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Back What I Did
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty-One
  55. Fifty-Two
  56. Fifty-Three
  57. Fifty-Four
  58. Fifty-Five
  59. Fifty-Six
  60. Fifty-Seven
  61. Fifty-Eight
  62. Fifty-Nine
  63. Sixty
  64. Sixty-One
  65. Sixty-Two
  66. Sixty-Three
  67. Sixty-Four
  68. Sixty-Five
  69. Sixty-Six
  70. Sixty-Seven
  71. Sixty-Eight
  72. Sixty-Nine
  73. Seventy
  74. Seventy-One
  75. Seventy-Two
  76. Seventy-Three
  77. Seventy-Four
  78. Seventy-Five
  79. Seventy-Six
  80. Seventy-Seven
  81. Seventy-Eight
  82. Seventy-Nine
  83. Eighty
  84. Epilogue
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Extract from To Keep You Safe
  87. About the Author

I’m not sure how long I’ve been limping, running shoeless, in the dark Herefordshire countryside, because I’ve got no watch, no way of marking time. I think about my breathing; it keeps me calm. Managing my emotions has been something that has helped me over the years, and it helps me now.

This side of the hedge, the electric fences are clearer and both times are low enough for me to step over, before negotiating the hedge. Now I know they’re there, it’s all so much easier.

I push on.

Finally, I can see it, lights above ground – my cottage on its hill. The fog has lifted enough now for me to know that I’m home.

I hug the gun a little closer.

The journey to safety has been so long; I am ready to finish it.

I don’t waste time trying to find a gap in the hedge; instead I turn my back to it and press against it. At first it doesn’t yield . . . but then it does. The twigs drag against me. They pull at my hair. They scrape against my face. My feet struggle to find a way through over the ridge of earth. This no longer bothers me so I push harder.

And then I’m out the other side with a sudden thump and I stumble to regain my balance. I’m in my garden. I am back home.

I start the gentle climb up. I ask myself, as I fix my eyes on the cottage, if I’m ready for what I will have to do. I think of Jack – tender, innocent, in desperate need of safety.

I think of Selena too, again. She keeps returning to me now. Within eight months of Mungo’s death, Jack was born.

I was very fond of Mungo. For a little bit, just before he died, he’d started to come round and have a cup of tea with me when Jack was out; it made me think that he was just as pleased in my company as he was my son’s. When he used to chat to me, it’d started to feel like the mother-son relationship I’d never had, but Jack came home one day and it was so evident that he didn’t like it, Mungo never lingered again and then he was dead.

I think that after his death, I shut down a bit. I thought of him, his body hanging, alone in the woods and I couldn’t bear that he hadn’t talked to me about how he felt. He’d always seemed so bright, so sparky, I couldn’t assimilate the version I saw of him every day, and his bouncy: ‘How’s it going, Mrs L?’ to standing on a log and then kicking it away.