bright already, the sky cloudless and blue, the air chilly but not cold. It was going to be a beautiful day, a fantastic day. When I got to the end of my street, indicated right, turned the corner, I felt a scream starting to bubble up inside me, a laugh, a manic laughter of release. All the panic that had built up in me for so long.
I drove to work, let myself in through the rear doors so that I didn’t have to say hello to security, and retrieved my suitcase from its hiding place. In the side pocket were my U.S. dollars, my passport complete with three-month visa, and my travel documents. My office was bare and empty—someone else would be moving into it next week. I dragged my suitcase out to the back door, hoping that security wouldn’t be looking at the CCTV cameras right at that moment, hoping that nobody would see me, ask me how I was doing and wasn’t I supposed to have left already?
Part one of the plan had gone well.
Once I got to the highway, I was singing. I drove two junctions down the highway to Preston and negotiated my way through the gradually building rush-hour traffic to the railway station. In the next street was a secondhand-car dealership. I parked on the street in front of the crowded forecourt. On the front seat next to me was the car’s log book and MOT certificate. I’d signed the portion of the V5 that stated that I was selling the car, and left the remainder of it blank. Next to it I left a note:
To Whom It May Concern
Please look after this car. I don’t need it anymore.
Thank you.
I left the keys in the ignition. Hopefully whoever found it wouldn’t feel the need to report it to the police.
I pulled my suitcase from the boot and wheeled it up to the station entrance. I bought a ticket for London, paying cash, dragged my case down to the platform to wait. The London train was due in five minutes. I wanted to be gone, already, even though I knew Lee was probably still fast asleep in bed; I wanted to be away from him; I wanted to run and never look back.
The train was busy at first, each station bringing new people on and taking old people off. I wanted to relax, to read a book, to look like a normal person. I sat still and gazed out of the window at countryside and towns rushing past, each station we went through taking me farther and farther away from my old life and closer to freedom.
A week ago, a week to the day, he’d come in late—after eleven o’clock. I’d thought he was out for the evening, I’d thought I’d be safe until Saturday at least, but he’d turned up and let himself in. I was watching a show on New York and the sound of the front door opening and closing made me jump, and without thinking I turned it off.
The smell of alcohol preceded him into the living room. It was not going to be pleasant, I knew.
“What you doing?” he demanded.
“I was just going to bed. Would you like me to make you a drink?”
“Had enough to bloody drink.”
He fell onto the sofa beside me. Still wearing the same jeans and hooded sweatshirt he’d been wearing two days before when he’d left for work. He ran a weary hand over his forehead. “I saw you in town last night,” he said, his tone challenging.
“Did you?” I’d seen him, too, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “I was out for a drink with Sam. I told you—remember?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“I thought you were working,” I said, wishing I could just tell him to leave me the fuck alone and stop following me.
“I was fucking working,” he said. “I just saw you going from the Cheshire to the Druid’s. Looked like you were having a right laugh. Who was that guy?”
“What guy?”
“Guy with you. Had his arm around you.”
I thought, forced myself to remember. “I don’t remember him having his arm around me, but the guy that was with us was Sam’s boyfriend.”
“Come here.” His arms were held open, swaying slightly, and I gritted my teeth and snuggled up to his chest. He gave me a crushing hug, pressing my face into his sweatshirt. He smelled of pubs, takeout food and alcohol. His hand pushed the hair out of my face, and then he pulled