Despite his intention to get an early night, Frank couldn’t sleep, and he was re-reading an old book about serial killers, third whisky in hand, when he heard a loud bang coming from the back of the house at 2 a.m. Conscious that it might be burglars – like the gang who’d broken into a neighbouring farm not long before Maureen had passed away, and beaten the farmer and his wife so badly they’d been hospitalized – he shoved the quilt off his legs and groped under the bed for his cricket bat.
Clutching the bat, he crept down the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked, and quickly checked the front and back rooms before heading into the kitchen. The moon was full and high, floodlighting the snow-covered yard. Able to see the garden and the outbuildings clearly through the window, he did a scan of the land, his gaze sweeping from left to right and back again. Seeing nothing suspicious, he decided a fox must have knocked one of the bins over. But as he was about to head back up to bed, a movement between the old chicken coop and the barn caught his eye, and when he squinted to get a better look, he was sure he could see someone crouching in the shadows.
Aware there could be more than one of them, Frank stood the bat in the corner and quickly unlocked the cupboard where his shotgun was housed. In all the years he’d lived on the farm, he had never used the gun – and he hoped that wasn’t about to change as he loaded it now before unlocking the back door and stepping outside.
‘I can see you, and I’m armed,’ he warned loudly as he aimed the gun in the direction of the figure. ‘You’ve got five seconds to get the hell out of here before I start shooting . . . Five . . . four . . .’
‘Please, no shoot!’ the figure cried, lurching up from its hiding place, hands in the air.
Shocked to hear that it was a woman, Frank narrowed his eyes and peered at her. Most of the people who lived in the area were Yorkshire born and bred, but this woman sounded foreign. And she definitely wasn’t dressed like a local, because no one who’d experienced a winter out here would go out at this time of night in the short skirt and thin blouse she appeared to be wearing.
‘Are you alone?’ he called.
‘Yes, is only me,’ she replied shakily.
‘It’s OK, you can put your hands down,’ he said, lowering the gun.
Visibly shivering, the woman lowered her arms.
‘I am sorry for disturb you,’ she said. ‘I mean no trouble. I was only look for warm place to sleep.’
‘Are you hurt?’ Frank asked when he noticed a dark shadow on her cheek.
‘No.’ She shook her head and covered her cheek with her hand. ‘I fall. Is nothing.’
Guessing that must have been the bang he’d heard, Frank said, ‘Is there someone you can call to come and pick you up?’
‘There is no one,’ she replied. ‘But is OK. I will find another place to sleep.’
Concerned when he saw her sway, Frank glanced around again to check that nobody else was hiding, and then jerked his head at her.
‘Come inside and sit down for a minute, love. I’ll make you a warm drink, and then I’ll give you a lift home.’
‘No!’ Her eyes widened and she took a step back. ‘I cannot go back there.’
‘Well, you can’t stay outside in this weather dressed like that,’ Frank said bluntly. ‘You’ll be frozen solid by morning – if you make it that far.’
The woman bit her lip and gazed around. Then, turning back to Frank, she said, ‘Is safe to come inside?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said, stepping away from the door and waving for her to enter ahead of him.
She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing up her options, and then limped across the yard and stumbled over the threshold into the kitchen. Frank followed her in and locked the door.
‘Whoa, steady,’ he said, catching her by the elbow when her legs started to buckle. ‘Sit there and catch your breath.’ He guided her to a chair. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
When she was seated, Frank switched the light on and frowned when he saw that the bruise on her cheek was worse than he’d initially thought. Her clothes were filthy, and her torn blouse appeared to be spattered with dried blood. There were more bruises on her arms, some more recent than others judging by their varying shades, and yet more on her legs.
Strongly suspecting that this was the result of an assault and not a fall, he said, ‘Who did this to you, love?’
‘No one,’ she replied quietly, dipping her gaze. ‘Was my fault for be clumsy.’
Frank didn’t believe her, but he couldn’t force her to talk about it if she didn’t want to, so he locked the gun away and then filled the kettle.
‘I think I may be sick,’ the woman mumbled, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘Where is bathroom, please?’
‘Top of the stairs.’ Frank pointed the way. ‘First door on the right.’
She rushed out of the room, and Frank took two cups out of the cupboard. About to put teabags into them, he dropped the canister when he heard a heavy thump on the floor above, and ran up the stairs.
‘Hello . . .?’ He knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Are you OK in there?’
When no answer came, he tried the door. It wasn’t locked, but something was obstructing it, so he had to use his shoulder to force his way in. The woman was sprawled on the floor behind it, her face as white as a sheet, the bruises even more livid under the bright light. Squatting down beside her, Frank gently shook her.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she swallowed loudly before asking, ‘What happen?’
‘You blacked out,’ he told her, slipping his arm under her back. ‘Let’s get you sat up, eh?’
‘I do not feel good,’ she croaked, leaning against his shoulder when he eased her into a sitting position.
Concerned that she might have some kind of internal injury, Frank said, ‘OK, stay there while I get my phone. I’m going to call for an ambulance.’
‘No!’ Panic flaring in her eyes, the woman clutched at his hand when he made to stand up. ‘You cannot tell anyone I am here. If he find me, he will kill me.’
‘You’re safe here,’ Frank assured her. ‘And you’ll be safe in the hospital, too. Tell the police who did this to you, and they’ll—’
‘You do not understand,’ she cried. ‘I cannot talk to police because I am not meant to be here. I will rest for minute, and then I will go.’
‘If you try to go back out there in this condition, you won’t last ten minutes,’ Frank warned.
‘I do not care,’ she murmured, tears glittering in her eyes. ‘Death is better than . . .’
She didn’t finish the sentence, but Frank got the gist, and he shook his head sadly.
‘Love, no one’s worth dying for,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where you came from, or what you’ve been through, but you obviously need help, so let me—’
‘No!’ She swiped away a tear that was trickling down her cheek. ‘Thank you for be kind, but no one can help me, so I will go now.’
She tried to stand up, but immediately fell back down. Catching her, Frank made a snap decision.
‘Look, you’re in no fit state to go anywhere tonight, so why don’t you stay here?’ he offered. ‘You can sleep in my daughter’s room.’
‘You have children?’ She gazed up at him. ‘I am sorry, I did not think. I hope I have not disturb them?’
‘Don’t worry, they left home a long time ago,’ Frank said, helping her to her feet.
‘You do not look old enough to have grown children,’ she said, leaning against him.
‘Believe me, I am,’ he said, guiding her into Jo’s room.
‘Will your wife mind me be here?’ she asked, clinging to him as they walked.
‘She passed away a few months back,’ Frank said, lowering her onto the edge of the bed. ‘But, no, she wouldn’t have minded. Now make yourself comfortable. I’ll finish that tea and fetch it up for you.’
‘Thank you. You are very kind, Mr . . .?’
‘It’s Frank,’ he said, backing toward the door.
‘I am Irena,’ she murmured, sinking back against the pillows.
Nodding, Frank left her and went back downstairs. He switched the kettle on, and while he waited for the water to reboil, he stood peering out through the window looking for signs that she’d been followed. He didn’t know where she’d come from, but he doubted she’d have been capable of walking far in her condition, so he figured it had to be fairly local – in which case, the man who had hurt her might not be too far behind.
Aware that the man might track her to his door, Frank took the shotgun back out of the cupboard and carried it upstairs with the tea. Irena was fast asleep when he entered Jo’s room, so he left the cup on the bedside table and quietly closed the door before going to his own room.
He switched the lamp off and, taking a seat on the chair by the window, gazed out at the moonlit lane. This was the only route to and from the village four miles away, and it ended in a dead-end some three hundred yards past his gate. Very few people ever ventured this far unless they were visiting him, and, from here, he could see them coming from a mile off, so there was no chance of anyone catching him unawares tonight.