‘You twisted little bitch!’ George yelled. He stared at his hand. The sight of his blood set off a chain reaction. He charged, but she was ready. Remembering Stephen’s advice on what to do if facing up to a bully failed, she raised her knee, and with stunning accuracy, made contact with George’s groin. He collapsed and fell back through the curtains, writhing on the floor, spluttering a string of expletives as stunned guests looked down at him.

Lou grasped the door handle and ran out into the cold night air, the curtains billowing behind her.

With no thought to the bitter chill or the flimsiness of her satin slippers, she ran across the lawn, snow swirling around her. She kept to the darkness and away from the lanterns that illuminated the drive. Any number of guests must have spotted her hiding behind the curtains when George fell through. He was, no doubt, at that very moment, portraying her as some kind of deranged harpy, placing himself as the innocent victim so that everyone would believe she had launched an unprovoked attack on him. All the planning, all the good she had tried to do, had been undone with one swift knee to the groin of a future peer. Had she even done enough to push Tom into Emma’s arms?

30

Christmas Eve 2013

Lou stumbled on in the blackness, her breath coming in thick, hot gasps. Abruptly, the dark gave way to the murky orange glow of streetlamps. The rumble of traffic replaced the crunch of dancing slippers in snow. Freezing rain lashed at Lou’s cheeks and eyes. Still running, she swiped her fringe from her face. There was no time to stop, no time to think, no time to acclimatise. If she could cross the boundary of time, why not George? The sensation of thick, hot fingers crushing her windpipe, made her increase her pace, pushing on up the steps and over the footbridge. If George caught up with her, there would be nobody to hear her cries for help. Racing down the empty alley, she sprinted along the road, all the while fumbling in her pocket to find her key. She forced the key into the lock, slammed the door behind her and collapsed against it, her heart pounding like a jackhammer breaking through concrete.

A figure emerged from the living room, framed in a rectangle of light. For a blood-churning moment, Lou imagined George had crossed the boundary and somehow found his way to her house. The hall light snapped on. She placed her hands on her knees and sank against the door.

‘What are you sneaking around for?’

‘I’m not sneaking around,’ she panted.

‘Why are you out of breath?’

‘I was running to get in. It’s pouring down out there.’

Stephen shrugged and headed for the kitchen. Lou followed him. She had never been more pleased to see her big, strong brother.

‘Drink?’ Stephen asked.

Lou nodded. She fell into a chair, dazzled by the brightness of the strip light. Stephen rinsed two glasses and swept some takeaway cartons from the table to make space. He unscrewed the cap of a half-empty bottle of whisky and poured two large slugs. Pushing a glass towards Lou, he picked up his own. ‘Down the hatch,’ he said and drained his glass before he was in his chair. He poured another slug.