She rooted around and found what she was looking for: a length of sturdy rope. She went back to her cottage and still flicked on no lights to help her. She needed none. Her hands worked expertly. Even though she’d known her father was a monster, she’d still sought his approval and affection. Growing up in Cumbria, this had meant being his willing helper on fishing boat trips, where he’d taught her how to tie the best knots. She never forgot because it was about the only pure thing he ever gave her, and had requested nothing in return. Even child molesters have other hobbies.

The slip knot was the simplest form, and she’d tied it a thousand times. Her fingers grasped the rough fibres of the rope but her brain didn’t register the potential violence the material could cause and she acted like an automaton, her brain having long since abandoned the idea of survival.

Her cold fingers warmed up as she worked the rope and a smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. The beam across the pantry ceiling was perfect, she thought. Once she’d looped the rope a few times and she was satisfied, after tugging on it, she took the small stool, went in to the pantry, and closed the door behind her.

Chapter 57

George spotted Paul Edderbridge leaving the red stone Penrith police station, and waved. The young man swaggered over the road and got in to the passenger side of the car. George had saved the vehicle from a dump yard for five hundred quid.

‘Pint?’ Paul asked.

George smiled and pulled away. ‘We need to tie up a few loose ends,’ he said.

‘Jesus Christ, George, you’re always so serious. Let’s go and celebrate,’ Paul said.

‘Celebrate what?’ George asked.

‘They’ve got nothing on me,’ he laughed.

George concentrated on the road, which was becoming difficult to navigate in the worsening blizzard. They approached a crossing and the lights turned amber, but George carried on. A woman stepped out into the road as the light turned red and George hammered his foot on the brakes. They both flew forward in the car, and the woman jumped back in horror.

‘Fuck’s sake, George!’ Paul shouted at him and waved to the woman to cross. Passers-by helped the woman to her feet and they pointed at the car as George carried on and simply drove around them.

They left the town’s lights and headed across the M6. Paul lit a cigarette. George sat brooding and silent in the driver’s seat.

‘Where we going?’ Paul asked.

‘That boat you stole, it was sloppy, and now we have to remove it. I’m getting tired of tidying up after you, Paul,’ George said.

Paul blew smoke into the car and it filled the tiny space. George undid his window and snow came in and blew all over the two men.