Past

Approaching midnight, and the heavens had reopened like there was no tomorrow. Dodging puddles, Clare dashed down an already slick pavement, clutching an increasingly soggy Sun newspaper as a makeshift umbrella. Not that the deluge dampened her high spirits. She almost felt like belting out a few bars of ‘It’s Raining Men’. Smiling coyly to herself, she thought, Make that just one man from now on. Her new fellow had only gone and splashed out on dinner at the posh Italian place.

He was a proper boyfriend, not like the men she normally had dealings with. She could tell by the way he’d looked at her in the restaurant tonight, and by the fact he didn’t bang on about me, me, me all night. He asked lots of questions and actually listened to the answers. Unlike the others, he paid her compliments – not cash. She’d resolved never to sell herself short again.

She was running late now, and dying for the loo, but she didn’t care – she’d had the time of her life. The teenager smiled openly when she caught the scent of his aftershave on her sleeve. Lime and a hint of spearmint. Hopefully she’d still be able to smell it in the morning. What’s more, she’d bet that right this minute he’d be standing exactly where she’d left him after they’d kissed goodnight. He really hadn’t wanted to let her go this time, and maybe she should’ve let him walk her all the way home – but, truth to tell, she didn’t particularly like anyone knowing her exact address. Clare reckoned if walls have ears, windows have eyes. And who she decided to see in her own time was no one’s business but her own.

At the end of her mum’s road she turned, shielded her gaze and peered into the gloom. Yep. Still leaning against the wall, waiting and watching, keeping an eye out for her. She knew he’d not take off until she slipped out of sight. Clare waved, blew a kiss, rounded the corner and, after jettisoning the newspaper in a hedge, stepped up the pace. Her sudden spurt had nothing to do with being out alone after midnight. The girl’s middle name was streetwise but, boy, did she wish she’d not drunk that last pint of cider. Stifling a giggle, she broke into a gangly run, praying she’d make it back before the dam burst.

Apart from damp clothes and drenched hair, a minute later she was home and dry. Home and dry. Nice one, CC. The thought amused her as she fumbled the key in the lock. Why the hell her mum couldn’t remember to leave a light on in the porch when she went to bed Clare would never know.

Like she’d never know what shattered the back of her skull. Like she’d never know who stabbed her when she slumped to the ground. Like she had no idea that she’d die on her own doorstep in a pool of blood and human waste. She didn’t see the dark figure slink into the shadows. She was unaware when vermin started sniffing round her corpse in the early hours, just as she remained oblivious in the morning to the loud agonized screams of her mother – screams that were clearly not going to awaken the dead.