Chapters (50)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication Page
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Ninteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Letter From the Author
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
The voice at the other end sounded faint, nervous.
‘Hello, Andrew? Can I come up? It’s Rachel.’
Rachel? What on earth was she doing here?
Thirty
Thirty
Rachel came up the stairs and stood blinking at me, her shoulders hunched inside her leather jacket, crash helmet in hand. Her short dark hair was squashed and she had grey crescents beneath her eyes. She was wearing her full biker gear: leather trousers, boots, gloves. She smelled faintly of petrol and fresh sweat.
‘I’ve left the bike outside. Is that OK?’
‘Yeah, sure. Er . . . come in.’
She followed me into the flat. She looked like a fox that had evaded the hunt, eyes darting about nervously. Taking off her biker gear made her appear even more vulnerable, like she was removing her armour, a turtle rolling over to reveal its belly. Having her here made me feel nervous too. A young woman in my flat. But Charlie was hundreds of miles away. She would never know.
‘Are you on your own?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Charlie’s on a course in Newcastle.’
‘Oh.’ She relaxed a little.
‘What is it, Rachel? Why are you here? Is Tilly all right?’
She gripped her crash helmet. She was trembling. As she answered me she put her hand in front of her mouth. ‘Yeah, she’s fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.’
I was perplexed but decided to let her tell me in her own time. I offered her a tea and she accepted gratefully.
We sat down and I waited.
‘I like your flat,’ she said, glancing around.
‘Thanks.’
It was dark outside now and I hadn’t removed the dead bird. I’d have to do it in the morning. I went over and shut the window, wondered if I should offer Rachel a blanket. She was still shivering.
‘I’m really sorry to barge in on you,’ she said. ‘But I couldn’t think of anyone . . . You’re the only person I know in London and I had to get out of Eastbourne.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s Henry. I needed to get away from him.’
She burst into tears. Awkwardly, I went into the bathroom and came back with a loo roll which I passed to her. After she’d stopped crying and blown her nose a couple of times, she apologised again.
‘It’s OK, Rachel. What’s happened? What’s Henry done?’
She was, I realised, terrified. Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘He attacked me. I thought he was going to kill me.’
‘Oh my God. What . . . why?’
‘He . . .’ She trailed off, squirmed in her seat. ‘I don’t . . . really . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.’ Her hand crept up to obscure her whole face. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Hey, it’s OK. I don’t need to know.’ I paused. ‘He seemed like a nice guy.’
‘Despite what he looks like?’
I smiled.