Keep You Safe

by Rona Halsall

  She leans back in her chair. ‘I posed as you to make it look like you’d been in the office and transferred the money. Did loads of stuff to make you think you were going mad.’ She laughs, a harsh, mirthless sound. ‘Now I have to admit that was a lot of fun. The oxy in the tonic was a brainwave, even if I do say so myself.’ She laughs again. ‘I set it all up. All of it. And you thought it was Tom! I’ll have to admit I had a good giggle when I read your letters.’

  She gives a satisfied smile, but it falls from her lips and she frowns. ‘But then I could see you were so determined to get Harry back that I started to get worried. You weren’t broken at all, even after serving the extra time. I thought that was going to be the final nail in the coffin as far as your ambitions to be Harry’s mother were concerned, I really did, but it seemed to make you even more determined.’ Her expression turns to puzzlement. ‘How could you not realise he wouldn’t know you? Wouldn’t want anything to do with you? Anyway, you kept telling me you’d come for him, so I had to keep in touch to know what you were planning. Very handy that was. But then they let you out early and all my plans were shot to pieces.’ She throws her hands up, exasperated. ‘I should have been gone before you were released, moved away where you couldn’t find me. I had it all sorted. Not that Tom had a clue.’

  Sasha sits back and looks down at her hands, twiddles a ring round her finger, lost in her thoughts for a moment. Natalie pushes against her bindings again and hears a ping as a nail hits the floor.

  Sasha looks up.

  Natalie looks down and shuffles her feet. Did she hear?

  But Sasha’s gaze shifts back to Tom. Natalie breathes again.

  ‘Anyway. It’s all history now.’ She looks at Natalie, gives a dismissive flap of her hand and stands up. ‘The past is the past. And Harry’s future is nothing to do with you. He’s safe and sound. We’ve got a lovely new life waiting for us. You honestly don’t need to worry.’

  Sasha says it as if she’s taken Natalie’s favourite lipstick, rather than her son.

  Words jam in Natalie’s throat. She glares at Sasha, wishing she would shrivel up and die, right there, in front of her eyes. But the only person who’s likely to be dying is Natalie.

  Sasha paces up and down, in her element now, as the last act plays out to a captive audience.

  ‘It’s your fault he’s dead, you know.’ She nods towards Tom.

  Natalie frowns.

  ‘Nobody was supposed to die. Not even you.’ She jabs a finger at Natalie. ‘This is all your fault. You told me he was taking Harry to Kuwait.’ She looks at Natalie with wild eyes. ‘I didn’t even know he was leaving me. Can you believe it? The sneaky bastard was just going to go. Text me when he got there or something. He knew that I had to go away to work for a few days and wouldn’t notice until it was too late.’

  She stops, eyes staring at the cooker, where an omelette pan sits on the hob. ‘I hit him with that pan. Cast iron. Smashed his head in.’ She makes it sound of no consequence, like she chipped a plate taking it out of the dishwasher.

  Sasha turns, her hands balled into fists. ‘But he deserved to die, you know. Making me live in a rented shithole like this because he gambled away all our money. Then—’ her voice hitches ‘—then he thinks he can take my son away from me. The most precious thing I have in the world.’

  She flicks a glance across the room.

  ‘I put the steps up over there. Tried to make it look like he fell off changing a lightbulb.’ She scrunches up her face. ‘But I’m not sure it looks too convincing.’

  She frowns, then smiles. ‘Ooh, I’ve just had a better idea. Duh!’ She slaps her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘Bit slow on the uptake with this one.’ She walks over to the cooker and picks up the pan.

  ‘Let’s make it look like you killed him. Then it’ll be all tidy.’

  Sasha goes to the sink to wash her fingerprints off the pan handle and while her back is turned, Natalie pushes against the sheet with all her strength. It tears, quite a lot this time and another nail pings to the floor, the noise drowned out by the sound of the tap. Natalie lets out a slow breath, the sheet so slack around her body now, she has to hold it in place.

  Wait, till you can grab her, she tells herself, knowing that she needs an element of surprise.

  Music suddenly fills the room, and Sasha looks up. She reaches over and takes her phone out of her handbag, which sits on the worktop next to the cooker.

  ‘Yep,’ she says, then listens, her eyes on Natalie all the time. ‘Well, just give him a snack if he’s hungry… I don’t mind, whatever you’ve got.’ She nods, lips pursed. ‘Well, if it’s got to be Candy Crush, let him play on my iPad.’ She sighs and puts a hand to her forehead. ‘What? No… no, I don’t know when I’ll be finished. Not too long.’ She looks at her watch. ‘You’re kidding me! I can’t… right, right. Yes, I know. Yep. Okay.’ Her voice rises. ‘Twenty minutes? Are you serious?’ She nods, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. Her stare hardens. ‘Yes, okay. Don’t worry. I’ll be there.’

  Sasha walks over to where she dropped the knife and picks it up. ‘Change of plan,’ she says, walking towards Natalie, an expression of grim determination on her face. ‘Turns out I haven’t got time for plan A. So, we’ll have to go with plan B. You and Tom had a domestic and fatally wounded each other.’ Her lips are stretched into a tight line. ‘So much easier, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.’

  Fifty-Six

  Now

  Natalie yanks at the sheet with all the power she can muster. It falls to her waist, but a couple of nails hold it to the chair.

  Still trapped!

  Her heart flips, but her mind is focused. Because what she does next will determine if she lives or dies.

  Sasha lunges towards her with the knife. Natalie throws her weight sideways.

  Just in time.

  Sasha misses, losing her balance when the knife doesn’t hit its expected target and she stumbles, catching hold of the worktop to stop herself from falling.

  Natalie curls her body as the chair crashes to the floor. She manages to keep her head from smacking against the tiles, thankful that she’s falling onto her undamaged shoulder. The wood splinters and the back of the chair breaks away from the seat. Oh, thank God! Natalie is free and she rolls, using the momentum of the fall to get herself back up on to her knees. Just like they practised in self-defence classes.

  Quick as a flash, she swivels round and kicks the chair seat towards Sasha. The wood skitters across the tiles and smacks into Sasha’s shins, making her howl. It halts her for a second, enough time for Natalie to scramble to her feet, stumbling backwards as Sasha advances, lips curled in a snarl, the knife raised above her head like a Samurai sword.

  ‘Sasha, stop it!’ Natalie shouts, retreating until she is blocked by a door that must lead into the hallway. Her best means of escape.

  But Sasha has no intention of stopping.

  She takes a wild slash at Natalie’s neck.

  Aware of every twitch of Sasha’s body, Natalie ducks down low, out of the way. The knife hits the door and spins out of Sasha’s hand. It clatters to the floor and skids under the cooker. And while Sasha watches it fall, Natalie dives forwards, headbutting Sasha in the stomach, using all the power in her legs to push Sasha backwards, slamming the edge of the worktop into her kidneys. Sasha grunts, groans, shocked into stillness and Natalie takes her chance and dashes through the door into a narrow hallway.

  She slams the kitchen door behind her and glances around, puffing and panting, her body fizzing with adrenaline. Stairs run up the right-hand side of the entrance hall, the front door is ahead of her.

  She lunges towards the door, grabs the knob on the Yale lock and turns, but no matter how hard she pulls, it won’t open. She grunts, frowns and pulls harder, eyes flicking around to work out what she might be doing wrong. That’s when she notices the bolts, one at the top and one at the bottom.

  Footsteps slap on the floor behind her.
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  No time, no time, she tells herself, spinning round to face Sasha, her back against the door.

  ‘There’s no way out, you stupid bitch.’ Sasha prowls towards Natalie, teeth bared, panting hard, the knife in her hand. ‘This is going to end right now.’

  Natalie’s heart stutters, like an engine that’s run out of fuel. Her chest heaves. She can’t keep this up, knows that at some point soon, the pain will win.

  She dodges towards the stairs, but Sasha is quick, and before she knows what’s happening, Natalie’s legs are taken from under her by a swift kick and she smacks to the ground. The confined space makes for an awkward landing, and she ends up on her back, like a beetle, unable to right herself.

  ‘Ha ha! Look at you, grovelling on the floor.’ Sasha walks towards her, a predator closing in on its prey. ‘You’re pathetic.’

  ‘Sasha, don’t do this.’ Natalie’s voice wavers.

  Legs. Use your legs. Just wait till she’s close enough.

  ‘Please. Let’s work it out.’ Natalie uses her words as bait to reel Sasha in.

  Sasha halts, a step away, a triumphant look on her face. She cocks her head. ‘Aw, now. Don’t go all whiny on me.’

  Come on, just a little closer.

  Natalie whimpers.

  Sasha takes another step.

  Natalie’s foot smashes into Sasha’s kneecap and she crumples to the floor, landing hard on her hip with a whoomph as the air is forced out of her.

  Get up, get up!

  Natalie urges her body to move and she pushes herself with her feet, sliding along the lino on her back until she can use the stairs to haul herself upright.

  She stumbles up the steps, not daring to look behind.

  A hand grabs her ankle, yanking her backwards.

  She grabs the banister, holding on with all her strength, but she only has one useful arm and her hand is sweaty, her grasp insecure. Her hand slides downwards. Her body starts to go with it as Sasha’s fingernails dig into her skin, clawing and tugging.

  A sudden, burning pain erupts in her thigh, searing down her leg. Natalie screams and looks down to see blood seeping through her clothes. Her stomach heaves. Her hand slides further. Sasha raises the knife, ready for another strike.

  No, no, no.

  With the last of her strength, Natalie lashes out with her foot, a powerful kick that connects with something hard. Sasha’s head? She hears a grunt and does it again. Something crunches. The hand on her ankle lets go and Natalie hurtles up the remaining stairs as though she’s been fired from a catapult.

  Her breath pumps in and out so fast she feels lightheaded, pain stabs at her thigh, blood trickles down her leg and into her shoe.

  At the top of the stairs, she ricochets off the walls, down a short hall and into a bathroom at the end. She slams the door shut and turns the key in the lock. Thank God, she thinks, as she leans on the door, looking at the hefty, old-fashioned ironmongery.

  Seconds later, Sasha slams against the door and rattles the handle. But Natalie knows she is safe for now and she perches on the edge of the bath, her vision fizzing with little black dots, her body hot and sticky, as she gulps in big mouthfuls of air.

  ‘Fucking, fucking, fucking bitch!’ Sasha screams.

  She starts kicking the door. It’s an old-fashioned one, with two frosted glass panels at the top and two wooden panels beneath. Natalie watches it shake, but all the fixings seem secure, despite the onslaught. She starts to tremble, her body weary beyond exhaustion, hurting beyond the boundaries of any pain she’s experienced before. But her mind is sharp. Life or death; when there’s only those two options it tends to clear your thoughts.

  I’ve got to keep going. Get Harry safe.

  Her eyes scan the room. There’s a white bath with a shower over it, toilet, sink, and a built-in airing cupboard by the door. A mirrored cabinet is fixed above the sink and on the far wall, between the toilet and the bath, there’s a window.

  The onslaught of rattling and banging stops.

  Natalie listens and hears footsteps. Not running, but steady. Thump, thump, thump, as they go down the stairs, echoing the beat of Natalie’s heart.

  Has she given up?

  Wishful thinking, Natalie cautions herself. You can’t relax. Not when Sasha knows she has her cornered.

  Natalie presses a hand to her forehead and looks around for something she can use as a weapon. Plastic toys hang in a basket on the tiled wall behind the bath. A bathmat shaped like a whale. Towels on a rail by the door. The windowsill is cluttered with toiletries. She opens the cabinet over the sink and rifles through the contents, but all she can find is a small pair of nail scissors. Not much use, but they go in her back pocket anyway.

  The window is the only way out.

  She sweeps the jars and bottles off the windowsill, sending them clattering to the floor, opens the window and peers out. Below her is the flat roof of the kitchen extension. At least a four-foot drop.

  Can I get out of there? Feet first and hope for the best?

  It’s a possibility.

  With one arm?

  But there isn’t an alternative.

  Don’t think, just do it, she tells herself. She tries to step on to the edge of the bath, her leg sticky with blood, but the muscles refuse to work properly, shaking uncontrollably when she tries to step up. She grabs on to the windowsill to stop herself falling, collects herself for a moment and tries with the other leg, but with her arm in a sling, her balance is all off kilter.

  This is impossible.

  Her heart races faster.

  She grits her teeth and by using her knees, she manages to heave herself to standing with the aid of the shower curtain. In her mind, the manoeuvre to get herself out of the window had seemed so straightforward, but now, as she edges herself on to the windowsill she’s beginning to wonder. Sweat beads on her forehead. She tries to twist her body round, legs scrunched up to her chest but the windowsill is too narrow.

  Tears of frustration sting her eyes. It’s not going to work.

  She hears footsteps running up the stairs and tries again.

  Crash!

  The air fills with the tinkle of broken glass.

  Natalie’s head spins towards the door, mouth open in horror as Sasha glowers at her through the broken panel. There’s murder in her eyes, blood trickling from her nose and into her mouth.

  Wedged in the window, Natalie watches Sasha’s arm reach through the broken panel, feeling for the lock. Jagged shards of glass make the job too treacherous and after a moment, she retrieves her arm, lifts the hammer and starts to clear a bigger hole.

  Natalie slithers off the windowsill and lurches towards the door. Sasha’s hand snakes through the panel, reaching for the key.

  Kick her hand, quick. But Natalie’s leg won’t move properly and she stumbles, bouncing off the sink, then the bath, like she’s in a pinball machine, her forward momentum throwing her against the door.

  The key rattles in the lock.

  Natalie grabs at Sasha’s hand and finds the pressure point at the base of her thumb. She squeezes with all her strength and Sasha squeals. Her fingers straighten for a second, enough time for Natalie to yank the key out of the lock and throw it across the floor.

  Waves of pain flow through her, the floor undulating beneath her feet, like the surface of the sea. Overwhelmed by nausea, she clings to the door handle, unable to move while the world shifts around her.

  A hand slams across Natalie’s neck, pinning her against the door, fingers gripping her windpipe tighter and tighter. Sasha has stuffed her arm through the open panel, right up to her shoulder, her face pressed against the other side of door and although Natalie writhes and struggles, her strength is waning fast and Sasha’s grasp is too tight. In vain, she gasps for breath, dredging her lungs for air.

  Natalie starts to see black dots crowding her vison, darkness invading her head. She struggles harder, her hand slapping at Sasha’s fingers, scratching and clawing at her skin.
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br />   She thinks about Harry, living with this witch, her wickedness infecting his life. Never knowing his real mother and the love she can bring to his world.

  It can’t happen. It can’t.

  With her last mouthful of air, the words of her self-defence instructor march into her mind. Use your head, not your strength.

  And suddenly, she knows what to do.

  Against all her instincts, she makes her body go limp, her deadweight dragging at Sasha’s outstretched arm. Sasha grunts with the effort of holding on and the pressure on Natalie’s windpipe eases slightly, allowing her to draw in air. Minute breaths, so shallow her chest hardly moves, but it’s enough.

  Enough for her to remember.

  The scissors.

  In her back pocket.

  She pulls them out, fingers shaking. Her last hope. With the handles of the scissors clenched in her fist, she jerks her arm towards the hole in the door, smacking the points into Sasha’s flesh with all her might. She can’t see what she’s doing. Can’t see where she’s made her strike. But she feels the slap of Sasha’s skin against her own.

  A spine-chilling scream confirms that she’s hit her mark and Sasha’s hand slackens. Natalie stabs again. And again, knowing that Sasha is unable to defend herself while her shoulder is wedged through the door panel.

  Finally, Sasha lets go and Natalie slides to the floor, rolls out of Sasha’s reach, great gulps of air rushing in and out of her lungs.

  Blood, warm and wet, dribbles down her leg, and her foot squelches in her shoe. But there’s no time to think about it. This is only a temporary respite. The only chance of escape she’s going to get. She crawls across the floor towards the window and drags herself up to standing, body shaking.