No Longer Safe(87)

At that moment Jodie called up the stairs shouting, ‘Your turn, Kaz,’ and I lost her.



That evening I was glad to have the distraction of cooking supper. I was on autopilot from the start; chopping carrots, peeling potatoes, slicing cauliflower, dicing onions. I called it Lancashire Hotpot, but I simply threw in a random mix of ingredients without thinking. The only thing you could say about it for certain was that it was hot.

I’d called Stuart three times by then, but he hadn’t yet heard from Jim.

The atmosphere around the table was unexpectedly subdued and I suspected something had happened – another row between Jodie and Mark, a telling off from Karen, an ultimatum from Mark? I scrutinised each of their faces to see if I could work out who the injured party was, but they all seemed equally downcast, barely communicating, only looking up to pass the salt.

Jodie and Mark offered to do the dishes without any prompting and, while Karen was upstairs settling Mel, I tried the landline again. Jim had called Stuart, but he had only a handful of details about Karen. She’d ended a sentence in May, but he didn’t yet know her crime, or how long she’d served.

By the time I put the phone down, I was overwhelmed with exhaustion. There was nothing for it, but to go to bed.





Chapter 39




I didn’t take a sleeping tablet that night; I wanted to stay alert – apart from anything, I was concerned for my own safety.

I spent most of the night tossing and turning, working out my next move and waiting for dawn to rescue me. I turned to my clock, but it was only 4am. By 4.05, I’d made my decision.

My bags were packed within ten minutes. As soon as it was morning, I was leaving.

The brave thing to do would be to ask Karen what was going on, of course, but I was afraid of what she might do to me. There was now an alleged prison sentence to factor in and, while that still seemed preposterous, Karen had Mark and Jodie to call on. If I caused any trouble, they would be at her side in the blink of an eye. It would be three against one.

Everything felt slippery and insecure. I no longer had a handle on the truth; the landscape was shifting drastically at regular intervals within these four walls, just as it was outside.

What was the truth about the night Charlie died? In my gut, I felt certain it had been Karen who’d hit him over the head with the stool. It must have been self-defence, but why didn’t she just come out and admit it? I would have protected her – after all she’d done for me – she must have known that.

Would the divers find him in the loch? There was no way I could hold it all together if they did. Every waking hour I was on full alert, expecting a police officer in the doorway at any time.

As soon as my alarm went off at 7.30, I scurried to the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush and final toiletries without making a sound, then I crept down the stairs with my bags. I did a final check to make sure I hadn’t left anything, unlocked the front door and stepped out into freedom.

Outside, the night was still refusing to let the light take hold, but the dense snowfall from yesterday was beginning to thaw. I wished the weather would make up its mind.

I hurried down the track, not daring to look back. The landscape was like a vintage postcard, completely still, apart from tiny silvery white chunks that dropped from branches on the edges of my peripheral vision. Always just to one side or behind me. I turned each time but not quickly enough. Bit by bit the world was crumbling around me.

At the end of the track, I took the path towards the village. There was a phone box at the far side of the green, where I could ring for a taxi to get to Fort William. I’d make calls to Stuart and Nina once I was there.

Stuart could then decide if he wanted to collect me, but I had my sights set on Edinburgh or London – I didn’t want to stay anywhere near Duncaird. I couldn’t spend one more hour in this place. I’d send a text to Karen as soon as I was far enough away that she couldn’t come and find me.

A tractor clattered past me, kicking up brown slush. There was no other traffic. I’d considered going straight to Stuart’s cottage, but I was starting to doubt whether I could be with him when I wasn’t able tell him the truth about his nephew. Besides, I hadn’t paid attention when we’d driven over and there was no way I’d find my way.

It occurred to me how inhospitable it was up here, how cut off I was from civilisation. Anything could happen to me and no one would know.

It was quicker to stick to the lanes; from past experience out here it was too risky to head through the undergrowth, especially before the sun came up fully.

I had reached the second crossroads when I had the strange sensation I was being followed. There were sounds around me all the time – creaking trees, the rush of the wind, the rattling of faraway freight trains – but they were mostly sporadic. There was a more regular sound, hard to pinpoint and muffled because of the remaining snow. Every time I stopped and turned, it stopped too, so it was difficult to track it down. After a while I decided it must be the fabric of my anorak catching as I walked.