I did a little of all of them.

***

Chapter Twenty-One

Coldness gripped me. Not the coldness from being outside. No. The coldness within that comes from fear.

My legs struggled to support my weight, the terror I was experiencing sapping all my strength. I wanted to run, wanted to escape, wanted to be anywhere but stumbling along the road during a storm being hunted down by an angered woman out for blood. But my body had suddenly lacked the will and coordination to garner the speed and agility needed to move at a quicker pace than Shelly.

Tears were attempting to run freely down my cheeks but the wind spread and disrupted their path, just as it was disrupting mine. I believe I was sobbing too but I couldn’t swear on it. Maybe the ache in my chest was just exertion after all.

Part of me wondered if I should still climb over the wall on the other side of the road, still try to hide myself if I could. But what was the point? Shelly had seen me. Looked right at me and through me and was now on her way to collect her prize. If I stayed on the road at least I’d have a smoother surface to traverse instead of trying to negotiate uneven, sodden surfaces. However, if I found it easier to navigate, wouldn’t Shelly? I could’ve usually outrun her but the situation we were in was vastly different to the norm. I didn’t go running in the middle of a storm whilst being absolutely terrified, not to mention actually being in acute physical pain from the good hiding I’d received earlier.

Then again, Shelly wasn’t used to running in high winds and thumping rain either. But, she did have the advantage of not being kicked in the stomach, back and legs like I had earlier.

Even through the sound of the wind, I heard her shout. I couldn’t make out the words but I knew her voice, knew the pitch and anger behind it. I knew she was behind me but I couldn’t gauge how far away she was and I didn’t want to slow myself down even more by turning around.

Instead, I pushed down hard and attempted to increase my speed, battling against the weight of the wind, an invisible mighty force pushing me backwards and towards Shelly.

Her shout muffled around my head, collecting in a halo of noise, but this time I heard my name and a “Wait!”

I would not be waiting for her. Not now, not ever. Whatever happened this night, one thing I knew with certainty was I would not be going back to her. I didn’t care that all my money was tied up in the house. Didn’t care that I would have to live on the kindness of others until I got back on my feet. I’d rather sleep on someone’s sofa than share another minute wondering what she was going to do next.

Lightning lit the sky once again, the rumble of thunder reverberating through me strong enough to unsettle me even more, slowing me slightly.

A pain hit my ankle then shot up my leg, the effect acting to sweep my feet from under me. I was falling, my hands palming the space between me and the ground. My foot had caught on some form of crap in the road and there was no way I could stop myself toppling forward and onto the hard tarmacked surface.

My knees hit the ground first, my hands a close second. The shudder of stopping suddenly reverberated through me, the throb of it agony. I tried to stand but struggled. Tried again, but the pain in my knee hindered me.

“Fuck!”

I scrambled forward on my hands and knees knowing full well that it was the matter of moments before Shelly was on me. But even knowing that she would capture me, I was still surprised when something grabbed the back of my coat and dragged me backwards. A half-scream, half-cry ejaculated from the pit of my stomach as I was pulled onto my butt, the thud of landing sending pain up through my coccyx. Another hand wrapped around my hair and yanked my head back, my arms lifting to the spot, my hands grasping at unrelenting fingers that were coiled around my hair. The grip was vice like, excruciating. Insensible noises left my mouth, my ability to form words momentarily dumbfounded and fatuous. Rain hit my face, hard pellets of water adding insult to injury.

“You fucking cunt!” Shelly's face loomed over mine, the words vacuous yet contained as they spewed out.

I still struggled, still tried to kick out even though my knees screamed in agony.

“Let! Me! Go!” I slapped her hand, grabbed it, dug in my nails.

Her other hand released its hold on the back of my jacket and I knew the fist would come just a split second before her knuckles connected to the side of my head. The shot of pain was sharp and fast, the effect momentarily blinding, my body lurching sideways with the force of the blow.

Shelly tugged my hair fiercely, twisting and yanking me upright once again and my hands went to alleviating the pull. Rain lashed my face but the patter and pelt of it was secondary to all other sensations bombarding me at that moment.

What I can only assume to be a boot thudded into my side, my breath catching convulsively. Shelly pulled my hair again and I knew it was only a matter of time before she punched me again. And kicked. And then punched and kicked and punched me into submission.

Pain was swallowing me, numbing my reactions to her attack. It wouldn’t be long before I was completely down and in a situation where I may never get up again. I had to fight, strike back, get her off me, show her I wasn’t her punching bag anymore.

Another kick from her: another muffled cry of pain from me.

“Thought you’d fuck off and leave me, eh?”

Shelly yanked my head back so my face looked up into hers. The rain was now refreshing, cleansing, invigorating. For the first time in a long time, I believed I was in control, and considering I was sitting in the wet and mud, battered and bruised, with a woman yanking on my hair, that was a stretch to any imagination.

Shelly’s face came closer to mine, close enough for me to make out her expression. Considering at one time I would’ve classed her as a beautiful woman, she was nothing short of ugly at this moment. Her once beautiful mouth gurned out of shape, twisting into a frenzied curl of hatred.

Lightning brightened the sky, shortly to be followed by the drum of thunder.

Shelly didn’t flinch or cower; she shook me in short vigorous shakes instead.

“You don’t go anywhere. Understand? You. Belong. To me.”

I sensed rather than saw her pull her arm back to punch me again.

Not this time.

I didn’t think about it. Didn’t plan my next move. I just pulled back my head and launched it forward and into hers. The crack and splinter of her nose was accompanied by a jolt of pain through my forehead. Shelly released my hair and lifted both of her hands to cup her injured face, the scream of either pain or anger blending with the wind.

I blinked and widened my eyes to focus before swinging my arm into her, the oomph of connection taking her backwards, her legs seeming to buckle slightly. Scrambling in the muddied road, I struggled to a half stand. Shelly cried out, this time in rage rather than pain, her hands leaving her face and approaching me at speed. I ducked, slipped, thudded down onto one knee and flinched in readiness for her counterattack before remembering that I wasn’t going to take her shit anymore.

Throwing myself sideways, I sensed the passing of her foot as it missed my stomach by a hair’s breadth. My hand reflexively launched out and grabbed her jean clad calf then yanked her forward. She was already off balance before I pulled and the satisfying thud of her body hitting the hard ground further incited my courage and need to end this farce of an abusive relationship once and for all.     

Thrusting my hand inside my pocket, I pulled out my mobile. I needed to call the police now. Needed to stop the fighting, the abuse, the fear. I am not a fighter. I am not the kind of person who takes pleasure from hurting another living thing. However, that said, I had to admit to taking some semblance of joy from fighting back for a change.

The screen illuminated, the background wallpaper weirdly reassuring. Initially, the place where a signal should appear stayed disappointingly empty and my stomach dropped.

“Fuck!”

A groan came from the side of me and I shifted my focus to Shelly, who was now beginning to sit up.

I stood, stepped backwards, deliberated running but stopped. I wasn’t going to run away. I had to face her. Had to stop this.

My phone beeped and the noise distracted me. There, on the screen, was a message.

“Emergency Calls Only.”

“Ha!” The breathy syllable wasn’t from happiness or joy; it was an acknowledgement that Shelly’s time as an evil fucker was nearly at an end.

I pressed the call button, satisfaction flooding me. Nearly there. I was nearly free.

The pain to the side of my head was startling and acute. The suddenness of the punch was exacerbated by the swiftness of the delivery making my confusion even more intense. I hadn’t seen Shelly stand or move towards me. The shortness of the time that had transpired from her sitting to punching the side of my head was unbelievable. Even so, the impact of knuckles onto temple left me reeling and blindsided.

“Cunt!”

The venom behind the word joined with a flailing punch, her elbow banging against my upper arm and jarring downwards. The momentum was just enough to relax my hold on my mobile, and I watched in horror as my only means of getting help catapulted forward as if in slow motion. The lit screen created an almost celestial arc as it travelled away from me, and my movement to save it was as if I was coated in treacle.

I didn’t hear the crunch of the screen as the phone landed because the wind was too loud. But I knew it had smashed. Knew it was fucked. Even worse, I knew I was fucked, too.

Shelly grabbed my coat and swung me around, her face livid. She lifted her hand to slap me but she didn’t get the chance. Anger fuelled me enough to grab her hand and twist it downwards, the tendons in her wrist moving with my action. Shelly released my coat and tried to hit me but again I caught the wrist of her other hand and pulled it downwards to trap her hands completely. I thought it was a good move but didn’t consider how strong she actually was until she pulled one hand free and punched me at the side of the face. My teeth clanked together; the jolt of the slam mixed with the punch excruciating.

A tang of iron filled my mouth alerting me that I was bleeding, although, as of yet, I wasn’t sure where the blood was coming from. Shelly pulled her other hand free and grabbed onto my hair with both hands, pulling me forward and down before she raised her knee and slammed it into my face. Pain agonised through me, the crunch and click of my nose alerted me that it was broken.

My energy was seeping away; my initial fire and anger dwindling along with my hope.

Shelly was hammering on my back, each thump an affirmation of her dominance. Each thump reminding me that this was it. There was no escape. Shelly had won.

A roar erupted, followed by a light, the weather masking the direction. I believed it was lightning, the closeness of the electrostatic discharge momentarily halting Shelly from her bombardment of brutality.

I didn’t even think it through. Just took my chance. Pushed her with all that I had left, that final spurt of hope bubbling up and blossoming into something stronger than I believed I possessed.

Her expression as she flew backwards and away from me initially showed surprise, then fury, then back to surprise once again. The glaring light around her made her face pale, deathly pale, her eyes shaded and appearing as just dark sockets.

Was she actually looking at me?

Even through the noise of the wind, the dull thunk of her body hitting something hard resonated, shortly followed by a short, sharp cry of pain. A screech, a squeal, a skid. Shelly curled back before shooting forward, her body landing in a twisted heap a few feet from where she’d cried out. Blinding light illuminated the scene and I couldn’t understand why the lightning was still painfully bright.

Then the light split into two, circled itself into orbs projecting beams of light, the thrum of something animalistic, mechanically purring, inhumanly alive.

And even though the rain still fell, the wind still blustered, the light still blinded, everything was still. Silently still. Expectantly still.

Especially Shelly. Especially Shelly. No twitch or movement. No head lifting from the mud-soaked ground. No straightening of twisted legs, or righting of an arm that was facing the wrong direction.

A shout. Male. But I just stared at the crumpled heap of Shelly, mesmerised by the lifelessness.

Another shout, this time forming words. “Here! We’re here!”

Where?

I broke my gaze from the misshapen unmoving mound and tried to concentrate on what was happening. A car’s headlights illuminated the wreckage, the beams broken by the movement of figures moving in front of them. Panicked, desperate voices, an order to move.

Something touched my arm, a voice asking, “Are you hurt?” A soft and gentle voice tinged with anxiety, a soft and gentle touch, slightly shaking, but even so, I started and cried out in panic.

“Hey, hey, hey.” The same voice was still gentle, still coaxing, still panicked. “I want to help.”

My chest hurt. My heartbeat so hard it was a louder than the storm; the thud of it expanding through my rib cage and beating an irregular staccato rhythm.

Someone was next to Shelly, leaning over her, brushing her hair from her face. Even though the light was partly obscuring her features, one eye was open. Open and staring blankly ahead. Not a blink, a wink, a sign that this open eye could see.

“Come.” That soft worried voice next to me. “I’m going to place my hand on your arm, okay?”

I couldn’t respond, just let the owner of that voice take my arm and begin to lead me to the car. My attention was still rooted on the back of the man checking Shelly, his actions deliberate, methodical, and focused. His voice rose and fell above the wind, some words were carried away whilst others just added to my growing fear.

“Here.”

I was against the open door, the woman trying to guide me into the backseat. My legs buckled forcing me to slump sideways, my view of the broken mess of Shelly completely obscured.

“Here. Take this.”

A woollen green and red checked blanket was placed front ways around my shoulders, a shiver racing through me as soon as it made contact.

“I won’t be a minute, okay?”

And I was left alone. Left alone in the back of a stranger’s car, covered with a stranger’s blanket, blankly staring out of a rain covered window waiting to be proved right.

I knew, even before I was told, Shelly was dead.

I also knew, even before I was accused of it, that I was responsible.

I’d wished it. Wanted it. Prayed for it.

And now I had to live with it.

***

Chapter Twenty-Two

Present Day

I wasn’t sure where I was. I knew I was lying flat, but through the small slits of my eyes, I just seemed too far away from the ceiling. Strange, I know, but that’s what it was like. The surface underneath me was hard, cold and hard, almost like I was recumbent on concrete. Apart from behind my head - something seemed soft there… a pillow?

The last thing I remembered was being in the hallway but this didn’t seem like my hall. This hard surface didn’t seem like the flooring on my hallway either. That had carpet and what I was on didn’t feel as if it did.

The flooring surface beneath me was the least of my worries. What was more important was why I was spread-eagled on the floor in the first place.

I squeezed my eyes closed once again hoping the action would kick start a memory and a reason for my predicament. Something about the door. A noise at the door.

A banging?

When I fully opened my eyes, the light was brighter, blindingly so. I attempted to lift my head, the effect being as if my head was a lot heavier than my neck could support. However, it was the pain shooting across my forehead and behind my eyes that forced me to lie flat once again, my head resting back onto what I know knew to be a pillow.

“You’re awake.”

The voice came from behind and I blinked three times in recognition before settling on keeping my eyes tightly shut.

“You were out for quite a while there.”

The room was slightly spinning even though my eyes were closed. Nausea welled but I swallowed before speaking.

“What … What happened?”

I sensed Amelia shifting behind me, moving around until the heat of her was at my side.

“You passed out.”

I’d never passed out in my life, and if the aftereffects of passing out felt like this, then I didn’t want to experience passing out ever again.

Cool fingertips touched my cheek, then my other cheek. What I assumed to be a palm, rested on my forehead.

“How do you feel?”

The palm was calming, the action of it almost medical in delivery and effect. However, that noted, I was still finding it difficult to ascertain if I was feeling okay or not.

“Your head is cool. That’s good.”

Why my head being cool was classed as a good thing, I’ve no idea. But if Amelia said it was then I would take her word for it. She was the one viewing the whole of the situation with, presumably, her eyes open. She didn’t rely on information from another person to be able to understand the predicament.

My predicament. What exactly was my predicament?

“What happened?”

I quickly realised I’d already asked that exact question and by asking it in exactly the same way, I would only get the same answer as previously. In other words, fuck all.

“I mean. Why did I faint?”

When Amelia didn’t answer straight away, I partly opened one eye and attempted to seek her out. However, she was just on the outskirts of my vision and I had to open my other eye, had to slightly turn my head to see her.

Amelia’s expression seemed thoughtful; her eyebrows decidedly furrowed as she appeared to contemplate something.

 “How are you feeling now?”

It was my turn to furrow my brow in contemplation, and the reason I did so was because Amelia had completely blanked my question. Again.

“I wasn’t asking for a medical diagnosis you know.”

I tried to sit up, the pain in my head exploding outwards and materialising in a vibrant arc of bright light.

“Fuck!”

I covered my eyes with both my hands and waited for the pain and brightness to ease.

Amelia tentatively touched my arm, the sensation of her fingers landing and lifting as if they were unsure how the touch would be received.

“You okay?”

I didn’t even look at her when I said, “Maybe I’d feel better if you told me what happened.”

A sigh, a pat on the arm, an audible intake of breath before another sigh.

“Someone was knocking at the …”

“Shit! Shelly!”

I scrambled to all fours and struggled to my feet. The room began to spin slightly and I grabbed onto the door frame to steady myself.

Amelia was still on the floor, and if I wasn’t so affected by the appearance of my dead ex banging on the door in the early hours of the morning, I would’ve been surprised by the realisation that I’d actually been in the hallway after all.

“Shelly is here?” I didn’t wait for Amelia to answer. Just charged to the front door and stopped, unsure why I’d done that.

“You didn’t let her in did you?”

I pressed my fingers onto the solid wood, fear overriding reason. The memory of doing exactly the same thing before I’d fainted lit up inside my head. Each nuance of that pre-faint moment clearly unfolding like a bad dream. The stilling of the air, the ceasing of the storm, nothing stirring until all peace was broken by the voice of a woman I believed to be dead clearly announcing she had arrived.

I grabbed the handle and pulled; the door stayed shut.

I turned just as Amelia was beginning to get to her feet.

“You didn’t let her in did you?”

Why was I having to repeat everything? And why on earth was I asking Amelia if she’d let a dead woman into the house?

She started to shake her head but her face turned slightly towards the kitchen, her expression unreadable.

“Fuck no!”

“No! No, I didn’t let… didn’t let her in.”

I was already on my way to check what was in the kitchen but Amelia stepped in front of me and blocked my path. I tried to sidestep her but she sidestepped with me and continued to stand in my way.

“I think you should sit down. You’ve had a shock.”

What the fuck? Shock? Of course I’ve had a shock but she wasn’t to know that. I hadn’t told her about Shelly, hadn’t told her that the woman supposedly banging on my front door was dead. For all Amelia knew, when Shelly had left me, she’d done so whilst still breathing and not zipped up in a body bag.

I tried to move past her again but she grabbed my upper arms and moved me backwards and away from the kitchen.

I struggled free, stepped back out of her control and lifted my arms slightly up and slightly out, lowering my head a tad. The pose could be taken as submissive, aggressive or defensive and, to be honest, I wasn’t too sure which one I was embodying.

“Why won’t you let me pass?” I asked quietly.

“I think we should go into the living room and…”

“Just tell me. What’s happened? Why won’t you let me go into my own kitchen?”

“I don’t think…”

I didn’t wait for what she was going to say to hit air. With a shove, I was past her. Everything looked the same. Everywhere was tidied, the utility door was closed, the chairs pushed under the table, the table cleared… the table cleared…

“What’s that?”

On the wooden surface of the table were some pieces of paper. Six in total.

I stepped closer.

Each piece of paper was cut from what would’ve been originally larger pieces of paper. Newspaper, to be exact.

I stepped closer still, my body touching the back of the dining chair.

Each cutting from the newspaper focused on the same story but told in stages through words and pictures. A death. A life and death. An inquest. A reasoning and admittance of guilt. An outcome. A breakdown.

My hand reached out, the whole of it shaking uncontrollably, my fingertips glancing off the paper.

“Whe-ere…” I swallowed, tried to regain my composure. “Where did you get…?” I closed my eyes tightly, my gut praying that when I opened them again the paper would be gone. The paper and everything would be gone.

Everything.

Amelia’s hand slipped over my shoulder blade, the heat of it weirdly welcoming and indicating that Amelia was one of the only things I didn’t want to be gone at that moment.

“They were here. I came to get you water and they were here.”

I touched the face of Shelly, a smiling face, a happier face from a happier time where she looked beautiful and like the woman I’d first known. It was the main picture used by the press as the inquest had gone on. The same one that’d wanted to get the public to form the opinion that Shelly Morgan’s death hadn’t been an accident. The very picture that had the caption underneath stating: “Death of young woman deemed suspicious.”

And it was suspicious. Very suspicious.

I pulled the chair out and sat down, lifting the first cutting to read the article. Not that I hadn’t read it before. Not that I hadn’t experienced hearing the story first hand at the inquest. Hell. I’d experienced most of it. However, reading it over again made me both distanced from the events whilst being smack bang in the middle of them all over again.

Initially, the death was reported as a tragic accident. The storm being a huge factor to what could only be described as a freak event. The driver of the car, Richard Wilson, had taken a wrong turn, had not expected to be driving near Yetlington during a storm. Him and his wife, Sonja, had been diverted en route to Rothbury, an accident near Thrunton had completely confused them and this confusion had worsened as the storm had developed. A missed turnoff, another missed opportunity, and the couple had found themselves on a single lane track and hoping to get to Netherton Burnfoot.

Water had swamped the road, they said. Rain had blinded them. They weren’t speeding. Weren’t doing anything to put their lives, or other people’s lives, in danger. How were they to know that people would be out on a night like this?

But then, as if from nowhere, a person appeared. It all happened so fast. They couldn’t even tell if it was male or female, just a figure in the middle of the road, the headlights illuminating the face just before impact. Richard had slammed on his brakes and tried to swerve but there was nowhere to go - the road was narrow, the embankments, hedges and dry-stone walls acted like a barrier.

Just reading the words brought it all back. How everything seemed to have been masked by the weather; how I’d believed the lights from their car to be lightning; how the glare of it had lit Shelly’s face making it appear deathly pale, shading her eyes, darkening her sockets.

Richard and Sonja never mentioned the sickening thunk of Shelly’s body hitting their car. Didn’t add the short, sharp cry of pain Shelly released as she had crunched against the metal. Therefore, neither of them thought to remark on the absolute stillness of a dead woman lying in a twisted heap in the middle of the narrow road.

Just how they had tried to help. Just how they had seen me standing motionless at the side of the road. Just how they had tried to help the both of us. Just. Just. Just.

I placed the article back onto the table, held my hand over it as if I could absorb the words through my palm.

Amelia moved to the side of me, pulled out a chair and sat. I knew she was looking at me but I couldn’t make eye contact. Not yet any way.

“You read these?”

“Yes.”

“So, you know then.”

Amelia paused before a simple “Yes” sounded.

I pulled the second article to me, lifted it, tried to read it, closed my eyes tightly before refocusing on the headline: Tragic Death of Local Woman. This time the piece gave more information about Shelly. Sentence after sentence building her up to be this upstanding woman in the community. Each word within each of the sentences chosen for maximum effect. Each and every syllable crafted to show Michelle Morgan, known to friends as Shelly, to be a wonderful woman who was respected by all that knew her. Shelly didn’t have a bad bone in her body. Would do anything for anyone. Had a heart of gold.

The article churned out lie after lie after lie after lie. According to these mash of letters that had formed into fantasy, I was beside myself with grief. I’d lost, as the piece stated, “the love of my life”, something that surprised me considering I was running away from her at the time of the accident as I was terrified of what she was going to inflict on me next.

Love of my life? I hadn’t even liked her by this time never mind loved her.

I shoved the paper over to Amelia.

“For the record, I hated her.”

I still didn’t look up. Just pulled article number three my way.

The inquest. Something that should’ve been almost cut and dried but dragged on for over a week. The coroner wasn’t happy about the events before the actual accident. He seemed more fixated on why Shelly was out in the rain in the first place. And, to add importance to this thought, why was I out there with her.

Richard and Sonja Wilson admitted knocking Shelly over, stating they had no time to stop, the weather was bad, and Shelly came from nowhere. They put forward their view on what happened and that should’ve been that.

But no. Somehow, I’d put the boot in somewhere along the line and I hadn’t even realised it at the time. In other words, it was something I’d said that had set off alarm bells.

“Tell me what happened at the inquest.”

I lifted my eyes from the paper and looked at Amelia for the first time since sitting down at the table. Her expression indicated she was interested, not only that, but concerned too.

A noise came from behind me and I turned to see Jiminy trotting into the kitchen, his nails clip clipping as he made his way towards me. I couldn’t believe I’d not checked on him as soon as I’d woken, or that he hadn’t come through earlier, but then again, I’d been more concerned about what may have been let back into my house.

I dropped the cutting onto the table and scooped him up, bringing him close to my chest. Jiminy snuffed around my face before licking my chin. Even though the action was so simple, the effect it had on me was profound. This small gesture from a dog that wasn’t even my own made my heart swell, emotion brimming with such certain suddenness I had the awful feeling I was about to cry. Nestling my face into a furry neck, I was consumed by the scent of him, the solidness of him, the warmth and beauty of him. I hugged him more tightly, the dog absorbing my need for closeness, his cold nose touching my neck in the process.

I still wanted to cry. Wanted to laugh. Wanted to shout out “Why?” but couldn’t understand the need behind the question.

I kissed him and released my grip. Jiminy didn’t jump down; he turned to look at Amelia as if to ask why she wasn’t making a fuss over him, too. It didn’t take long for her to place her fingers behind his ear and scratch, his head lolling to one side, the noise of contentment oozing from him in soft mewling noises.

“I bet you think I’m mad.” I glanced at her as I spoke, then looked back at her scratching Jiminy’s ear.

Her fingers paused momentarily almost as if they’d contemplated the statement before starting to fuss around the dog’s ear once again.

“Why on earth would I think that?”

I shrugged and then realised her attention was solely on her task.

“Shelly.” Her fingers paused again. “Me asking if you’d let her in.”

Brown eyes investigated my own and I knew she wanted me to continue.

“Well, if you’ve read the articles you’ll know she is… know she’s…”

“Dead? Yes.”  Her look momentarily intensified before she broke eye contact leaving me feeling lost.

I didn’t say anything. Amelia licked her bottom lip before following the action by grazing her front teeth over where her tongue had just been. She pursed both lips and I was suddenly startled by how fixated I’d been with her mouth.

I half closed my eyes and looked at her, trying to gauge what she was getting at. It may have been that she was just stating a fact but I wasn’t too sure.

“So why would I think you’d gone mad just because you asked me if I’d let a dead woman into your house?”

She stopped scratching behind Jiminy’s ears and leaned back into the chair, her full attention on me as if waiting for the answer to her question.

“For that reason. I asked you if you’d let a dead woman into the house. It’s not a rational question is it?”

Amelia shrugged. “It was perfectly reasonable.”

I pulled a face. “Perfectly reasonable? How?”

She shrugged again. “I heard whoever was outside say she was Shelly.”

The only way I can describe myself at that moment was through a range of verbs. Scooped out. Hollowed. Vacuous.

“You heard… her?”

“At the front door. Yes. Banging and thumping.”

“No. I mean, you heard her say her name?”

Amelia nodded again.

I tipped my head right back, my neck crunching slightly, and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before returning my attention to Amelia.

“So, if you’re mad, then so am I.”

“But you didn’t know… don’t know if that was Shelly or someone else calling herself Shelly. It didn’t have to be…”

“Your dead ex?” Amelia leaned forward slightly. “Considering you fainted when she said her name…”

“But it could’ve been any…”

“And there was no one there.”

“What?” The word came out louder than I expected it to making Jiminy jump slightly.

 I pulled him to me, my hand curling around his small chest, my fingers threading through his coarse fur in the hope of reassuring him that I wouldn’t be shouting out again. Although, to be honest, I wasn’t sure that would be the case.

“What do you mean ‘there was no one there’?” She didn’t answer.

“You opened the door because someone said her name was Shelly? What the fuck?”

“Hey! I didn’t know she was dead did I? I thought you’d broken up.”

Amelia stood, her eyes not meeting mine, Jiminy’s focus was on her. I could tell by the movement of his head. “It’s not as if I did so because I just wanted to see what your ex looked like either.”

After she spoke, she moved to the cabinet, turned and leaned her back against it, crossing her arms defensively as she did so, almost like she’d arranged herself to look that way.

“I thought she might’ve been able to help.”

“Help? But Shelly is dead?”

“For fuck’s sake, Katie!” She threw her arms dramatically into the air, her glance shooting to the ceiling. “I didn’t know!”

She made to move forward but changed her mind and leaned back against the cabinet. “You passed out. I panicked. I knew your ex was called Shelly and… well, fuck. I’ve never seen anyone faint before. For all I knew you were diabetic or had other things wrong that… oh shit.”

Amelia lifted her hands and covered her face, paused, then dragged her fingers downwards to pull her skin with the action, her eyes distorting and stretched.

I curled Jiminy snugly into my arms, stood, and walked over to where she was leaning. Her face was tipped downwards but she looked up into my eyes.

I must admit, Amelia Griffiths had the most stunning eyes I’d ever seen on anyone.  The fluidity of the brown was captivating. Her eyelashes were dark, thick and dark, thick and dark and full. There was a light coming from these eyes, a light so vivid it appeared reflective. I knew if I peered into them for long enough I’d see myself, and Jiminy, looking straight back. All three of us together - and that felt perfectly wonderful. To be together with someone I wanted to be together with was something I’d not envisioned happening in my life even before Shelly had died. The “together” I’d had with Shelly was hugely different to the “together” I was feeling at that moment.

Leaning forward, I brushed my lips against hers just to see if she was real and my heartbeat just a little bit harder when I found out she was. But I kissed her again just to double check. Amelia didn't pull away. Actually, her mouth followed mine and she kissed me in return, her lips holding me fast. A slight movement, a warmth, a promise, then she pulled back and everything between us seemed changed somehow.

A good change. A welcome change. A much-needed change.

Jiminy pressed closer into me, the heat of him solid and reassuring.

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t exactly sure why I was apologising.

“Me too.” And by Amelia’s tone, just like me, she was unsure why she apologised.

I exhaled and stepped back, the space between us enabling my mind to focus on more than wanting to kiss her again.

 “Let’s get this straight. I fainted when a woman said she was Shelly, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you… opened the door? Went for water? What? Did the person speak again?”

“No. The banging and everything’d stopped by then. My first reaction was to check on you.”

Amelia stepped forward, her hand moving to Jiminy’s head.

“You went down so quickly,” she slapped her hands together as if to mimic the action of me falling. “Your face was so white. Your lips…seemed purple. When I touched you, you were cold. Unbelievably cold.” A shiver passed through her. “I couldn’t really see if you were breathing from the angle you’d fallen and I began to panic.”

Once again, she looked straight into my eyes and an ache filled my chest.

“As I said, I’d never seen anyone faint before. I really didn’t know what to do, what to expect. That’s why I opened the door. Just for backup really. Just for help.”

“And?”

She shrugged, but the shrug wasn’t dismissive like a usual shrug would be. It seemed more a sign of confusion or uncertainty.

“And nothing. No one was there. I even went outside, looked about, shouted out her name, but…”

Another shrug.

“But when I came back inside, I’d a weird feeling that someone’d come in when I’d been looking the other way.”

‘What do you mean by that? Felt like someone had come in?”

Jiminy wriggled in my arms and I put him on the floor. He padded in the direction of his water dish and drank.

Amelia moved from the counter, her hand touching my upper arm, the gesture familiar and reassuring.

“I’ve no idea. None. I was just spooked, I guess. I mean…” she gestured to Jiminy who was sniffing lazily across the floor, “even the little guy didn’t get off his chair. After you, he was the next thing I checked.”

A warm feeling wormed its way through me; I liked that she had checked on both Jiminy and me. Liked that she was more concerned with us than herself. It was something I wasn’t used to. The dog stopped his sniffing and looked at us both before deciding we weren’t interesting enough. I watched as he followed an invisible trail of scent out of the room.

She spoke again, recapturing my attention.

“I didn’t bother checking the rest of the house. Just went to get you some water…”

Her eyes went to the table and I turned to look at the cuttings.

“They were all lined up neatly. Just like you saw them. Like they’d been placed there.”

I reached out and dragged the one I’d been looking at a few minutes before to me, the noise of the paper hissing along the wood.

“I mean, for all you know, I could’ve planted them there.” Her voice wavered slightly, and when my gaze met hers, I noted her nervousness.

“And I could’ve put them there when you were outside,” I said.

“But you didn’t. You hadn’t moved.” She paused before adding, “Honestly. I didn’t put them there.”

I stepped up to her, lifted my hands and cupped her face, my thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. Those beautiful eyes of hers initially widened before half closing, the gesture not only accepting but sensuous and alluring.

“I believe you.” And I did. Completely. “The things that’ve happened in the last twelve hours, well, I can’t explain them. Couldn’t even begin to …”

Amelia’s mouth was on mine. The kiss was fervent, deliciously ardent. My hands moved into her hair, my fingers tangling into the strands and itching to pull her closer. Lips opened, the heat of her entering my mouth was sublime, the moistness of the kiss deliciously moreish. Her tongue traced the inside of my lips and the sensation sparked a charge of need through me. I pushed closer and into her, her arms wrapping around me and holding me close, my breasts meshing against her breasts, our mouths devouring and hungry.

Amelia pushed me backwards, the table hitting the back of me, reminding me where we were. But I didn’t care. I just wanted her. Wanted this. Wanted to feel wanted and wanted to want back.

I lifted slightly, my backside moving onto the table. Amelia’s hand moved between my legs and pushed them apart, filling the space in between with her body. I slipped my hands beneath her pyjama top, her skin was hot and smooth underneath my fingertips, underneath my palms.

Amelia’s mouth left mine, the coolness of the air hitting my lips stark in comparison to the heat coming from her. A tongue met my throat and I released a moan of pleasure. I lowered my hands to slip inside her pyjama bottoms, cupping and stroking and digging my fingers into the firm yet soft flesh of her bottom. Amelia bucked, the movement pushing herself fully against me, the sensation exquisitely wonderful. She was fumbling with the buttons of my top, my expectations rising each time one released itself from the buttonhole.

“God. I want you. Want you.”

The words were spoken into my skin, each one absorbed eagerly and fully.

Her mouth was moving downwards, moving towards my breasts. I watched the progress, my breaths short and ragged, the expectation of her hot, wet mouth on my nipple agonisingly wonderful.

However, the expectation was nothing like the reality of it. As her lips closed around the peak, a sensation raged through me that almost made me cum.

“Fuck!”

The word shot from me. It was either an exclamation or a request or both.

Slipping my hands from inside her pyjama bottoms, I grabbed the edge of her top and pulled it over her head. Even though she had to stop her ministrations on my breasts whilst I did this, it was worth it.

Amelia’s hair had messed with the movement, locks of it falling sexily over her face, her eyes glinting with desire. She was so unbelievably beautiful. Everything about her. So incredibly beautiful. My heart ached with the sight of her and I knew at that very moment that one night with her would never be enough. A lifetime of nights with her would never be enough. Every fibre of me knew it, too, and each fibre of my being also knew it wanted her right now.

I didn’t wait for her to take my top off; I pulled it off myself.

Momentarily, time stopped. Her gaze absorbed my body, and instead of being worried about what she would think of me, I glorified under her look.

She lifted her hand, her fingertips reverently moving over my chest, her eyes following the path of them. Even though the movement between us was minimal, the charge of desire was even more heightened than a few moments ago. It was so much more than a sexual urge. So much more than satiating a primitive need.

“You are so...” she slightly shook her head, her eyes still following her fingertips before they glanced up to briefly meet mine, “beautiful. So very beautiful.”

Amelia leaned forward, her mouth gentle yet all consuming, the kiss becoming fuller, richer, deeper as we both spurred it on. She pushed herself against me, the fullness of her breasts pressing deliciously against mine. I wanted her. So fucking much. I didn’t care if she was just going with her desire and this meant nothing to her, I needed this. Needed her. All that mattered was the here and now.

Lifting my hands a little, I caught the material of her pyjama bottoms and tugged them downwards. They slipped effortlessly to pool at her feet. Amelia kicked them away before grabbing the hem of my bottoms and yanking them down and off.

I didn’t wait. Just wrapped my legs around her and pulled her close. Having this woman close to me was all I needed at this moment, the feeling of her nakedness pressed against me spurring my desire.

Amelia cupped my ass and lifted it slightly, opening me like a flower. She pushed into me, the contact exquisite, and moved her hips to elicit pressure on the part of me that was screaming for attention. My fingertips dug into her back, the gasp of desire fluttering from my mouth to cover her skin.

A mouth covered a mouth; tongues met and teased; bodies rocked and pushed and pressed against each other, the friction of skin sensuously indulgent and promising so much more.

Slowly, purposefully, I pulled my fingers up her back, her body shivering under my touch. One hand slipped into her hair, tangling fingers into her thick locks, pushing her face into mine, deepening what was already a deep kiss. Moans left me and entered her, left her and entered me.

Amelia pulled her hips back, slipped herself over my thigh. The heat from her was intoxicating, the wetness slick on my skin. I tensed the muscle, lifting my leg into her. She bucked, broke our kiss, gasped a “fuck” before kissing me hard, her rhythm increasing.

I pulled her closer, our bodies tight against the other. Amelia’s hand was still gripping my ass, pulling me open, her other hand slipped between us, delved down, pushed through my pubic hair to be greeted by what I knew to be wetness. Her fingers separated, caught my clitoris between them and massaged it firmly. The throb of it was glorious agony and all I wanted was for her to enter me, fuck me, take me over and over again. I opened my legs more fully, tipped back slightly, invited her inside.

The feel of her finger slowly entering me was achingly wonderful. I sighed, tensed, sighed and pushed downwards wanting her to bury herself deeply inside me, wanting her to repeat the movement: push in, drag out, push in…

Amelia slipped her finger from me, added a second, entered me deeply and I elicited a gasp of pleasure that was pulled from my depths. She still straddled my thigh, was still riding the muscle, coating me with her wetness, covering me with her desire just as I covered her fingers inside me with mine.

The tempo increased, the rhythm becoming fervid and frenetic and so fucking delicious that I wanted to laugh maniacally with each thrust, the absolute joy and desire exuding from me in an aura of lust.

My climax was building; the swell of it was consuming and delectable.

Mouths met, tongues battled, teeth semi clashed as passion escalated, our bodies moved together as one, the closeness and heat of our joining adding fuel to this act.

Amelia pulled her face away from me, her eyes glistening, dark, hooded. Her mouth was parted, her lips plump and red and so fucking kissable. The rhythm continued, her fingers thrusting inside me, her hips pushing her need harder and firmer onto my thigh, the table beginning to tap and thump against the floor. Her hair was forward, some strands of it stuck to her face, framing her into a portrait of everything I desired in a woman. At this moment, Amelia was the epitome of what I wanted in my life. The epitome of what I desired, what I needed, what I longed for. She was mesmerisingly beautiful, mesmerisingly beautiful, mesmerisingly… beautiful.

“Katie.”

I watched, transfixed, as my name was shaped by those gorgeous lips of hers, wanting to catch each phoneme inside my mouth. “Kay-tie, I…I…” She closed her eyes, held them closed for a moment, before opening them to show me a depth and darkness within I’d not seen before. “Kay-tie, I… I…” Her mouth agonised over the words that wouldn’t come. My heart was beating so hard, the breaths from our lovemaking catching even more in expectation of what could be.

“Ye-es?” My inner walls were beginning to contract, my orgasm imminent. I wanted to hold back, hear what she had to say before I allowed myself to tip over. I knew that it wasn’t words of love, but the stupid part of me, the forever hopeful part of me, longed for them.

I lifted my hand and cupped her face, her eyes slowly blinking on contact.

“Kay-tie, I…” Her face tightened, her lips moved around silence, her eyes closed and widened as her orgasm hit.

“Yeeeees! Yes! God, yes!”

Each word punctuated a thrust of both her hips and her fingers, the effect, alongside witnessing her cumming, tipping me over and into a place of wonderment, a place of light and complete freedom. My own shout of release was tangled into her hair as I pressed my face fully to the side of her head. Amelia pulled me against her, the strength of her spurring my own need to hold her close as my orgasm raged through me.

Short bursts exploded from my core and shot through my body, pushing the noise from my mouth, a noise that morphed into a “Millie, oh, Millie, oh, Mill-ie” as the colours flashed in front of my eyes, the waves of absolute pleasure continued to roll through and out of me.

Our actions slowed, the movements of bodies thick with the blessed knowledge of each other. I nestled my face even more into her hair, the scent of her heady and addictive. Amelia turned her face to mine, her mouth finding my mouth, the kiss tender yet firm, slow and assured.

Considering I’d only just met Amelia, the connection I was experiencing with her was so much more than I’d ever had with anyone else in my life.

“You okay?” Her voice was thick, warm, evocative, the timbre of it seeping straight into me and making me want to hear it all over again.

“Yes. Yes.”

I leaned my forehead against hers, brought my hand to her face again, my thumb grazing over her lower cheek. “You?”

Instead of answering with words, she kissed me once again. So full, so rich, so full of promise.

So full of everything I hadn’t felt for an exceptionally long time. So full of everything I’d never felt before.

***

Chapter Twenty-Three

I’d just had sex on my dining table. Sex. On. My. Dining. Table. Completely naked sex on my dining table.

But then again, nothing in the last fifteen hours or so had been the usual.

I wasn’t embarrassed about what had happened between Amelia and myself. Didn’t regret it either. In fact, I was incredibly happy that we’d had sex when we did, even though my first choice wouldn’t have been on a table. Not that being on a table had hindered us in any way - but then again, maybe somewhere a little more romantic would’ve been better.

After we’d stopped kissing, we dressed, stopping for more kisses along the way. Amelia graced me with such dazzling smiles, I thought my heart was going to burst with happiness. To say I was decidedly smitten was an understatement. It was as if I’d come out of the dark after so long and Amelia was not only holding the torch but was the light herself.

I was fastening my top when she spoke.

“So, what happened at the inquest?”

My fingers halted as I was midway through tucking the button through the hole, the pause momentary but obvious.

“Erm...”

I continued to fasten the rest of the buttons whilst mentally deliberating what to tell her.

I looked up and she was standing at the end of the table, the cuttings lined up neatly once again. She had her finger resting on the third one and I knew that it was the one that focused on the inquest.

“I thought an inquest is usually held because someone has died through an unknown cause.” Amelia lifted her face, her eyes meeting mine. “But she was knocked over wasn’t she?” She tapped the first then the second cutting before returning to the third.

I licked my lips, my mouth dry.

“An inquest can held because... because it was a violent death, too.”

I was lying, and by the way Amelia looked at me, I knew she knew I wasn’t being completely honest.

Or, in fact, not honest at all.

She turned her body so she was fully facing me, the cutting left on the table. A pursing of lips, a raised eyebrow, a slight movement of the hip against the back of the chair, all actions of someone who was waiting for the truth.

Amelia inhaled deeply before releasing her breath very slowly. Then she nodded as if agreeing to something someone had said although I hadn’t spoken.

“Shelly’s death was tragic and horrific but not what I would class as a violent death.” She pulled the chair out and sat down. Picking up the third cutting, she spoke again.

“Unless something else happened that triggered an inquest.”

Amelia turned to look at me, her expression a blend of understanding and questioning.

“I’m a good listener, Katie.”

She held out her hand, the gesture accepted. Before I knew it, I was seated in front of her, the cutting placed in the space between us.

Amelia released a nervous laugh and I looked at her quizzically.

“What’s so funny?”

She laughed again and tapped one of the other cuttings.

A spark of annoyance flared within me. There was nothing funny about what was in those pieces of paper. Far from it. These collection of words cobbled together enabled the worst time in my life to become public knowledge.

“Sorry.” Another laugh came from her and I couldn’t understand why she was apologising when it was obvious what she was implying would piss me off.

“I really don’t see...”

“I just can’t believe it?”

An icy chill swept over me. Just can’t believe it? That’s what the coroner implied. And the police. And Shelly’s parents.

“Why… why say that?”

Amelia waved her hand over the paper.

“How neat these are. I can’t believe it.”

Now I was confused. Was she suggesting that what was in these reports were written to fit an agenda?

“Neat?”

“As in lined up?

“Lined...” I looked over the slips of paper again. Apart from the third cutting that was between Amelia and myself, the other five were lined up in exactly the same position as I’d seen them when I’d first walked into the room. Weirdly, I’d noted that they’d been lined up again whilst I was dressing but hadn’t thought too much about it.

“But you lined them up, didn’t you?”

I’d seen her in front of them, resting her finger on the third one. However, I hadn’t seen her move them into position.

But then again, not seeing her move them didn’t mean she hadn’t moved them.

“I thought you did it.” We spoke at the same time.

My brain was scrambling to make sense of what she was saying. I hadn’t tidied them. I’d been too busy dressing. But then again, I hadn’t seen her tidying them either. The last thing I remember doing with the cuttings was dragging the third one over to me, the hiss of its movement sounding on the wood.

“Maybe I didn’t move them when we... when I was on the table.”

Amelia shook her head, waved her hand over the cuttings and said, “There is no way we didn’t move them when we were making love here.”

Instead of reacting to the fact that the papers were lined neatly back in place, my mind dwelled for a moment longer than it should on the words “making love”. She hadn’t said sex or “when we were fucking” but used a term that was softer. That held more promise.

Then reality hit me. If I hadn’t moved them into place, and Amelia hadn’t moved them into place, who the fuck had?

And, even more unnerving, why hadn’t either one of us seen this happening? No person, no moving of papers by a disembodied presence, nothing.

However, whoever, or whatever, had done this wanted us to know it had been present whilst we were carnally engaged.

Shelly. Fuck. That’s all it could be. It wasn’t bad enough that this woman had made my life an absolute misery whilst she was alive, she continued to do so after she was dead.

And one thing was for sure - Shelly was a very jealous and vindictive woman. Even if there had been nothing to be jealous about, she’d definitely been vindictive as well as cruel, dominating, violent, and the list goes on.

Nausea swept through me. I gagged, gripped the tabletop and gagged again. Amelia placed her hand on my back and I shrugged it off, the weight of it making me feel worse. I didn’t want Amelia to touch me, not because I didn’t want her to touch me, far from it. I didn’t want Shelly to see her touching me.

A bit late for that really considering that it was becoming clearer to my befuddled mind that the ghost of my jealous ex-partner had probably been the one terrifying the crap out of me all evening, had been watching me having sex with another woman. A woman I’d just met, I might add, something Shelly had constantly accused me of in the past.

A sharp bark sounded from outside the room and we were both on our feet and running, the nausea evaporating as quickly as it had come.

Jiminy was at the front door, his ears pricked, his head cocked. The sound of the storm had dissipated. The wind had died down considerably and the rain had eased. I couldn’t hear anything that could’ve held his attention so I moved closer to the door. Jiminy glanced at me but turned back to the door once again.

I leaned forward, tentatively pressed the side of my head to the wood and listened.

Did I expect a Catherine Earnshaw moment of “Let me in... I’m come home. I lost my way on the moor” but spoken in Shelly’s voice? I honestly didn’t know anything apart from that I was losing the plot. Big time.

Amelia appeared beside me and pressed the side of her head against the wood, seeming to listen too. Initially, she turned her focus away from me, but after a few moments, she looked at me and once again I was struck by how absolutely captivating her eyes were. Her pupils were dilated, whether to do with the dim light or the adrenaline that must’ve been racing through her, I was unsure.  But for whatever reason, her eyes held me fast. All efforts to hear anything outside were lost under the thunderous beating of my heart.

“Can you hear that scratching noise?”

I tried to concentrate past the booming noise inside my chest. Nothing. I tried to zone out what must’ve been the blood pumping within me and was surprised when I heard a small scratching sound, a scratch-cum-tapping noise. I pressed closer to the door, my ear crushed against the wood, terrified that I’d hear Shelly’s voice again but still wanted to make out what the noise was.

Thankfully, there was no voice. Just the rhythmic rasping noise of something wanting admittance.

“Yes. There. And... there... and again.” I measured the scratching with words.

Amelia nodded. “It sounds as if it’s coming from the base of the door,” she whispered.

The scratching sounded again, louder this time, more insistent, like whatever had previous requested admittance was now trying to claw its way in.

I lifted my head away from the wood, Amelia following my lead.

“Shall we open the door?” I couldn’t believe Amelia had even suggested it.

“And let whatever is making that noise in?”

I stepped away from the door, nearly tripping over Jiminy in the process. His eyes were on me, his paw raised as if he wanted me to take it. I knew my forehead was furrowed, knew that I looked as confused as I felt. Why was Jiminy wanting to shake hands?

With that thought, he brought his paw forward, his claws hitting the door, the sound the same as the scratching we’d heard earlier.

I laughed a little too loudly, a little too wildly. A barb of relief blossomed, accompanied by the understanding that I was overwrought.

“I think he wants to go out.”

But instead of tapping again, Jiminy turned and trotted back to the kitchen.

“I have no idea what the fuck is going on.” Although Amelia said it, I thought it too.

She sighed, smiled, grabbed my hand, and then pulled me closer to her. A small kiss landed on my forehead.

“Come on. Let’s see what he’s up to.” She gave me a little tug. “And you can finally get the chance to tell me about the inquest.”

It was strange. I just couldn’t figure out why she was so interested in what had happened at the coroner’s inquest. There were so many other things we should’ve been discussing, especially why we had both heard a dead woman’s voice announce her arrival, not to mention all of the other weird shit that had been going on. Why was she so fixated on dragging up the past, reliving the events of that day? I’d wanted to forget it. Lay it to rest.

But nothing, as it seemed, was staying laid to rest. I had two options: ignore it or face it head on.

Amelia stopped, smiled right into me, and nodded her head encouragingly.

My spine seemed to straighten; my shoulders widen.

“Yes. It’s time.”

Time to put the past back into the past.

***

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ten months earlier

Shelly had been dead for little over a month and still hadn’t been buried. An interim death certificate had been issued but her passing hadn’t been registered yet. I couldn’t do that until the coroner was satisfied that Shelly had died in the way we were professing she had died. Actually, I would’ve struggled to be able to do it anyway as Shelly’s parents had tried to take control over everything. Considering they’d never made an appearance before, this was a bit of a shock. Talking about her family to Shelly had always been off limits. I didn’t even know she had a brother until after she was dead.

There’d been no doubt that she’d been hit by the car driven by Richard Wilson. That was the easy part. What concerned the coroner was why Shelly was in the road in the first place. That, and the fact that I was there too.

It wouldn’t have been an issue if the weather hadn’t been so bad, but then again, if that was the case, the car would probably have stopped in time. Shelly, unlike myself, hadn’t been wearing a coat. Something that was very unusual considering the heaviness of the rain.

Obviously, after the incident, I’d given my statement of events to the police. Stupidly, I’d withheld the fact that I’d been running away from her at the time. I’d believed that if I told the police that part then I would have to admit that I was the one that had pushed her in front of the car and, without intending to, caused her death.  Even though the road where the accident happened was narrow, the car would’ve been able to pass us without injury if I hadn’t pushed her.

I knew that I’d not intended to shove her in front of a car. I also knew that I’d initially believed the headlights to be lightning. However, just rolling those words around in my head was enough to convince me that the story seemed weak.

Headlights as lightning? Even I didn’t believe me.

But the truth of the matter still boiled down to not wanting to admit to being on the receiving end of an abusive relationship. How many times had I heard people saying how a partner had been cruel or violent when the partner hadn’t been around to defend themselves? It was only now when I was facing the reality of it all had I realised how fucking naive I’d been; only now I truly understood that when there was no chance of repercussion, it was the safest time to admit what had been going on.

However, I didn’t want to admit it. And maybe I could’ve gotten away with it. But, there was a problem. Something I hadn’t considered when I’d given my initial statement. The police had logged a call to the emergency services from my mobile minutes before the Wilsons had admitted to knocking over the woman who had “seemed to fly into the road in front of us”.

This bit of news was a shock to say the least. I hadn’t thought the call had gone through - when Shelly had thumped me hard enough to make my teeth rattle, the phone had shot from my hands and smashed onto the ground. I remembered not hearing the phone break but knew that it was well and truly fucked, just as I believed myself to be.

Doubt planted a seed. The sprout of it instant. I was too scared to change my story at this point as that would only lessen the actual truth. Once a liar always a liar, as they say. And to make matters worse, the police didn’t tell me what they’d heard. Just that a voice seemed raised.

“Let me remind you again, Ms Hammond. My job is to look only at the facts. I do not have to establish why Ms Morgan died. Just how, when and where.”

The room was formally informal. Before my initial meeting with the coroner, where he’d explained the process of the inquest and shown me photographs of the room where it would be held, I’d expected something more like a court room although my experience of courts had come from watching TV. However, actually being inside the room with Shelly’s family, the Wilsons, the pathologist, one police officer and the coroner was overwhelming. Nevertheless, I was relieved to see the absence of the press. Hopefully, the interest in the death of a local woman had died off now they realised Shelly hadn’t actually been local after all. Just lived in the area.

“What I’m specifically interested in at this time is the reason you were both where you were.”

“As I said in my statement, I’d been walking that afternoon and Ms Morgan had been at home.” I lifted my water and sipped, then sipped again.

“Yes. A feasible reason. But why was Ms Morgan out in the road with you?”

Because she wanted to kill me.

“I think she was worried. The weather had changed so quickly and not for the better. I believe she’d come to get me.”

Too right she had. But not in a saviour kind of way.

Geoffrey Davis, the coroner presiding the inquest, checked his notes whilst giving a particularly good impression of looking for something specific. It was obvious to us all that he knew exactly what he wanted to say without the need to check but we all stayed silent.

“Come to get you, you say?” Another shuffle through paper. “I can see from the records that you also sustained injuries on the evening in question. Could you clarify, for the record, how you came about them?”

“The weather, as I said, turned unbelievably bad. The rain was terrible and the wind was so strong. It was difficult to see where I was going. Kept falling over. I was worried that I’d injure myself so badly that I wouldn’t be able to get home.”

I leaned forward, lifted my water glass and sipped. The coroner waited. I took another sip before returning the glass to the table.

“I tried walking at the side of the road but my foot caught in a hole or something. Ended up stumbling into the wall. I think that’s when I broke my nose.”

That was the tricky part. Yes. My nose had been broken but it had been broken by Shelly not a dry-stone wall. And the reason why it was the tricky part was I hadn’t had the grazes that would’ve been expected if I had launched into uneven stone. 

Thankfully, nothing was said to oppose my claim.

“So I decided to walk at the edge of the road as that may have been safer.” I paused, hoping the irony of walking on the road being safer wasn’t lost on the listeners in the court.

Geoffrey Davis pulled a sad smile before continuing.

“Can you, Ms Hammond, please explain, without embellishment, why a call was put through to the emergency services before the accident happened?”

I’d rehearsed this part. Over and over again until I got it right.

“I was anxious being out in the storm. It’d gotten dark very quickly and I’d fallen over a few times because I was rushing to get back home. Then I thought I saw someone ahead of me.”

“Could this have been Ms Morgan?”

I pretended to think through his question before dismissing it with a dramatic shake of my head.

“I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I think not. The figure seemed different to how I would’ve imagined Shelly to look out there.”

“Different how? Just facts, please, Ms Hammond.”

“I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, and the body was dressed in dark clothes so I couldn’t really tell the build. But the face was so white. Really white.” I paused for effect. “And the eyes appeared to be black sockets.”

“There is nothing in this description that explains why you didn’t think it could be Ms Morgan.”

I knew he was going to say that. I’d been through my testimony already with the coroner and he’d given me an idea of the questions that could be posed in the inquest. That’s why I’d been able to practice my answers.

“That’s all I can say really. I wasn’t expecting Shelly, I mean Ms Morgan, to be outside in the storm. I was very anxious, scared even. The storm was really unsettling.”

“I can understand you were out in a storm and you thought you saw someone, but you’ve still not explained why you felt the need to call the emergency services.”

“Because I thought I was going to be attacked.”

No “thought” about it. I knew I was going to be attacked but not by an unknown assailant. “But as soon as I realised it was Shelly, Ms Morgan, I went to hang up.”

“‘Went to hang up?’” The coroner leaned forward.

“But I dropped the phone.”

He tilted his head, his eyes locked fully on mine, a pause that lasted too long.

“Did either of you speak?”

I remembered what Shelly had called me as she smacked me. But if I told the coroner her word, I would have to retract everything else. Shelly using a word like that didn’t fit with the woman who had been worried enough to venture out into a storm to find her other half. 

“I said something in response to dropping my phone.” He waited for me to continue and the blush began to crawl up my neck, the heat of it burning. “I said cunt. I called my phone a cunt.”

I heard a rumble of voices behind me and knew it was Shelly’s family without having to turn around.

Geoffrey Davis wrote something on the sheet in front of him. Cunt, probably. This made me blush even more.

“Did Ms Morgan explain why she wasn’t wearing a coat?”

“No.”

He scribbled again.

“Did you ask her?”

“No.”

And then again. Another scribble.

The coroner placed his pen down, straightened it, and then met my gaze.

“Not long now, Ms Hammond. A couple more questions and it will all be over.” I nodded, expectation clogging my throat.

“How, in your opinion, did it come to pass that Michelle Morgan ended up in the middle of the road?”

Because I pushed her. Because if I hadn’t have pushed her, the inquest held today would have been about me. Because she just couldn’t leave me alone, she couldn’t just let me go. Because, because, because. Just because.

“I have no idea. One minute she was beside me, the next, well, the next...” I picked up my water glass once more, my hand visibly shaking. One sip, then another, then another.

“Take your time, Ms Hammond.” Geoffrey Davis’s voice gentled. I knew he believed I was upset because I had to relive the moment my girlfriend had been killed and I wasn’t about to correct him.

“I couldn’t see properly. There was rain then light. The storm was loud but I remember a thunk sound and a cry of what I now believe to be someone in pain.” My voice broke slightly, more out of nerves than anything.

The coroner nodded, silently waiting for me to continue.

“I then heard what I now know to be a car stopping. And Shelly was on the ground. Not moving. Even though the storm was violent everything seemed still somehow.”

I stopped myself. I had to. The urge to lapse into the truth suddenly overwhelmed me and I knew that I was so close to admitting how it was all my fault, admitting I was responsible for Shelly being in the road. I closed my eyes and the scene of her lying on the mud-soaked ground, her legs twisted, her arm facing the wrong direction, one eye open and staring.

“What happened next?” Geoffrey Davis’s question brought me back to the present, the brightness of the room startling.

“The woman I now know as Sonja Wilson led me to the car and put me in the back seat. Covered me with a blanket. Told me she wouldn’t be a minute.”

The coroner made more notes, the scratch of his pen on paper too loud.

“Just one last question, Ms Hammond.”

I nodded. I wasn’t expecting another question. I’d told them everything about the how, when and where. They told me that was all they would be asking. Had I given anything away? Shown my guilt?

“Yes?” My voice was distant, almost as if it was coming from someone else.

“Can you just clarify...” he scanned his notes, “something you have told us today?”

I couldn’t say yes again; I nodded.

“You said, and I quote, that you ‘couldn’t see properly’ you remembered ‘a thunk sound and a cry of what I now believe to be someone in pain’ correct?”

I nodded.

“Now this is particularly important. Please tell me if I have this wrong.”

I nodded again, then added a “Yes.”

“You state you ‘then heard what I now know to be a car stopping’ and then noticed Ms Morgan ‘on the ground. Not moving’. Is this correct?”

I frowned, unsure why he was focusing on this.

“Yes. A thunk sound, a cry, a car stopping then...”

Was he implying something about the Wilsons? Or me?

“Are you sure of the order, Ms Hammond. Anything before the thunk sound?”

I shook my head, “Only the light.” I stopped, tried harder to remember. “Also a roaring sound. But that could’ve been the storm.”

“Could it, in your opinion, be the sound of a car?”

I didn’t get where he was leading with this. Was he implying I knew a car was approaching before it hit her? Was he going to implicate me somehow?

“I couldn’t say for sure. Everything was so loud, so confusing.”

“Thank you for your time, Ms Hammond.”

And that was it. My part over and done with.

“You can either stay in here or leave.” The coroner smiled and gave a reassuring nod. “You’ve been very helpful.”

I’d been the first person to be questioned and I knew the rest of the inquest was going to be a lengthy process. I just wanted to get outside, breathe in some air and escape from the discussion of what had happened and who was at fault. I was still unsure what Geoffrey Davis had been getting at with his final questions but I believed I would find out sooner or later.

Grabbing my handbag, I stood, the chair I’d been seated on scraping across the wooden floor in an agonised scream. It was a surprise to turn and see the mass of faces all looking at me. Shelly’s mother, Shirley Morgan, was unmistakable as she was an older version of Shelly, even down to the contemptuous look she was sending my way. I’d only met her a handful of times, and only since Shelly had died, but she had the kind of face I wouldn’t forget in a long time. Just like I wouldn’t forget the face of her daughter’s in a hurry.

Shelly’s father, Harrison, leaned back in his chair, his demeanour exuding a businessman at a meeting. Cold was not just an adjective with him - it was a state of being. Considering he was in the medical profession in some way or another, he did not give the impression of being a caring man. Not in the slightest.

I tried to smile at them as I walked past but this was received with undisguised animosity. To them, I was nothing more than the woman who was stopping them getting their hands on half of the house as they believed that is exactly what Shelly would’ve wanted. Not leaving it to some opportunist slut who had dragged their daughter away and planted her, and her money, in the middle of nowhere. Even though I’d tried to explain about the joint mortgage life insurance Shelly and I had taken out, they still believed they were entitled to half the value of the house. I hadn’t even bothered mentioning that Shelly had barely contributed to the mortgage anyway, that it’d been my money from the sale of my previous house that had paid the deposit. Whatever I said was a pack of lies.

In truth, I got the feeling they were more concerned about what they could get out of it all rather than the fact their daughter was dead.

“Slut.”

The word was low and intended for my ears only, the voice so like Shelly’s it was uncanny. However, Geoffrey Davis questioned the talking and Mrs Morgan had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

I didn’t respond. Just left the room to the rest of them as they picked over the events of that night.

***

My mum and eldest sister were waiting outside. They’d wanted to come and support me at the inquest but I hadn’t wanted them to. To me, them coming inside and listening to everything I had to say would taint them somehow. Stupid, I know, but so very real to me.

My mum stood as soon as she spotted me and Eleanor, my sister, turned from the notice board situated on the wall next to the bench, her expression unreadable.

“Katie, love. You look awful.”

By the dark circles under my mother’s eyes, I wasn’t the only one not looking her best.

“I’m fine, Mum. Just tired.”

And I was tired. Bone tired. Tired not only from lack of sleep but from everything else. Tired from constantly having to go over and over the events leading to Shelly’s death. Tired of suppressing my guilt that was always ready to come up and out and expose my lies. Tired of pretending everything was okay and tired of pretending I was coping with it all.

“Want to get a coffee or something before heading home?”

I shook my head. “I just want to get back.”

My mum looked at Eleanor, her expression indicating she wanted help convincing me to drink a cappuccino.

“Come on, sis. It’s not often we all get to come to Alnwick is it?”

I glared at her, my nostrils flaring a little with the effort of trying to regulate my breathing.

“It’s not a social visit, Ellie.”

“No. It’s coffee.” Ellie shrugged her shoulders, turned her hands upwards to display the palms. “I’ve nothing up my sleeve, Kat.”

I knew she wanted to make me smile. The gesture she’d just done was something we always did when we were kids, well, more specifically, something I’d started.

I’d heard a man in a cafe we were in say the phrase and thought he was going to perform magic. I’d been too young to realise the man saying it was trying to convince the woman he was with that he had nothing to hide. I’d announced very loudly, and very publicly, that the man was going to do a trick and we should all watch. Obviously, I’d been dragged away by a very apologetic and embarrassed mother whilst I continued to question why we all couldn’t see him do a magic trick.

Ellie thought this was hilarious. Being five years older than myself, she understood the man was coming clean about something he’d done rather than wanting to make a bunch of flowers appear. Instead of telling me at the time, insisting I shut up about it, Ellie waited until I’d made a complete fool out of myself before she explained. The gesture of shrugging before turning her hands upwards and had come later. Me accepting her shrugging and palm turning as humour, later still.

“We can get coffee at home.”

“Are you not going back in?” My mother placed her hand on my forearm, the heat of her reassuring and comforting. However, even though her touch was all these things and more, I still pulled away from her. I didn’t have to look at her face to know she would be hurt by my actions. But, even knowing I was hurting my own mother, I still did it.

We didn’t speak on the way back to my house. I stared out of the window from my seat in the back of the car for most of the journey, noting that the view that’d once been quite enchanting did nothing for me now. The Cheviots peeked over other hills, and other hills dipped into valleys, the landscape’s greenness intermittently broken by the purple of heather.

Once home, I went straight to the kitchen and began the process of making coffee. Ellie joined me at the counter, clanking cups against saucers, adding milk and tossing teaspoons onto the side. My mum seated herself at the dining table, her elbows on the wood, her chin on her hands. I knew she wanted to talk about what had happened but I didn’t. I just wanted to glaze over the situation and pretend everything was okay.

The kettle clicked off and I filled the cafetière with hot water, stirred vigorously before replacing the plunger so it sat just above the water line.

“I won’t be a minute.” I didn’t wait for a response. Just left the room and went upstairs.

Instead of going to the bathroom or my bedroom, I went into the guest bedroom. This had been the room I’d found myself using more often than not in the couple of months before Shelly died. Apart from the main bedroom, this room had been the only one that was finished, and the only reason for that was because I needed it to be. After some battles with Shelly, it was safer to be away from her for the evening, especially towards the end.

But now it was set up for my mum and sister. I had offered to tidy another room but they’d insisted on not being any trouble and bunking together was fine. I didn’t argue.

The light through the window was bright, the rays of it leaving stripes across the covers. My mum had made the bed before we left the house in the morning, the rest of the room neat and tidy. It was a really lovely room. Welcoming. Accepting.

I just stood in the doorway, completely at a loss of why I was standing on the threshold of the room in the first place. There was nothing in there I wanted or needed. It wasn’t as if I had to clear any of Shelly’s things from in there as there had been nothing of hers there to begin with. All her bedroom stuff had been in the main room, the one we had initially shared, the one I slept in now. I was in the process of putting her belongings into boxes and stacking them in the bedroom next to this one as I didn’t want to be surrounded by her stuff. I wanted her personal effects either out of the house or stored away. I’d contacted Shelly’s parents numerous times over the last month, even offered to take their daughter’s belongings to them. But they were more interested in the fiscal side of things rather than “personal trinkets”. And by fiscal, I mean the house - or half the house.

Initially, I’d nearly caved in, nearly said they could have the lot, but it was just the sound of Shirley Morgan’s voice demanding that I sign over Shelly’s half of the house and to stop “being so bloody difficult” that stopped me being rash. So I said no. The house, legally, was mine. Our joint mortgage life insurance paid off the remaining part of the mortgage leaving me debt free, something that truly angered the Morgans.

It was clear to see where Shelly had inherited her powers of persuasion as Shirley was excellent at twisting the facts, as well as my words, and accuse me of being in the wrong.

She didn’t “care what a piece of paper says”. Shelly would’ve wanted her family to have the money from the sale of the house not some woman she barely knew.

Barely knew? Barely. Knew? I’d been with Shelly for little over three years and never met her parents until she’d died. And even then, I honestly believe if there hadn’t been a substantial amount to be collected from the investment in the house, I doubt I would’ve met them at all. Maybe at the funeral, but then again, maybe not.

But there was money to be had. Or attempted to be had. By hook, crook, manipulation, intimidation, and every other means, the Morgans were at me.

Whatever I said, whatever I did, Shirley Morgan did her best to make me feel ashamed for continuing to live in my home, did her best to make me feel embarrassed about not signing my home over to her and her bloodsucking husband.

“You okay, sis?”

I hadn’t heard Ellie come up the stairs and I wasn’t too sure how long she had been standing there either. Weirdly, even though I hadn’t heard her approach, I hadn’t jumped or screamed out. Just accepted that she was there.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

I stepped back over the door’s threshold and onto the landing.

“Thought I felt a draught when I came upstairs so checked the windows.”

An obvious lie but one that Ellie didn’t pick me up on. Thankfully.

“Let’s have that coffee and then get stuck into packing some more of Shelly’s things in boxes, yes?” My tone of voice was almost like an over-caffeinated mother on Christmas Eve.

I smiled, fake and big, rubbed my hand over Ellie’s upper arm in the Hammond way, and then moved past her and to the spare bedroom where I was storing Shelly’s belongings.

I didn’t even look back. Just walked off like I did this kind of thing every single day of my life.

The shutdown had started.

***

Continued

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