It was the last day of Danielle Levy's life.
As she sauntered round the corner into Heathcote Road on her way back from a hard half-day's work at sixth-form college, she was glad that it hadn’t been a full day and that she could enjoy the afternoon in the sun.
It had been Maths today. It was always bloody Maths. Despite the fact that she had chosen to study Drama and English Literature as her two main A-levels, her mother had insisted that she choose at least one 'proper' subject. She'd thrown in Classics as her fourth option. Another protest to piss her parents off, but she was actually quite enjoying it. She hoped one day to be a Drama teacher, or perhaps English. She’d be one of those cool teachers that all the kids loved, not like those stuffy idiots at Woodlands.
Woodlands was all right, she supposed. It wasn't an all-purpose college like the one she had planned to attend before her family moved to Mildenheath, but it was all right. The sixth-form college was somewhat amalgamated with the upper school, which ruined the sense of adult independence as far as she was concerned. How could you feel like you were no longer at school when you were in a school? The same teachers, the same classrooms. The same snotty-nosed little brats who didn't know what it meant to be grown up. She’d have to deal with that when she was a teacher, but she’d find a way.
Every day when she turned the corner into Heathcote Road, her heart sank a little. True enough, it was the road she lived on, but her house was a good seven hundred yards further along the road; a road which seemed to get longer and longer every time she walked it. She had lived at 101 Heathcote Road only for a couple of months, but she had already become attached to the house. It was on a quiet estate on the edge of town, mostly three- and four-bedroom houses, nice spacious gardens and no problems to worry about. Not like the last house. Passing the parade of shops, walking up the hill and exiting the right-hand bend to see her house standing proud in the summer sunshine always made her feel warm and glorious. It was home.
Darren's van was parked jauntily on the cracked concrete driveway as she skirted around the edge of the lawn towards the front door. Her step-father tended to finish work early on Fridays. Not that he didn't finish early on every other day. She guessed there wasn't much call for carpet fitters after 2pm on a weekday.
Turning her key in the lock and crunching the bottom of the door over the pile of letters which lay in wait on the doormat, she heaved her rucksack against the wine rack, picked up the post and made her way towards the kitchen. The door had been locked, so it was clear to Danielle that she was alone in the house. No biggie, though. It was a Friday and Darren often brought his van home and went straight to the pub after work on Fridays. A few hours of afternoon sun in the beer garden. Who could blame him?
It was then that she heard the familiar creaking of the back door.