by J. A. Baker
In The Dying Minutes
J.A. Baker
Copyright © 2020 J.A. Baker
The right of J.A. Baker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2020 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN 978-1-913419-79-0
Contents
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Also by J.A. Baker
Part I
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Part II
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
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Also by J.A. Baker
Undercurrent
The Cleansing
The Retreat
The Other Mother
Finding Eva
The Uninvited
The Woman at Number 19
The Girl I Used To Be
For family.
Always.
“Death twitches my ear;
‘Live,’ he says…
‘I’m coming.’”
― Virgil
Part I
Prologue
The Diary
He loves me, he loves me not.
Jacob, the love of my life, the only person I have ever truly adored, loves me not.
I am bereft, completely helpless, unable to function at the most basic of levels. All I want to do is lie in bed and think about our lives together, about the love that we shared and the unique bond we had. I want to ponder over all the good times we experienced, all the bad times even. How we melded together as one, complementing each other. Two bodies, two minds fused together for what I hoped would be forever. And now it’s over.
We are over.
A cruel end to a beautiful beginning.
I’ve tried to speak to him, to tell him that us being apart is a big mistake but he refuses to listen. His mind is made up. If I could turn back the clock, do things differently, then I would. But I can’t. What’s done is done and cannot be undone. I made some mistakes and now I honestly don’t think I can live without him. Jacob is all I have ever thought about. From the very first minute we met he has been on my mind – every day, every night, his beautiful face filling my thoughts, his gentle honeyed voice lulling me into a near hypnotic state.
I remember it so clearly – the first time we met. I was moving into my flat, my arms loaded up with boxes. I bumped into him as we passed on the path. He offered to help, his eyes, his voice making me weak with desire. I accepted and together we bustled our way inside, laughing simultaneously as we collided, becoming jammed in the doorway before falling into the living room in a heap. The attraction was instantaneous. It was love at first sight. Such a cliché, I know, but that’s how it was. The way he looked at me made my heart flip. His conventional good looks and those eyes. Oh God, those eyes…
Two days later we were an item. It didn’t take long. Why waste time with formalities when you both know it’s meant to be. We spent every spare moment together, did everything together, loved passionately.
And now he’s gone.
I’m lying here on my bed, crying again. I can’t help it. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. I’m nothing without him. Everything I did, everything I said, revolved around Jacob and now he’s not here I have no idea what to do, how to live my life without him in it. He filled my every waking moment, my thoughts given over to him and how our relationship would develop in the future. Except it didn’t. It came to an end and I have no idea how to react to that. I no longer know how to get through the day without him being here by my side. Everything is tinged with a dull impenetrable greyness that refuses to lift. I’m at a low ebb – rock bottom, actually – my life crushed. I’ve been sucked into a black hole, a great big void that is destroying me from the inside out.
I can’t continue living like this. Something has to give. This isn’t me. It’s not who I am. I’m stronger than this, a fighter. Tough and resilient. Or I used to be. Now look at me. This is what he’s reduced me to. This is what they have reduced me to.
When this sorry mess is over, I hope people will remember that I’m the victim here, that I did what I had to do to survive the bad times. My life has been ripped in two, the dry parchment of my existence crumpled to nothing in the palm of his hand. The pair of them watched my life disintegrate and turn to dust and stood by and watched, doing nothing to help.
I’m useless without him, a vacuous nobody. I have nothing to live for, nothing to lose.
So whatever happens next, should a dreadful calamity occur, know this – I was forced into it. They made me do it. None of what takes place from this point on is my fault.
1
Present day
The train slices through the sprawling swathe of fertile green. Leah gazes out at it all; mile after mile of fields filled with crops, divided by lengths of crooked fencing and tangles of gnarled hedgerows. She keeps her eyes glued to it, her attention focused on the distant farmhouses, the impossibly straight lines of electricity pylons that stand tall and proud; huge silver entities that stretch over the spread of farmland and beyond. Her gaze doesn’t stray, staying focused on the winding country lanes and the stream of cars that snake through them. She refuses to blink as she stares up at the azure sky, the wispy clouds and the white vapour trails that hang there like lengths of snowy candy floss – she sees it all, refusing to look away.
If she does that and keeps still, it may just be enough to stop the pain at the back of her head from developing into something more, something bigger than the current small nagging ac
he.
She keeps her eyes fixed on the smudge of green, staring intently at the starlings that scatter and scimitar above the rolling fields, their bodies a cloud of darkness as they take flight and flutter up to the heavens. Anything to stop her migraine from erupting. She counts trees and fields, studies grazing cattle, thinks about her journey, the reason for it. And stops, her flesh cold, her breathing suddenly laboured.
She rummages in the bag sitting beside her, her fingers trembling as she delves into its many side pockets. Why didn’t she think to bring some headache tablets with her? Too many things to think about, too much to do, that was the problem. She closes her eyes and rests her head back on the seat, thinking about what her priorities actually were before getting here. Opening her eyes, she grits her teeth, refusing to give it headspace. Packing her meagre things and boarding this train – that was all she had to focus on and now she has done it she can relax. Nothing else matters. Nothing.
Her fingers continue groping about, landing on a bottle of water tucked away at the bottom. She pulls it out, unscrews the cap and glugs back the remainder of the liquid. It’s warm but it soothes her throat and eases her headache. She shoves the empty plastic bottle back inside the bag, scrapes her hair back into a ponytail, tying it up with a band and pressing it in place with the palm of her hand. Her face is devoid of any make-up and if she were to look in the mirror right now, she feels sure the reflection staring back at her would be that of a stranger. This isn’t her. Not the usual Leah. But then, something happened to the usual Leah a while back. Something that damaged her irreparably. She isn’t the person people think she is. The person she used to be departed a long time ago. She no longer knows herself and – if she is being perfectly honest – now doubts she ever did.
A voice echoes over the PA system announcing the next stop – York. She feels a wave of tension begin to leave her, slipping out from under her skin, escaping out through her pores. Her fears, her many crippling anxieties get swallowed up by the surrounding noises and gentle pull of the train. The greater the separation from her starting point, the calmer she feels.
The headache that threatened to swamp her wanes as she massages the base of her skull, her fingers pressing and kneading at her flesh. The water has helped. That was a lucky find. Why wasn’t she more organised? Why does she seem to spend her life in such a damn hurry? Always running, always escaping from the problems that trail in her wake. Dashing, struggling. In too much of a rush to leave her old life behind. Too eager to get away from Jacob, from Chloe, from their unreasonable behaviour. Too eager to escape from what took place.
She thinks of her destination, Aunt Mary’s house in London, and allows herself a small smile. It’s been such a long time since Leah has seen her that even the thought of Mary’s face brings a lump to her throat. The world needs more Aunt Marys. A diminutive, elf-like creature, Mary is the epitome of kindness and compassion, always with a ready smile and a shoulder to cry on, always listening. Always caring. Mary is all she has left. They were always close, Mary like a second mother to her, speaking to Leah on the phone when she was a child, making sure she was happy and settled, letting her know that the guinea pigs were thriving, the only pets she ever loved and cared for.
Leah stares out of the window again. Aunt Mary will understand. She will realise why Leah had to leave Durham and head for London. Leah won’t have to explain that Chloe’s behaviour had become intolerable, as had Jacob’s. It impinged on every aspect of her life until Leah had to pack up and go. She had to do it and now there is no looking back. She will spend time in London with her aunt, reflect on everything that has happened and then think about what her next move is going to be.
People fill the aisle as the train pulls into York station. The doors hiss. The crowds murmur and shuffle along, stopping to grab at bags and to pull on backpacks. Leah watches them step off the train, wheeling small suitcases, hurrying home to their loved ones. A sliver of envy creeps under her skin, pulsing and throbbing within her. She blinks back tears, tells herself to get a grip, to stop imagining how it must feel to be loved unconditionally, to have somebody who is always on your side and always by your side instead of having to suffer the excruciating loneliness that she has had to endure over the past few months.
More passengers board, their expressions unreadable, their shoulders hunched. She watches a couple of young women as they scan the carriage for their seats, checking their tickets and murmuring under their breath. They are both similar to her in age and have a pained look in their eyes as if they’re carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Leah shakes her head in exasperation and looks away in disgust. She wonders what reasons they have for looking so dejected and miserable. She would like to challenge them, to compare her life with theirs, get them to understand what real misery feels like.
The boarding takes just minutes, the changeover seamless as new people step aboard and locate their seats, shuffling into them, placing bags at their feet and opening laptops and tablets, eyes glued to their screens as the movement starts once again and they continue their journey south.
Leah looks around at the eclectic mix of passengers – business people, shoppers, mothers with babies strapped close to them, even school children with their mussed-up hair and smart blazers. She bites at her lip nervously, pleased to have a seat with a table. It’s a long journey when you’re forced to stare at the back of a seat.
A low hum fills the coach, the sound of a moving train, of people talking, tapping at laptops and tablets, whispering into phones. Sitting opposite her is a man in his thirties. He’s dressed in a black pinstripe suit, his attention focused solely on his computer screen. Standing up next to him, leaning over his shoulder, is a young woman wearing a beige cotton jacket. She has bright eyes, clear skin, her countenance one of eternal cheerfulness. She notices Leah watching her and nods, her mouth fixed into a wide grin. She reminds Leah of a sloth with her permanent smile, her dark eyes and short brown hair combed flat against her head.
Leah returns the gesture, nodding in return, wondering why she is still standing, her body rocking back and forth in rhythm with the movement of the train when there is clearly a seat available. She hopes this chirpy-looking female doesn’t want to engage her in conversation. She isn’t in the mood for chatting, for making inane talk about the weather and how diabolical and unpredictable British summers are. She has neither the energy nor the inclination for it.
‘This is definitely seat 26B, isn’t it?’ the woman says, cautiously checking her ticket against the small sign on the wall adjacent to her head.
‘It is,’ Leah replies quietly, dipping her eyes away. She doesn’t want to become embroiled in this. All she wants is to sit in silence, to enjoy some solitude away from her problems, from what she has left behind.
The woman remains still, her head turned, her eyes darting about the carriage before coming back to land on Leah. ‘I’m really sorry to ask this, but I don’t suppose we could swap seats? I’m not good with travelling backwards. It makes me nauseous.’
Leah doesn’t answer, keeping her gaze diverted. She’s tired and wants to be left alone to rake over her thoughts and plans. She definitely doesn’t want this.
‘Only, I did request a forward-facing seat when I booked my ticket but it looks like there weren’t any left and I really do get quite bad motion sickness if I face the wrong way…’
Resisting the urge to tell her to go away, to find somebody else to pester, Leah nods and stands, figuring the alternative of a puce-faced vomiting woman sitting opposite her is far less appealing than switching seats.
‘Thank you. I really do appreciate this,’ the woman says, sliding her way into Leah’s seat, settling herself in with more drama than is necessary. She gives Leah another smile and nods to the window. ‘Rubbish weather, isn’t it? At least it’s warm though,’ she says, indicating outside to the veil of drizzle that has started up, covering the landscape, colouring everything in a drab shade of grey.
> ‘Yes,’ Leah replies, doing her utmost to not bang her head against the Formica table in utter frustration at being held to conversational ransom with this person. It’s all she can do to suppress a dramatic eye-roll and sigh out loud. Instead, she manages a tight smile, meeting the young woman’s gaze and holding it for a little longer than is necessary. ‘As you say, at least it’s warm though.’ She hopes this is enough. She hopes her attempts at responding in a polite, brusque manner will convey her need to be left alone. She isn’t in the mood for talking. She isn’t in the mood for anything except ruminating over what she has left behind and guessing at what lies ahead. She has given up her seat for this woman. What more can this stranger possibly want?
‘I’m Rachel by the way,’ she says, her travel sickness relegated to the back of her mind.
Leah nods and says nothing in return, thinking that Rachel’s behaviour reminds her of a petulant child, suddenly chirpy and amiable once their demands are met.
