Sally lowered her hands to her chest. ‘That all sounds almost too good to be true. When can I go?’
‘So, you want to accept the place?’
‘Yeah, too fucking right I do. Where the hell else would I go? This is the best news I’ve had in ages.’
Hoyle made some hurried scribbled notes before standing. ‘Right, I’ll ring Ivy now and give her the good news. She’ll be delighted. And I’ll speak to your consultant to find out exactly what time you can leave in the morning. I’ll run you to the refuge myself and make the necessary introductions. Change is never easy, even in the best of circumstances. A meet and greet should make it a little easier for you to settle in.’
Sally smiled for the first time that day, a thin, gap-toothed smile, but a smile nonetheless. She looked as happy as a much-loved child on a birthday morning. ‘Thank you, Karen, thank you so very much. This was the last thing I was expecting when I woke up this morning. I can’t believe my luck. You’ve been fucking brilliant. It’s like winning the lottery. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me, really I do.’
‘You’re very welcome, and please don’t hesitate to ring if there’s anything else you need. Just contact the hospital switchboard and ask for me. They’ll know where to find me. I’m never far away.’
‘Okay, ta, I will.’
‘You’ll be allocated a community social worker in due course, someone from the adult services team here in town. But I’ll keep in touch until that happens. It’s a part of my role. I’ll be there to support you. You won’t be on your own.’
‘Thanks again, that’s good to know. It’s great to have someone on my side for a change. It doesn’t happen often.’
The social worker stopped and turned on approaching the corridor, spinning smoothly on the ball of one foot. ‘There is one thing I should probably mention before I head off. There’s a no-swearing policy at the refuge. It’s something Ivy’s very strict on, for the benefit of the children. I hope that’s not going to be a problem.’
Sally cursed crudely under her breath. ‘That’s not going to be an issue. I’m used to rules. I’ve been following them all my life.’
3
The wind was unrelenting: it drove before it sheets of icy rain that swept in off the Irish Sea, painting the Welsh countryside in an eerie grey-white hue, that made Beth shiver despite her car’s relative warmth. She sat huddled in the driver’s seat with the engine slowly idling, the vehicle carefully hidden from a quiet country road, on a stone-strewn side track with high hedges to either side, leading to a dairy farm on the hill beyond.
Beth checked her watch for the fourth time in under five minutes, asking herself if any man would go running on such a dank winter night, however dedicated, however obsessive, however prone to excess? But then there he was in front of her, only a few seconds late, a slave to habit, jogging up the steep incline of the hill with surprising ease, his head bowed, focusing on the road at his feet as the sleet continued to fall.
The man left her sight within seconds, seemingly oblivious to her existence as she increased the speed of the small car’s wipers, preparing to follow him despite the almost irresistible inclination to switch off the engine as if she hadn’t seen him at all.
But what would that achieve? She’d made a commitment. She was there for a reason. All the waiting, all the planning, the anticipation and the soul searching, had led to this precise moment in time. She’d pictured these very events in her mind’s eye time and again, she’d imagined them, she’d rehearsed them, and now the time was here. There would be no going back, not now, it was far too late for that. How could she live with herself if she lost her nerve, letting everyone down at the worst possible time? Beth breathed deeply, sucking in the air and counting slowly to five as she gripped the steering wheel still tighter with clenched hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. She thought she could feel her heart pounding in her throat as she manoeuvred out into the quiet road, her headlights reflecting off the back of the man’s yellow, water-resistant windcheater jacket, as he continued his run one determined step after another. Beth swallowed hard, once, then again; her eyes narrowed to slits as she pressed her foot down on the accelerator, speeding towards him as he looked back, growing concern contorting his otherwise ordinary features. As if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As if he knew what she was there to do.
Beth could see the growing fear in the man’s eyes as she held her foot down, resisting the desire to hit the brake or swerve away. She gritted her teeth, jaw tightly clenched as she urged herself on: Come on, come on, he deserves it, the bastard deserves to die.
She continued to accelerate, thirty, thirty-five, forty miles an hour, brief seconds seeming like minutes as the man attempted to scramble up the high, icy hedge to his right. But the incline was too steep, the earth too slippery, the absence of suitable footholds insurmountable, however hard he tried to escape the vehicle rushing towards him. The man slithered back despite his every panic-stricken effort. And then there he was in front of her, at her mercy, a rabbit caught in the headlights, frozen, statue-like, getting nearer and nearer.
The car hit the man, bang, full-on and at speed, a loud thud sending him bouncing over the bonnet, crashing into the windscreen, and then tumbling onto the quiet road with dark blood pouring from a head wound as he lay twitching, one leg twisted at a seemingly impossible angle.
Beth hit the brake hard now, fighting to keep control of the car as it skidded to an eventual stop. She switched off the engine, opened the driver’s door, listening intently, scanning the road with quick, darting eyes, confirming the absence of any approaching vehicles before leaving her car and walking slowly towards the man, who was moaning incoherently, more sounds than words. She stood looking down at him, nudging him with a foot, once, then again, thinking him close to death, no longer a threat to her or anyone else. But then he opened one eye, and then the other, looking up at her in the semi-darkness. His torn lips moved as if attempting to speak, but no words came, just garbled sounds that made no sense at all. Beth peered down at him for a few seconds more, feeling a confusing mix of sympathy and revulsion as she turned and walked away.
Beth was shivering uncontrollably as she slumped back into the driver’s seat on autopilot, her clothes soaked down to her cotton underwear. She checked her rear-view mirror, pushed in the clutch, and then engaged the reverse gear, succeeding on the second attempt, telling herself she had no option but to finish what she’d started. She pressed down on the accelerator, not allowing herself time to change her mind, closing her eyes tight shut for just a fraction of a second as the car’s passenger side rear wheel hit the man’s head full-on, fracturing his skull and tearing the flesh from his face as it grated against the surface of the rough tarmac. Beth was sweating profusely despite the winter cold as she reversed on a few yards past his body, turning the headlights to the main beam with the flick of a lever and staring at his broken corpse, satisfying herself that he was dead this time, before speeding past him back in the direction of town.
Beth drove on for about five minutes, tears running down her face in a steady stream that she feared may never stop until she was old, wrung out and dry. She turned to her left, bringing the car to a sudden, skidding halt in the grounds of an ancient, dilapidated stone cottage, out of sight of the road. The sleet had eased slightly by the time she exited the vehicle. She told herself it was a good sign. A sign she’d done the right thing. That the universe was on her side. That she should continue with her plan despite her misgivings. She removed the car’s fuel cap, took a red plastic petrol can from the boot, and then emptied half its contents over the seats and dashboard. She poured the remainder of the accelerant over the car’s body, struck a match, sheltering the flame with her hands for what felt like an age, before finally tossing the match through an open door.