BooksBarbecue
Back The Hollows
Chapters (77)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. PART I
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. PART II
  15. 9.
  16. 10.
  17. 11.
  18. 12.
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. 31.
  38. 32.
  39. 33.
  40. 34.
  41. 35.
  42. 36.
  43. PART III
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. 40.
  48. 41.
  49. 42.
  50. 43.
  51. 44.
  52. 45.
  53. 46.
  54. 47.
  55. 48.
  56. 49.
  57. 50.
  58. 51.
  59. 52.
  60. 53.
  61. 54.
  62. 55.
  63. 56.
  64. 57.
  65. 58.
  66. 59.
  67. 60.
  68. 61.
  69. 62.
  70. 63.
  71. 64.
  72. 65.
  73. PART IV
  74. 66.
  75. 67.
  76. 68.
  77. Acknowledgements

Milly’s gaze shifted to the cracked windscreen. Then she breathed out. “Well, thank God for that. Did you find them?”

“Charlotte and Dave, yeah. No sign of anyone else.”

Milly’s eyes glistened, and she shook her head. She knew Joda pretty well from church, and Barbara from her surgery. “Okay,” she said at last. “Get ’em in here.”

Noel brought Dave Chapple in; Ellie gathered Charlotte in her arms, swiped the car door shut with her backside and carried her into the surgery. Milly shut the door behind them. “Consulting Room One,” she said. “Now.”

There were two consulting rooms; although Milly was the only permanent GP here, a locum doctor came in part-time. “Both of ’em?” said Ellie.

Milly rolled her eyes. “Yeah, both.” She lowered her voice. “Got Kathleen Beck in the other one.”

“Shit. Course.” Wakeman Farm felt like a memory of something Ellie had done years ago.

“This way,” Milly said. “Okay, Charlotte, you’re on the couch. Dave, just park yourself on that chair for now, love. Right, you two – waiting room. Deal with you in a bit.”

Which didn’t sound promising, but what the hell. Ellie and Noel went back into the waiting-room and sat down, listening to Milly’s soft voice from the consulting room. Noel let out a long slow breath, and studied his hands.

“You okay?” said Ellie.

He nodded. “Think so.” He forced a smile. “Bit more excitement than I’m used to.” His Welsh accent was stronger than usual; it tended to come to the fore in emotional moments.

Ellie’s hands were cold. She tried rubbing them together, and realised they were shaking. Fucking hell. For the second time in twenty-four hours, she wished she still smoked. She could have badly used one right now.

What she remembered more than anything, in this moment, was the gentle flick against her scalp, and then the sight of her cap flying past her. A rifle bullet, meant for her head. A couple of inches lower –

Ellie had seen gunshot wounds before – in Manchester, and one or two up this way, but they’d been accidental injuries. Guns going off by accident, stray bullets. But this had been deliberate. And it hadn’t been Paul Harper’s .22, or one of the shotguns. Ellie had heard the crack of the shot; she was guessing a deer rifle, a .303 or .308. Two inches lower and she wouldn’t have even heard it.

“Fuck,” she said out loud. Her throat and stomach felt clenched; she was struggling to breathe and could only manage short, shallow gasps. Her heart – Christ, she could feel it pounding, at what felt like twice the normal speed.

“Ell?” A hand on her shoulder. Milly’s small, heart-shaped face. Frowning. Worried. “Ell, what is it?”

“I think. Just.” She couldn’t even get the words out.

“Is she okay?” Noel asked.