by Kerena Swan
Bloody “Beans on Toast” night. Mum’s so proud of Lucy for economising to save for a bigger deposit on their new house. I daren’t tell Mum that I’ve maxed the limit on my credit card again. She’s already paid a chunk off for me and she’ll go mad if she finds out. It’s annoying because I was doing okay with managing my finances until Merlin ran up a huge vet bill with his sinus trouble a few weeks ago.
I don’t want to see Lucy and I’m certain she doesn’t want to see me so I’ll make myself scarce. We’ve managed to avoid each other since the party. I’ve never felt such animosity from her and can’t see her forgiving me any time soon. Not that I’ve done anything that needs forgiving. She’s the one who’s in the wrong. Lucy and that git of a fiancé. Maybe I’ll go to Pret for one of their vegan mac and greens dishes before I go to work, and stay out of their way. ‘Okay, I’ll cook another night. Don’t worry about making me anything. I’ll probably go out.’
‘You and Lucy can’t avoid each other forever. It upsets me to think my daughters aren’t even on speaking terms.’
‘Ellis kissed me, Mum, not the other way around. I don’t even fancy him. His sweat smells of cat piss for a start. He’s the one who ruined the party.’ I’d gone straight to my room after the kiss but from what Grace told me most people drifted away after that. ‘Lucy should chin him off,’ I add.
‘Chin him off?’
‘Finish with him.’
I forget Mum speaks a different language sometimes. I still feel bad that Mum’s night was spoiled so I don’t tell her that Lucy has been an absolute bitch to me ever since the incident. She’s sent me poisonous texts and even makes venomous remarks on Facebook every time I post something. I know I don’t always conform to her standards of behaviour and don’t allow her to control my life but her animosity feels unjustified to me. I don’t like Lucy particularly, but I don’t loath her. The thought of how she feels… Well, it hurts.
‘She’ll come round,’ Mum says.
‘Probably.’ I admire her optimism but I don’t actually agree. This rift over Ellis goes deeper than a petty squabble. It’s turned hostility into hatred as far as I can see. ‘I’ll try and get on with her better,’ I say, because I don’t want Mum worrying, but the truth is that I’m struggling to see a way forward for Lucy and me.
‘You’ve always been a sensitive little soul.’ Mum rubs my back in a gesture of affection and I jump up to give her a big hug.
She gasps in surprise. My family has never been particularly demonstrative but I adore hugs and kisses. ‘I love you, Mumsy Bear,’ I say, using her pet name from my childhood and squeezing her. ‘I’m so glad you’re feeling stronger again. You’ve lost weight, though.’ I step back and hold her arms, looking her up and down.
She laughs and pats her stomach. ‘I wanted to get rid of a bit of flab before it gets out of hand. I’ve noticed how a lot of women in their fifties and sixties thicken around the waist.’
I’m not sure I believe her and I wish I could talk to Lucy about it.
I pull on my jodhpurs and a T-shirt then collect my grooming kit from a shelf in the dusty barn. Merlin whickers when he hears me and thrusts his nose over the stable door before he starts kicking it.
‘Hey, don’t be so impatient!’ I try to put his head collar on over the door but he’s having none of it today so I open the stable door and slip in next to him, bolting it again so he can’t barge his way out.
The stable smells of manure, warm hay and Merlin. I love it. Merlin’s in danger of treading on my feet so I push his chest to ease him back then slip his head collar and lead rope on. He almost trots through the doorway then spins around as I try to tie him up. He’s like a kid who’s had the equine equivalent of Smarties today –as if someone has fed him carrots and oats – and here was I expecting him to be lethargic with the hot weather we’ve had recently. It promises to be an exciting hack.
I brush Merlin until his black coat gleams and he calms a little until I attempt to pick out his hooves and then he’s a complete prat, shifting his weight and refusing to lift his feet. I’m knackered by the time I fetch my pride and joy – my beautiful, expensive vegan-friendly saddle and tack from the barn. No leather for me. Sunlight slices through the small window catching dust mites and cobwebs, and I sneeze and wipe my nose on my hand.
When we go through the gate into the paddock Merlin lifts his head and squeals with excitement. I walk, or try to walk him, calmly across the paddocks and glance back at my family home. It nestles at the bottom of the slope surrounded by low walls and pathways made from sandstone. I’m so lucky to live here. There aren’t many properties that can boast fields leading into woodland with endless bridleways.
As we enter the woods the trees shimmer and rustle in the gentle breeze and shafts of sunlight warm the damp earth, releasing a pungent odour of leaf mould. Thick ferns camouflage logs and holes so I keep to the path. Merlin is still skittish and I need a firm grip on the reins to control him. I hear children’s voices in the distance and a terrier runs along a path nearby, making Merlin prance sideways. ‘Sshhh, you’re okay,’ I say, patting his neck. ‘It’s only a little dog.’
He calms down at the sound of my voice and his pace slows, but not for long. He’s like a jack-in-the-box waiting for the lid to be opened. When we get to the spot where the track widens I loosen the reins and tap his sides lightly. He tosses his head, gives a small buck of excitement, then we’re off at a canter up and down the hills. It’s exhilarating and my heart lifts with pure joy. Further along the bridleway I see a small wooden shack tucked between the trees. It always reminds me of something out of a fairy story but it’s probably just a gamekeeper’s shed. For some reason, Merlin is a bit nervous of it so as he gets nearer I sit deeper into the saddle and tell him he’s a brave boy.
We’re almost alongside it when someone suddenly flaps a bright orange carrier bag out of the small window. Merlin rears up and I catch my head on a branch, jarring my neck. Fuck! ‘Whoa, steady boy, steady.’
But this time Merlin won’t be soothed. He’s spooked and his flight instinct has him spinning 180 degrees to face the direction we’ve just come from. He lowers his head to release the bit and bolts at full gallop. I barely have time to steady myself and my foot slips forward in the left stirrup. Trees flash past and the ground races beneath us. I feel the power of his muscles hurtling us along narrow tracks. Please don’t let anyone come the other way. Where’s the little dog? Where are the children? Oh God, they could be killed.
My heart crashes like a wrecking ball against my ribs. I’m in danger of falling off but manage to bring the stirrup back under the ball of my foot then apply pressure with my lower legs. I have to fight my instinct to lean forward and grasp his mane as this would only make him go faster. Instead, I try to force my weight deep into the saddle but it’s not easy when I have to duck under low branches. Twigs slice across my face and I feel a trickle of blood on my cheek. ‘Whoa, steeeaaddy, whoooaa, Merlin. It’s okay.’
I flex the reins to gain control. Thank God I’ve been riding for years. A less experienced rider would be on the ground by now and possibly trampled or dragged along by a foot trapped in a stirrup.
We leave the shed far behind and Merlin slows until we’re walking again. He’s covered in white sweat and we’re both breathing heavily. That was bloody scary! I’ve heard so many horror stories of people dying or suffering life-changing injuries in riding accidents. We take our time going home and I think back over what I saw – an arm emerging from the window and shaking the bag. A kid pratting about? I’d like to think so but the arm had been clad in a light blue sleeve and I know someone who has a jacket just like that. Someone who’s well aware of Merlin’s fear of carrier bags.
But that would mean the carrier bag was used on purpose to scare Merlin and cause… What? An accident? Even a fatal accident?
I shudder to dislodge the icy suspicion that trickles down my spine. I’m being ridiculous. Putting two and two together to make five. B
ecause Lucy and I might not get along but there’s no way she’d want to cause me actual harm. Is there?
Chapter 18
The Previous February | Sarah
I flick past news of floods and politics then freeze in horror at the next headline.
Businessman stabbed to death in holiday lodge.
‘I can’t breathe as I read on. They know who he is. His wife has identified him. Oh, Sweet Jesus. The feeling that I might have got away begins to unravel. They’ll be able to trace his flight to Glasgow. Thank God he got a cab to the hotel in Paisley where I picked him up after my late shift. Will the police trace the cab? Will there be CCTV at the hotel? Sweat prickles in my armpits and I feel sick.
A picture of Robert appears below the text and I stare at his dark hair and easy smile. For a moment I miss him. He was to blame, though. He shouldn’t have led me on like he did and made me believe we had a future together when he never had any intention of leaving his wife. He shouldn’t have made me feel that I don’t matter.
‘Hi Sarah, everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
I jump and quickly minimise the screen. Mark’s standing beside my monitor with a soppy look on his face. I’m sure if he had a tail it would be wagging. Thankfully, he wasn’t able to see the screen from that angle.
‘Just seen my bank statement,’ I lie with a small laugh.
‘That bad, eh? How about a coffee to distract you from your pain?’
His wide smile would be attractive if it didn’t make his nose appear more hooked and I can’t help comparing him to good-looking Robert. Mark is certainly keen on me, though, and it occurs to me that his liking for me might actually be useful. If I get involved with him it may throw suspicion away from me. I might even be able to work up to moving in with him so I don’t have to live at Mum’s and that might make it harder for the police to find me. ‘I’m working until four but could meet you after that.’
‘Cool. I’ll see you at the entrance.’ He strolls away casually, but as he turns for the stairs he raises his fist in a gesture of triumph.
I smile to myself and bring up the news article again but I’m soon frowning as I consider what will happen if the police discover my number plate. I had to remove the tape the other day because the rain was causing it to peel off in places and it looked suspicious. I can’t afford to ditch my car. I’ll have to ask Desperate Derek next door to sort me out a new number plate. He won’t ask questions and he’ll do anything for me if there’s a kiss and grope as payment. I shudder at the thought but don’t see that I have a choice. I wonder briefly if he’ll swap my car too, for a fuller payment.
I close the internet and sit back in my chair. Now that Robert has been identified I need to think my situation through again. The article has appealed for witnesses who may have seen him. Will any of the staff at the hotel where we’d spent a weekend in January recognise him and describe me? I think back to the waiter, bar worker and receptionist. Unlikely. They all spoke limited English and probably work too many hours to watch the news.
The bigger risk is the coffee shop where we first met. I’d been sitting reading a magazine when Robert had passed by only to stumble over the strap of his laptop bag and slop coffee onto my magazine. He’d told me to wait there and rushed down the road to the newsagents to buy another one. We’d got chatting after that and met the next evening for dinner. Whenever he was in the area for work we met at the café until the relationship escalated to hotel rooms and finally, six months later, to the lodge in Scotland. He was the first man in my life to treat me with some measure of respect and kindness. Or at least the appearance of it. At last, I’d thought, I was going to have the loving home that so eluded me and create a family of my own. Stupid, gullible bitch.
I can’t put it off any longer. I need to go back to Manchester to gather up my belongings from the bedsit I rented then write a letter of notice to the landlord. He’ll soon find another tenant. No, wait. My mind splinters in different directions. Think, Sarah! If I don’t pay the rent by Monday, he’ll evict me anyway – use his key, dump all my stuff and wipe a cloth around the room for the next person who wants to pay cash. I’ve seen him do it to other tenants. My work colleagues at the local minimarket and bar will guess I’m not coming back, and as I’m only known to them all as Trina there’ll be no link to the real me.
Thank God I’d decided on a new identity there and enlisted Derek’s help in getting new fake documents to enable me to find a job and rent a room. No-one wants to be known as the daughter of a murderer, and even though it happened a while ago it re-surfaces sometimes. Still, escaping my bleak history has created some advantages. Going back to Manchester would be the worst decision I could make as it might trigger someone’s memory if they saw me. I lean back in my chair, grasp the edge of the desk and inhale deeply. I have to stay in Milton Keynes even if it means being Sarah again. I have to bide my time until I can think of a new plan and that could possibly include a guy called Mark.
Chapter 19
The Following July | Jenna
I give Merlin a thorough hose down and use the sweat scraper to remove all the sweat and water then put him back in the stable. He stands quietly and drops his head in a doze. I clean and put away the tack, and amble back to the house. I feel knackered and wonder how I’ll have the energy to stand all night behind the bar. When I walk into the kitchen I’m surprised to see Mum and Grace sitting at the table drinking tea.
‘What happened to you?’ Mum’s expression is full of concern as she sees my face. I’d forgotten about the scratches.
‘Nothing serious,’ I shrug, and walk through to the dining room to examine myself in the huge mirror. My face is smudged with dried blood and streaked with green moss. A long scratch runs from my cheekbone to my jaw. I was lucky the branch missed my eye. My forearms look like I’ve self-harmed.
I return to the kitchen.
‘I’ll make you some tea.’ Grace jumps up and rushes to the kettle. ‘I’m about to start the cleaning. Shall I do your bedroom for you? You look done in.’
I see Mum’s shoulders tense as she contemplates paying someone else to clean her adult daughter’s bedroom. ‘Thanks Grace, I’ll appreciate the tea but I’ll sort out my room.’
‘I messaged Grace and she bought some milk on her way over,’ Mum says. ‘You’d used the last bit and I couldn’t wait for you to finish your ride.’
‘Your mum and I were just talking about your dad,’ Grace says, deflecting Mum from her nagging.
‘Really?’ I’ve learned to avoid the subject with Mum and Lucy because they get upset. I look at Mum to see how she’s coping but she seems fine.
‘Come here, Jenna; let me bathe your face.’ Mum reaches for some cotton wool from the first aid box. ‘It looks sore. Did you fall off Merlin?’
‘No, but only because I’m a good rider. Someone spooked him and he bolted.’
‘Surely not on purpose?’ she asks.
I stay silent, wincing as she opens up the cut again with the wet cotton wool. I can see fresh blood on it. ‘Hang on a minute.’
I move my head aside and go into the utility room and rummage through the jackets that hang in there. The blue one Lucy wears when she walks in the woods is gone. I return to Mum who’s wetting a piece of kitchen roll to clean the streaks of dirt off my face.
‘Just sit down and keep still, Jenna,’ she says.
Should I tell Mum my suspicions? No, I don’t want to alarm her. I’ll deal with this on my own. I sit still as she cleans my face, trying not to flinch from the discomfort, when the back door opens and Lucy appears in the utility room doorway.
‘Hi, love. You’re early. Is Ellis with you?’ Mum asks.
‘I… Erm… I thought I’d give you a hand with dinner.’ Lucy glances at Mum then stares at me, taking in my injuries with curiosity rather than compassion.
Grace passes me a cup of tea then bends down to get cleaning materials from under the sink.
‘What happ
ened?’ Lucy asks me.
‘Ooh, let’s think,’ I say. ‘An accident?’ I emphasise the word accident. ‘Where have you been this afternoon?’
‘I… I…’ Lucy flushes a deep red, which is a dead giveaway in my eyes, then looks wildly from one face to another. ‘I went to meet a friend for coffee.’
‘Which friend?’ I ask.
‘Sally. Why? What’s it to you?’
‘I thought she was in Ibiza with a group of real friends. I’ve seen the pictures on Facebook.’
‘I meant Sophie. Yes, Sophie.’
‘So, you weren’t hiding in the little hut when I rode through the woods. You didn’t spook Merlin with a carrier bag.’ I forget I’d planned to keep my suspicions to myself.
Lucy’s eyes are like full moons. ‘Why the hell would I do that?’
‘Where’s your blue walking jacket, then?’
‘Hanging up, probably. Why? What’s she going on about, Mum?’
Grace has straightened up and is staring at the three of us. She probably hasn’t encountered such family animosity before. From what she’s told me, her life as an only child has been quiet and uneventful.
I look at Mum and watch in horror as her face folds in on itself. Oh, God, she’s going to cry and it’s entirely that bitch Lucy’s fault.
‘Look what you’ve done now!’ I shout at Lucy before I can stop myself.
‘Enough, Jenna,’ Mum says. ‘Why can’t you two be nice to each other? I can’t bear it.’ She rushes from the room, taking all the warmth from it until all that remains is a cold silence.
Grace walks over to us and, unusually for such a mild person, I see that she’s annoyed. ‘You two really need to sort out your differences for your mum’s sake. Jenna, Lucy wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. She loves you, don’t you, Lucy?’ She stares at Lucy who stares back then glances to the doorway Mum just left through.
