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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

I look around the room; it’s gloomy, lit by a single lamp. It’s a small room, set up as a dining room when we moved in, but because we eat at the kitchen table, I squeezed in some small sofas and now we have a second sitting room. It doesn’t function as a hall: halls are for people who have visitors.

But he’s not there – there’s nowhere to hide.

I take a deep breath and then with light feet, run to the door. Bending down I pick up my bag handles with my teeth and then, feeling triumphant, turn and run back to the safety of the kitchen. But before I get there, I realise what is wrong with what I have just seen.

Only Jack’s little shoes are in the rack. All mine are gone.

On tiptoes I enter the kitchen and drop the bag down on the kitchen table. But I feel deflated – he’s a step ahead of me. With careful, short moves, I bite the bottom of my leather bag and coax the insides onto the pine table. But really I’m thinking about him taking my shoes. There were several pairs there – trainers, sandals, welly boots. In my mind’s eye, I see the gaps on the rack, and one by one the contents of my bag is emptied. Lipstick, a hairbrush, a used tissue, some wrapped individual mints that I must’ve got from a curry house about a hundred years ago and other detritus from my life. But really I’m seeing the gap left by the welly boots. It tells me what I won’t find in my bag.

When everything is on the table I look at the contents. Just as I thought: no phone, no keys, no wallet. Even if I wanted to call the police – which I don’t because there’s no point because they’ll only side with him – I can’t. My mobile is the only phone in the cottage.

I also won’t be driving out of here. I realise I was sort of thinking I’d be able to drive the car for help. Somewhere in my brain lurked visions of me holding the steering wheel with my mouth, which I realise now was just ridiculous. Already, I can feel my cognitive function improving. As if I’d be able to negotiate the curvy country lanes steering with my mouth! Ridiculous, desperate me. But as ludicrous as the idea was, I still feel crushed it can’t happen.

No money either – so I can’t even flag a bus down. Not that there’s a bus stop within a mile of here.