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Back The Widow Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

Allison looked at her and smiled. The diabolical duo. It seemed appropriate for both sides of the game that was yet to play out.

But none of the other parties, not Stuart, Portia or Jo, knew just how diabolical Allison could be.

68

Despite my every attempt, it proved impossible to escape what I’d done all those years before.

The path I’d chosen had become a deep trench. Trapped, unable to climb out, I peered over the edge to see all the lives I could have lived… should have lived.

Would have lived if I hadn’t done something shockingly evil when I was barely old enough to know right from wrong.

If I could have changed what I’d done… if I could have chosen a different path… of course I’d have done it.

But it isn’t possible to unlight a fire or to unkill someone.

I was stuck in the trench – me and the monster – desperate for the life of our dreams. And when, finally, I managed to scramble out, I didn’t go alone.

The monster tagged along.

I kept it hidden, but I knew it was there. Waiting. Haunting me. Never ever letting me forget what I was.

69

Allison barely slept. It wasn’t a fear of sleeping that caused the problem; it was the terror of opening her eyes to find she was still in that attic room. Worse, her imagination filled in the colours of the next chapter, and they were all shades of red and black, Stuart’s lecherous face appearing in every frame. It was a nightmare, but the rape felt real, and she woke feeling soiled, grubby, scrambling from the bed to have a shower and wash the final wisps of the imaginary assault away.

It was still dark when she made her way down the stairs, switching on the lights as she went to dispel the darkness. Nothing lurked in it, she was being silly, but she felt easier in the light.

A mug of coffee cupped in her hands, she stood and looked around the kitchen. First thing she was going to do was to knock that damn wall down, gut the kitchen and dining room. Make a big, bright, light room with windows looking over the garden. A nice garden with plenty of flowers. Colour. All year round.

Then her life would be the one she’d been seeking most of her life.

She stood drinking her coffee, looking out the kitchen window till a hint of colour appeared over the roof ridges opposite and night gave way to day. Only when she heard footsteps on the stairs did she turn.

Jo, clad in pyjamas unseasonably patterned with Christmas trees, yawned and stretched as she stood in the doorway. ‘Did you sleep at all?’

‘Not much.’ Allison indicated the kettle. ‘It’s not long boiled.’