Leanne tried to run me over. She sent me threatening messages. She set fire to Green Fields. She doesn’t care if the animals die. All she cares about is hurting me. I take a step backwards and the flames on the shed leap and dance, painting it red, orange, blue, yellow, white. It’s almost beautiful, like a living wash of colour. Leanne, almost hidden in a cloud of smoke, reaches a hand towards me. Why should I save her? She turned Daisy against me. She encouraged Frank to come after me. She pushed my hand into a fire. I take another step back. If Leanne hadn’t convinced us to go to Nepal, Daisy would still be alive. But Daisy’s dead because Leanne manipulated us. She and Isaac used our greatest fears, our deepest regrets and biggest insecurities against us. They tried to break us down and then turn us against each other.

The roof of the shed creaks, Leanne screams and the world speeds up again. I can’t walk away and let her burn. If I let her die, I’m no better than her.

I crouch down and reach for a sturdy branch I saw the boars playing with what feels like a lifetime ago. There is a part of my brain that knows there’s no way I’ll be able to get close enough to unflip the latch, but there’s another part that won’t listen to reason, a part that believes that, if I can do it, if I can unflip the latch, the scales will tip. I couldn’t save Daisy, but I can save Leanne.

There is a moment, as I draw closer to the burning building, and the heat is so intense I am forced to shut my eyes, that I convince myself that I just saw her. There was a gap in the smoke, a brief moment when our eyes locked, and then she was gone again. But in that brief moment, just before I screwed my eyes tightly shut, I let myself believe that she knew. She knew I was trying to rescue her.

I twist away and take a step back, my eyes streaming with tears as I try to force them open again. There’s a crack, like a tree being felled and the shed, and Leanne, collapse to the ground.

Chapter 49

Chapter 49

There’s a woman I don’t recognise sitting beside the empty hospital bed. She’s got dark brown hair, cut into a neat bob, rosy cheeks and an engagement ring on the third finger of her left hand. She twists it idly as she watches Jeremy Kyle stride back and forth on the television. She jolts as I clear my throat and angles the TV away.

The base of her throat blushes a deep magenta. “Can I help you?”

“I was told this was Al’s room.”

“She’s in the loo.”

“Right.”