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Back Brutal Save as PDF
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. BRUTAL
  3. Dedication page
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. Prologue
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. PART TWO
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. PART THREE
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. Epilogue
  55. BRUTAL
  56. By Mandasue Heller

‘To be honest, I’m pretty tired,’ Frank said politely. ‘I was on my way to bed when you knocked, so I’ll probably save this for breakfast.’

Yvonne’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered.

‘Oh, right. Well, you know where I am if you need me. I’ll pop round in the morning for the bowl.’

Frank thought about transferring the stew into one of his own bowls so she could take hers with her. But he had a feeling it would be hard to shift her if she got her foot through the door, so he nodded, and murmured, ‘Night, then,’ before closing the door.

A frown creased his brow as he carried the bowl into the kitchen. He was pretty sure Yvonne had been wearing make-up, and that was odd, because he didn’t think he’d ever seen her made-up before. Then again, he’d never paid much mind to her appearance whenever she’d popped round to have a brew and a gossip with Maureen in the past, so she could have been plastered in it each time for all he knew.

He scraped the stew into the bin and washed the bowl, then placed it on the hall table, ready to hand straight out to Yvonne when she called round in the morning, and then headed up to bed. He hadn’t slept properly in months for worrying about Maureen taking bad in the night, but now it was all over, he hoped he would manage a few straight hours.

After undressing in the dark, he climbed into bed and pulled the quilt up around his shoulders. Almost immediately, the house came alive with noises he’d never noticed before. The creak of floorboards settling . . . the rhythmic ticking of the clock on Maureen’s bedside table . . . the drip of water leaking from the bathroom tap . . .

Only one sound was missing: that of Maureen breathing softly on her side of the bed. In all the years they had been married, apart from the times when she had been confined to hospital after giving birth, and the two weeks Frank had been kept in ICU following his heart attack, they hadn’t spent one single night apart, and the realization that he was never again going to hear her breathe, or feel the warmth of her body as they lay back to back in this bed, caused the tears Frank had been holding inside all day to spill over.

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