I hurry to get the car door open, my hands shaking with adrenaline, my whole body coursing as I climb inside and pull the door shut just as Tom reaches it. I push the lock button, hearing the reassuring sound of the car locking a fraction of a second before Tom starts pulling at the handle and banging on the window.

It’s not angry. It’s not desperate. It’s calm and calculated, almost as if I’ve stormed off in a huff and he’s trying to placate me and make me see sense. But I can see right through it. I know what he’s doing. He’s putting on a show.

I ignore him as best I can and try to start the engine, the key taking an age to slot into the ignition barrel as I tremble with fear and adrenaline. Finally, eventually, the car starts.

I put it into reverse and back out of my parking space and onto the road, leaving Tom floundering as the car shoots backwards. I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to go somewhere. I have to get away from here. Get away from him.

I shift the car into first gear, release the clutch and press my foot down hard on the accelerator.

As the car lurches forward, I notice movement to my side. It’s Tom. He’s stepped out into the road. And it’s too late for me to do anything about it.

I let out a gasp and a small scream as he crashes into the windscreen and bounces off, onto the road behind. I stamp on the brake and come to a shuddering halt, stalling the car in the process.

I open my eyes, panting hard, the beat of my heart deafening in my ears. I look in my mirror and see Tom lying on the tarmac, crumpled. I turn my eyes away from the mirror and onto the road in front of me. I could drive away right now. I could restart the engine and floor it. I’d be out of here in no time. Away from it all. Away from Tom. Safe and sound. But my eyes keep getting drawn back to Tom lying in the road. The Tom I thought I knew and knew I loved. And then people arrive. A man comes out of the house opposite and jogs over to Tom. A lady walking her dog leans over him and pulls her phone out of her pocket.

And that’s when I know it’s all over.

49

I had no choice. There’s no way leaving would have made things better. The police would always find me. It’d be a hit and run. No doubt about it. Mitigating circumstances wouldn’t even come into it. Tom would always manage to worm his way out of anything else.

It was clear pretty quickly that Tom was okay. He did an impressive job of trying to look as if he was on his last legs, but there was no way he was badly injured. Not at that speed.