Stumbling, wheezing, I found myself in the farmyard. My first instinct was to head inside, and bury myself under my duvet until I was in a fit state to start packing. But it would be the first place Becky or whoever else came looking would expect me to be.
Instead, spying the barn, I lurched over to it, before veering off around the corner to where I remembered there being a smaller, ramshackle outbuilding that as far as I knew was in disuse. It took a few moments of working at the rusted latch before I could push the rotting door wide enough to slip inside. In the muted evening light I could still pick out several old farm implements and shelves lined with huge cider jars thick with cobwebs. I pushed past a wooden sledge, a ride on lawnmower with only one wheel, and stacks of splintered pallets. Spiders scurried into the shadows, and I heard a scuffling that could definitely have been a rat. I squeezed into a gap behind a large crate and the back wall, and sank to a squat, hoping that I could stay undetected long enough to unscramble my thoughts and collect my breath. Dropping my head onto quaking hands, I tried to piece myself back together so that I could begin to figure out what I was going to do next.
Despite every effort to the contrary, I had now become the tawdry talking point of Damson Day, contaminating the best moment of the day – of over thirty years – with my disgusting secret.
Crap.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it failed to dam the torrent of tears.
It must have been twilight, judging by how the light had dimmed through the cracks in the roof, when I finally made my decision. As tempting as it was to sneak inside, pack up my bags and flee before anyone noticed I’d gone, that was not how this was going to go down.
Whatever anyone might think of me, thanks to Nora’s revelations, I was done with running away. Daniel and Hope meant far too much for that. I was worth more than that. It was time to own up to who I was, who I’d been and what I’d done. Daniel would either still love me, or he’d find me utterly repugnant, but at least it would be the real me.
I was flexing my toes, trying to ease agonising leg cramps before I made a move, when I heard footsteps approaching the outhouse door.
My heart automatically panicked, the blood accelerating through my veins. Trying to quieten my rasping breath, I waited as whoever it was performed the same wrestle with the latch as I had, and then wrenched the door open so hard it smacked into the outside wall. The beam of a phone torch darted across the walls, but unless they stepped right inside and through the clutter, I was still concealed. I would wait for them to say my name, before deciding whether or not to reveal myself.
But instead of asking for me, they instead tugged the door closed, and took a step further into the shadows.
Twin snakes of dread and alarm unfurled in my stomach, as the terrifying thought slithered through my brain that my friends might not be the only ones looking for me.
I hadn’t called Brenda.
I’d completely forgotten.
Would Becky have called?
Surely if she had, she’d have called me. Only I realised with a jolt that my phone was in my bag, over in the gazebo.
I pressed both hands against my mouth to smother my whimpers.
There began a steady rustling and scraping as the prowler started to search through the junk.
They might not be looking for me.
Maybe it’s Daniel looking for a tool, or a box.
Maybe it’s an opportunistic thief…
Maybe…
There was a startling clatter as they picked up a wrench and hurled it against the back wall. The clanging hid my panicked gasp.
As the phone light now strobed across the wall in front of me, I saw the clear outline of my fresh footprints in the dirt and dust. The beam froze, hovering on one footprint, before slowly following the trail to where they disappeared behind a box, a couple of feet in front of me.
A muffled giggle.
The stomach snakes writhed in terror.
I was sure I knew that giggle. So I didn’t know why I felt so afraid.
It’s not them.
It’s not the Bee Murderer.
I’m okay! I’m okay!
Slowly, painfully, my limbs stiff and sore from squatting for so long, I shuffled out before Lucy could get any closer.
She stopped, squinting through the dust motes lit up in the torch beam. I could just about make out the smirk slowly emerging as she confirmed it was me.
‘Well, well. Haven’t you come down in the world?’ she sang.
My arms instinctively rose to shield my eyes from the light, now pointed at my face. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Hunting you,’ she snarled, and in an instant her expression transformed from cool superiority to raw, rampant hatred. ‘I did promise, after all.’
‘What?’ Call me slow and stupid, but until a few months ago, Lucy had been my close colleague and my friend. She’d seen me in my underwear, tweezered my stray hairs, and last summer we’d sat on a Cornwall cliff-top, chatting and laughing and sharing stories until the sun rose. She’d encouraged me when I felt overwhelmed and out of my depth. Celebrated when our followers multiplied. Protected me from the worst of the trolls, while offering reassurance that I was not completely unlovable.
‘So. Where were we?’ She mused, one finger pressed against her lips as if pondering. ‘Ah yes! We were coming up with a suitable way for you to pay for what you’ve done.’
I stood there, dumbstruck, and tried to process what the hell was happening.
‘We could continue the funeral pyre theme – people seem to like a good blaze around here. How about setting this little wood-filled shack alight, and then I’ll stand at a safe distance and listen to you scream?’
She paused, forehead creasing. ‘Oh, except someone might spot the flames and come to investigate. Hmmm… What else? Oh – I could impale you with that fork over there. Pin you to the wall while I remind you of the names of every business you’ve closed, every last waiter who ended up out of work, every life you’ve trashed. I have a list here, ready on my phone. That might be fun. Or – how about I tie you up and drag you to the river, watch the bubbles rise to the surface as you drown? A fitting tribute to your so-called friend, don’t you think? Your boyfriend will appreciate the gesture.’
‘You’re insane,’ I croaked.
‘Probably,’ Lucy shrugged, before her voice hardened again. ‘But you drove me to it.’
‘The police will know it was you. Everyone heard how much you hate me.’
‘Hundreds of people hate you! Not to mention the Alami family, who after their little attempt at intimidation last year, provided the perfect cover. And so what if the police do figure it out? My life is over, anyway.’
‘You have an amazing life!’ I tried to jumpstart my brain again, to keep her talking until maybe someone got worried and came looking for me, or I could think up some other way to get out of this. ‘You’ve got a glamorous career, money, fame, a fabulous social life. Marcus. Why would you risk all that?’
‘Why would I give a crap about that, compared to what you did to my family!’ She shrieked. My panic jolted up another level. She genuinely was insane.
‘Well? Don’t you have anything at all to say about it?’
‘I… I’m sorry. Whatever happened to your family…’
‘Don’t pretend you can’t even remember!’ Tears and spittle flew as she shook her head, enraged. ‘We were just another column to you, another cheap laugh. After your review my dad had to sell the restaurant! We lost our house. Had to move into a two bedroom flat! A two bedroom flat! I was fifteen years old! Can you imagine what that felt like? You ruined my life!’
‘Lucy, I get that it must have been hard, but moving house is not worth going to prison for murder for.’
‘What would you know about it?’ she screeched.
‘I shared a bunk bed with my grandma until I was twenty-six. That’s why I couldn’t turn down being Nora Sharp. I needed a job. A chance to get away. A life! But you have that now – you stole my life. My job, my reputation. My boyfriend. Please don’t throw that all away on some fleeting revenge. I’m not worth it.’
‘You didn’t want them any more! Don’t pretend that by scaring you off, I wasn’t doing you a favour. And I don’t have those things. Miles fired me. Marcus got bored. Turns out no one liked the new Nora. Now I have nothing. And you’ve ended up, yet again, with everything. So there’s no point trying to ruin your life, you’ll just get yourself a new one. I’m ending it.’
‘Lucy, please…’
‘Stop talking!’ She sized up the nearest farm implements to her, before taking hold of the huge garden fork.
‘No, wait…’
‘Shut up!’ Lucy dropped her phone, and in the dim light cast from where it lay on the floor, I saw her shove a pallet out of her path, clamber over the lawnmower and launch herself across the short distance still between us.
Along with freaking out and bracing myself for the prongs, I somehow found the presence of mind to dodge to one side and grab something to block her follow-up thrust.
I’d seized a soggy, rotten cardboard box. I might as well have plucked a fistful of cobwebs from the shelf. The fork instantly tore through the sagging card, and Lucy flicked it away.
I took an automatic few steps back, before my back smacked against another shelving unit, causing the glass contents to rattle dangerously. A couple of bottles toppled off and smashed, tiny shards catching in the glow of the phone.
Glancing either side, I realised how stupid I’d been. I could just about make out a huge, menacing-looking metal contraption on my right. On my left were the pallets, stacked haphazardly about waist high, two deep and at least five long. Scrambling across them would be slow and clumsy, and I’d be an easy target for my attacker.
For a millisecond, I wondered about using one of the pallets as a shield, at least until I could reconsider my escape route, but before I could reach down to haul one off the pile, Lucy, grunting with effort, held her weapon aloft and jabbed it straight towards my head.
Adrenaline powering my reflexes, I twisted to one side, and as the fork thrust past, I somehow managed to grab the wooden handle. Holding on for dear life, we wrestled and thrashed for control. In the confined space it was inevitable that the more we fought to get the larger portion of the handle, the closer to each other we got. Within what must have been seconds, but felt like hours, we were right up against each other. Lucy’s breath was hot against my neck, and I inhaled the reek of her sweat and fury. She wasn’t the only one sweating – my hands were starting to slip precariously down the handle, until they hit against the prongs.
I took a moment to focus on my breathing, sucking in as much air as my heaving lungs could manage before releasing it in a scream that bounced off the bottles and echoed through the darkness. No one would hear me – unless they happened to be walking around this side of the farm. But it was loud enough to rattle Lucy, and she momentarily relaxed her grip enough for me to wrest the fork out of her hands.
Unfortunately, I’d not quite believed in my own strength, so hadn’t braced my stance for the sudden decrease in tension when Lucy let go. I stumbled back, scraping my shoulder blades against something sharp, and jabbing the back of my knee into a metal spike.
I automatically bent double to clutch my leg, the fork clattering to the ground. If I was some kick-ass heroine from a film I’d have ignored the agonising pain now shooting up my leg like flames. But I wasn’t, I was a clueless, frightened wimp, and I was too exhausted and too traumatised to think any more.
Ignoring the fork, Lucy simply threw herself at me, and we both toppled over, smacking onto the floor side by side with groans and grunts. Hands clawed for my neck, my eyes, ripping out a chunk of my hair. Her feet scrabbled for purchase, those stupid sandals scraping down my shins.
And then a powerful beam of light suddenly appeared from the direction of the door.
A cry of horror, in a voice that instantly made me feel safe.
Lucy jerked, momentarily startled by the intruder.
Darkness.
Shattering pain.
Nothing.