BooksBarbecue
Back The Widow
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

I didn’t know what to do. I was nine: old enough to have planned a crime, not old enough to know what to do when it all fell apart. I shut the door, got back into bed and pulled the duvet over my head, hoping it was all a dream. My silly plan. The crazy idea to get rid of my parents and replace them with more loving, caring ones. The unbelievably crazy idea to murder them.

When I started to cough, I risked peeking from under the covers. Smoke swirled, hiding the edges of the room, making me cough even more and my eyes smart. I could hear louder crackles and now voices, shrill and loud. Impossible to know if they were coming from outside or inside.

I slipped from the bed. The air was clearer near the floor so I crawled to the door, sneaked a hand up for the handle and pulled it down. Moving backwards, I took the door with me. The crackling, the voices, all louder now, the voices shrill, filled with terror, pain, despair.

Fear kept me there, my eyes stinging. I wondered about trying for the stairway, but flames had sneaked along the cheap nylon carpet. I’d read about walking on hot flames. Could I do the same? Before I could decide, a door opened the other side of the landing and I saw my sister Beth’s tear-stained, terrified face.

‘Allison.’ She called to me, her voice strangely distorted by the smoke. ‘What should I do? I’m scared.’

I glanced towards my parents’ door. Had they woken to find their room in flames? Were they crawling towards the door, hoping to get out to rescue their children? Or had they already succumbed to the smoke. I stared at their door, willing it to open, for them to come through, take control, save us. I promised I’d be a better daughter in future if they did, promised I’d never want to change them.

But no matter how many promises I made in the thick, choking, eye-watering smoke, their door stayed resolutely shut.

‘Allison?’

I should have answered Beth. Should have tried to get to her but from behind me I heard a shout and, looking behind, I saw a light at my bedroom window and without another thought for my younger sisters, I turned around, shut the door, and rushed to be rescued.

* * *

‘It was an accident.’ How pathetic that sounded. It had been. Of course it had. Her plan hadn’t been to burn the house down; she’d never intended to kill Cassie and injure Beth.