It’s dark and freezing, but I don’t care. I feel nothing, just an urgent need to escape, to survive. I just need to get far enough away from him and call the police. I’m heading out onto the main road now, a coastal road, where the wind is bitter and relentless, but I keep running. I’m not used to this exertion and, eventually, just a few hundred yards down the road, I have to stop, even though he may be close behind me. I stand behind the trees on the side of the road, my hands on my knees, my breath short and rasping. I’m holding my phone, ready to use it, but suddenly, my stomach tilts and I vomit into the frozen grass. I wait in silence. The road’s empty and black in front of me, and behind me there’s only the whispering of trees. After a little while, when I’m sure there’s no sign of Alex, I click on my phone and try to call the police, but I’ve got no signal.
The wind’s whistling, and the little spots of frozen rain are now snow, landing from a great height, a silent blanket on the world. It’s then I hear him calling my name, it’s softened by the snow, but I hear the loss, the desperation, the grief in the darkness.
He has the knife and I remember his words, when we were happy and in love and the world was a different place. ‘People do dangerous things when they’re scared of losing what they love, Hannah.’
Who knows what he’ll do now? So I stay by the tree, waiting, his voice faint in the distance. He can’t find me, and like a lost child he’s becoming more desperate, more distraught. Then, suddenly, I see a car in the distance. Is it more dangerous to stay here by the trees with no hope, and die of cold, or wait for Alex to find me and take me back to the cottage, and hold me there in some horrible parody of love that turns into weeks, years? Or do I run out into the road and wave the car down?
I make a snap decision. It isn’t even a rational decision made by my brain, my body just shoots out into the road, my arms waving. I’m crying, and calling for help. As the car approaches, the headlights block my view, and for a moment I think it might be Alex coming from the other direction in the car, to fool me. I hold my breath, knowing my fate is in the car, but then I hear Alex in the distance calling my name again.
I run towards the car. I know he’s behind me, I just hope whoever’s driving lets me in and drives off without asking questions. If we don’t get away, Alex might attack them too. He’s already killed one man and now I know that he’d do it all over again.
The car stops, and the driver’s door opens, and it’s Harry, waving. ‘Hannah, Hannah is that you, mate?’
I almost collapse with surprise and relief. ‘Harry, Harry.’ I am sobbing now, and he runs round to the passenger door and helps me in. Climbing into that warm car is the best feeling, I feel weak from running and crying and cold.
‘I’ve been up and down this road looking everywhere for you.’
’Thank God. But how did you…?’ Then I laugh. ‘Jas?’
‘She called me, said she was worried about you.’
‘And you and Gemma are in Somerset this weekend?’
‘Yeah, it took me less than an hour to get here, then another half an hour to find the cottage, but no one was there.’
‘Jas knew something wasn’t right.’ I gasp, still out of breath from the cold and the running and the fear.
‘Yeah, she called me to tell me about the… the fight… the guy died.’
‘Yeah, I don’t—’
‘And that photo of Alex watching you guys in The Orange Tree – Jesus!’
‘I know, it was so weird that he was there…’ I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t even begin to explain Alex to a nice, sane person like Harry who doesn’t stalk someone to become his girlfriend or kill people outside wine bars.
He pats my arm. ‘It’s okay, Hannah, we don’t have to talk about it.’
I’m flooded with relief. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Harry. If you hadn’t come, I might have… I was so scared…’ I start crying, and I know he finds emotions a bit much because he’s a guy in his twenties,