Page 48 of The Jealous Girl

Still, I waited.

My legs trembled until finally I stood up. I kept my hand against the wall, using it to guide me through the darkness towards the stall door. I peered out, checking the aisle. It was dark and silent. Carefully, I reached over and slid the bolt, edged the door open and slipped back out.

My gaze turned to Atlas as I closed the door behind me. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

He stepped towards me with a soft snort as though he’d understood. For a second I was tempted to reach out and stroke him, the way Ryan had tried to teach me. But I didn’t.

I turned, retreating to the tack room, my gaze locked on the main door, fearful in case Martin came back.

I couldn’t get caught. Not here.

I paused by the window, just long enough to listen for a second.

Silence.

I hauled myself up, it was easier from this side, with the rack beside the window acting as a ladder to help me up.

I squeezed through the window and dropped onto the ground outside. Grunting softly, I pushed the window as close to shut as I could manage. It didn’t quite catch.

It would have to do.

With a final glance at the farmhouse silhouetted in the darkness, I hurried back towards the fence, my fingers slipping into my pocket and tightening around the USB drive.

Did I have them yet?

The answers?

20

THEN

Late July

The key turned in the lock, and I pushed the door open with my shoulder, juggling the bags of groceries in my arms. They were heavier than usual, now there were two of us. That thought made me smile as I stepped inside.

‘H—’ I started to call but stopped abruptly as a familiar scent reached my nostrils. Perfume. Heavy. Floral.

My stomach tightened. I nudged the living room door open with my foot and froze.

Ryan stood by the window, his back to me as he stared at the harbour in what had become his favourite spot in the flat.

And sitting on the sofa was his mother.

She turned her head slowly at the soft creak of the door. Her lips curved into a tight smile, as her eyes narrowed.

‘Kirsty, you’re back.’

The words grated on me. She acted surprised and put out, as though I was an unwelcome visitor in my own home.

My gaze dropped to the mug in her hands. My mug. One of the pale blue ones with the painted beach huts. Part of the set I’d bought the day I paid the deposit on this flat. My one small, unnecessary extravagance when everything else had been second hand.

They were symbolic. A fresh start. Something that was finally just mine.

Her fingers curled around it as she lifted it to her lips.

I wanted to charge forwards and tear it from her grasp. Scream at her that it was mine. But I didn’t move.

‘Denise,’ I said, forcing my voice to stay calm and even. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’