Till the Dust Settles

by Pat Young

  Diane moved a little closer to the pair, openly watching now.

  ‘What did you say?’ Daddy asked, grinning. ‘I can’t hear you for all that water.’

  ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I always will.’ She silently mouthed the name. ‘Dylan.’ And kissed him on the lips.

  Mommy obviously didn’t understand how easy it was to lip-read a word that began with D. A foolish and careless mistake for her to make after all this time. She was letting down her guard, relaxed perhaps by the thought of escaping to another continent.

  ‘Want me to give you a moment?’ asked Daddy.

  Diane held her breath until the woman nodded.

  Diane exhaled, controlling her breathing, as she’d been shown. She checked her pocket. It was there, at her fingertips, ready to use.

  Mommy touched the memorial, like a benediction. Diane moved in close and, her hand hidden from view, took aim. At such close range, two shots would be all she needed to end this here and now. One through the heart for the woman and one through the roof of her own mouth. Revenge, fast and sweet.

  ‘Mommy, come on!’

  As his little body pushed past he jostled Diane and his mother said, ‘Ethan, say sorry to the nice lady.’

  The child looked up and smiled at her. His eyes were as blue as her own.

  ‘Sorry, nice lady,’ he said, in the voice of an angel, and took his mom by the hand.

  The little family walked away, without looking back, focused on ice creams and dreams.

  Diane stuck the rosebud into the L of Lucie Jardine’s name, patted the cold bronze and whispered. ‘See you on down the road, Lucie.’

  They paid Diane no attention as she flipped open her phone and said, ‘It’s Plan B after all. Meet you in Europe.’ THE END

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  Acknowledgments

  I never planned on becoming a writer but a story got into my head. Rita Costick told me I should write it. Rita, my friend, I am forever in your debt.

  Writing is a solitary business. Getting published isn’t. I am grateful to so many people for helping me along the way. My critical friends, too many to name here, read my stories and tell me, honestly, what they think. I hope you all know how much I appreciate you. Joining Ayr Writers was a big step, but I’d not have made it this far without your support and I’ll always be grateful for it. Special gratitude is due to Caro Ramsay and Michael J Malone who have always said this day would come and whose faith and advice are invaluable to me. I must thank my pet surgeon, Stef Young, without whose knowledge Curtis would not have suffered such convincing injuries.

  Finally, boundless thanks to all at Bloodhound Books. What a team!