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Back What I Did Save as PDF
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

Galvanised, I lean over the countertop and clamp my mouth down on a knife. The steel handle is cold and heavy between my molars. A nerve registers the metal with a lightning bolt, but it feels good, like it’s wired straight to my brain. Like a jolt to a dead battery, I instantly feel more alert. I know I can do this.

I get a strong grip on the handle and slowly, steadily, pull it away from the wood. I feel like a contestant in a sick TV game show: ‘Will Lisa Law be able to complete this challenge?’ It feels so real I realise I’ve taken a major blow to the head. The knife starts to rise out of the block, and I hear the ‘Oooohhhh!’ of the imaginary over-hyped audience, but it gets to a point where I can’t pull back any further. I haven’t got the reach to change the angle.

It starts to slip.

I let go and it slithers back into place. ‘Aaahhhh!’ commiserates the audience. They were certain I was going to do it. I swallow against the saliva that’s pooling in my mouth, not even minding that I’m half mad. At least they’re on my side.

I feel like screaming. I lean right over the countertop and slam my head against the knife block. The block goes down with a bang. I hold my breath. Instead of the spike of victory I should’ve felt as the knives splay across the countertop, I feel scared because the bang of the block was loud – really loud.

This cottage is so old and creaky; I know after a year of living here that no one can move around it without someone else hearing. If he comes downstairs, I will hear each step across the landing, and each step on the stairs.

I wait, still not breathing. Like a hare caught on a road at night-time, I listen for danger.

I don’t breathe, I don’t move: I wait.

There’s nothing. But my mind whispers: No one heard you because they’re no longer there. They’ve left, gone into the night, running –

No.

The worst has already happened.

No.

The knife block is on its side and the knives are freed.

I clamp the knife handle between my teeth, before I realise I’ve been so fixated on getting it, I hadn’t realised the futility of it – how am I going to use it to cut my hands free?

Stupid, muddy brain.

I twist my head round as far as I can, moving my wrists to meet my mouth. I arch my back, yoga like, and crane my neck. But it’s not even close. Not even a little bit.