Chapters (87)
- Cover
- Praise
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Extract from To Keep You Safe
- About the Author
My hand grips my glass, but it’s empty. I pause before pouring any more into it, but then I think: Fuck it. I know I’m not going anywhere tonight. My body is shot; I’ve got a stolen shotgun lying outside the back door; for all I know the police or the farmer are looking for a crazy woman who broke into a farmhouse to steal it; my feet are so damaged I couldn’t even put Crocs on; a head injury; a burnt, drugged self; I’ve done enough visits to prisons to know I never want to be in one and now Nick’s presence bringing my old pain into even sharper focus.
It’s game over.
I’m not sure I’ve got more fight in me anyway – not when I see that neatly cut cable tie. I wish I could place the memory of it coming off my hands. I was so sure I burnt it off, but maybe I never did. I can’t remember.
I catch Nick looking at me as I look at it. I know he knows what I’m thinking. Angry, I give him a jab back. ‘Did Anne-Marie let you out tonight then?’
‘Don’t, Lisa.’
‘Don’t?’ I’m a raging lion. No. I’m a cornered raging lion. I hate not being able to remember about the cable tie. And I hate that another woman has succeeded with my husband where I failed. I met her once: insipid, thick, just too nice. Gawky-looking too. But apparently better at marriage than I am. And worst of all: she is a better mother than me. If we’ve had children with the same man and her children are normal, what does that suggest about me? I can’t bear it. ‘Don’t what?’ I challenge.
He shakes his head as if he was expecting this mention of Anne-Marie.
‘Where is she?’
‘At home with the girls.’ His voice is careful, considered.
The girls. Feel the burn, Lisa, feel it deep. Girls who probably play piano, dance, and pass their tests like they were born to do nothing else but be perfect and easy and straightforward and nice and, and, and – normal.
I bet they are normal.
I bet they’ve never snapped their pet’s back under a Woolworths broom handle.
Winston.
He’s a lifetime away but suddenly I see him, panting his smile, the drool falling from his velveteen, flobby mouth as he gazes at me with loving eyes.
‘Don’t do this, Leese.’
Nick is covering his eyes, but it just makes me angry. I want to thump the table but my wrists won’t let me. ‘You’ve traitored Winston’s memory.’