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
The air is cold as I pull it into my throat, but it burns in my lungs with the exhaustion of running, still running.
I want to concentrate on the ground, the things underfoot that cut my ankle. But somewhere a fox barks and I think of Winston again. Winston is significant – not only because I loved him – but because his death was the start of this. If he hadn’t killed the dog, perhaps my life would be different; perhaps Jack’s life would be different.
I run.
The ploughed furrows mean that each step jolts me, sometimes up, sometimes down. I click my hip, my knees jar with the unexpected rough cadence of the ground, but still – panting, I run on. I won’t let myself think of the past; instead I keep my eyes on where I need to get to, and then I reach the other side of the huge field and I’m forced to stop because the other side is a hedge.
In a place where everything is just shadows against shadows, layers of black against black, I nearly slam into it.
My first thought is to turn to see if he’s behind me, but I already know he isn’t. The ploughed field I’ve just run across stretches behind me. Blind eyes search the dark: but I can’t detect any movement. He could be there . . . but I can’t see him and I just don’t feel him.
If he was, I’m in no position to fight him. But still I wished he was here ready to grab me.
Because instead it means that he’s back there, in the cottage, on the other side of the pulled curtains, with Jack.
I bend, drawing great lungfuls of air into my chest, then afterwards, it’s my stomach that’s heaving and I think I’m going to be sick. I want to drop to the damp earth and die. I feel worn, broken, used up. I wish I could just give up, let the cold take me in the night, but I have to keep going. I have to find a way to save Jack. I have to get help.
My eyes have adjusted to the lack of light. I can’t see through the hedge, exactly, but I stand, freezing numb feet in the damp mud, and try to find the best way through. Looking up and down, I can’t make out a gate. It’s through the hedge or nothing. Only then, I notice the moon glint back from something in the hedge. I move closer: urgh. It’s a wire fence.
It’s banked up and thick with weeds. It’s hard on my feet. They already feel ruined. When I was running, I was aware that I was stamping on the occasional stone and I feel it now.