Page 43 of The Jealous Girl

Faint rustling came from inside. The sound was familiar, just the horses moving in their stalls.

I edged along the wall until I reached a small window. I curled my fingers around the edge of the frame, squeezing them into the gap, smiling slightly despite the pain.

I’d noticed it before. It had never shut properly. The warped frame stuck, preventing the latch from fully catching unless you forced it.

I’d mentioned it to Ryan.

‘Yeah, I know. I’ll get to it.’

He never did. There was always something more important. More pressing.

I gave the frame a tug. Nothing happened. With a grunt, I tried again. This time it creaked softly, rebelling against the unaccustomed movement as it shifted.

I froze. The creak had only been quiet, surely no one would have heard it?

I waited.

Nothing.

Resting my hands on the base of the window frame, I pulled myself up awkwardly, the window resting on my back as I scrambled one leg through the gap.

The smell hit me before I was even fully inside. Horses. Manure. I wrinkled my nose. I certainly hadn’t missed that in the time since I left here.

I shimmied through the window frame, and dropped to my feet in the tack room. My gaze shifted to the open door, leading to the main aisle. I crept towards it, soft snorts and gentle thuds of hooves becoming clearer.

Exhaling slowly, I edged past the long row of stalls lining each side, praying the horses wouldn’t object to my presence.

The office door ahead was slightly ajar. I pushed it carefully, the slow whine of the rusted hinges making my breath catch. As soon as the gap was wide enough, I squeezed through it.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and turned on the torch, keeping the light angled low. Even the dim light was enough to illuminate the mess that lay before me.

Papers sprawled across the desk, folders stacked precariously, the keyboard buried beneath handwritten notes.

My jaw tightened. I’d worked so hard to organise this. Introduce a filing system. Order. But they’d never appreciated it, never accepted it, because it had come from me.

I snorted softly. Then again, maybe it was a good thing. The chaos. The carelessness. It meant my presence would go unnoticed. When nothing had a place, how would they notice if I didn’t return it there?

Moving quietly, I stepped further into the room and slid into the chair. It creaked beneath me as I reached for the mouse.

The screen flickered to life immediately. A log-in box appeared.

I held my breath as I typed Ryan’s birthday. I hit enter.

The screen paused.

My stomach tightened. Had they changed it?

Then, before I could think of another number to try, it unlocked.

Pulling a USB drive from my other pocket, I inserted it into the computer. I flicked to Windows Explorer. Folders filled the screen. Accounts. Customers. Invoices. Payroll. Vet records.

My fingers moved quickly, highlighting everything, selecting ‘copy’ and pasting it onto the USB drive.

The transfer bar appeared, edging slowly across the pop-up box.

Too slowly.

‘Come on,’ I whispered, glancing towards the door.