try to shout back, but my mouth’s full of blood, and I retch as it hits the back of my throat. It hurts to breathe, and there’s a dull ache at the base of my spine and across my stomach.
“Adam? Are you okay? Who was that?”
I manage to get on to my hands and knees, crawling toward the front door. No one drives along this track unless they’re coming to the farm cottages, but I can’t risk anyone asking questions.
You’ve got till midnight.
I let out a groan. What am I going to do?
“Are you okay? I could hear fighting, but Sophia was in the bath and—oh my God, are you badly hurt?” Becca’s halfway down the stairs, where they turn a corner. Her mouth drops open. “What the fuck?”
“Where’s. Sophia?” Each word makes the pain intensify, nausea swelling inside me.
“Still in the bath.”
“Don’t. Leave. Her.”
“But—”
“Go!”
As Becca runs back upstairs, I retch again, prompting a sharp pain around my ribs. I drag myself to the front door and vomit onto the path, then I pull the door closed. I breathe as shallowly as I can—anything too deep or too fast is painful enough to make my head spin—and slowly I move to my knees and then stand up, locking the door. A piece of broken glass slices through my sock, but the pain barely registers. I hear the bathwater draining away upstairs, and I go into the downstairs loo to clean myself up before Sophia sees me.
One eye has closed up completely, the bruised skin around it swollen and cut. The blood that covers most of my face and a lot of my shirt is thankfully just from my nose, which is twice its normal size. I fill the basin and wash my face, wincing as the water turns pink.
“Adam? You okay?”
I give a noncommittal uh-huh and take a look at my reflection. It’s marginally less terrifying without the blood. I take off my shirt and leave it in the sink, emerging in an undershirt that’s dark enough to hide most of the stains.
“Jesus.”
“No, still Adam,” I say drily. “Although crucifixion feels like the better option right now.”
Becca doesn’t laugh. She’s at the bottom of the stairs, Sophia a few steps above her, looking at me in horror through the banisters.
“I’m okay, sweetheart.”
“You don’t look okay,” Becca says.
“You should see the other guy.” I try for a smile, and pain shoots through my jaw. I stop trying. “Not a mark on him.”
“Who was he?”
I don’t answer, and she follows me into the kitchen. Sophia hangs back, Elephant dangling from one hand. She’s wearing Action Man pajamas and a fleece dressing gown covered in unicorns. Becca has plaited her hair, but it’s still wet, dripping down her robe. I grab a tea towel and use it to squeeze the excess water away, glad of an action that means my daughter can’t see my face.
“Does it hurt, Daddy?”
“It’s a bit sore.”
“Shall I call an am’blance?”
“No, I don’t think—”
“I know how. Mummy showed me.”
“I don’t want—”
“Nine, nine, nine.”
“Um, maybe someone should just check you over?” Becca says. “You don’t look great.”
I finish drying Sophia’s hair and open the cupboard where we keep the first aid kit. I reach up, biting back a cry as a sharp pain makes black dots swim in front of my eyes. The room rushes up at me.
“Here, let me do that. Sit down before you fall down.” Becca steers me to a chair. Sophia is watching me, eyes wide with trepidation and curiosity.
“No ambulance,” I say firmly. “If I go to a hospital, someone will notify the police that a crime’s taken place.”
“So?”
“So maybe I don’t want the police involved.” I speak quietly, my voice casual, but my face making quite clear to Becca how I feel.
She holds my gaze, her eyes curious—suspicious, even. “How come? I mean, they’re not my favorite people, but they’re your mates, aren’t they?”
She passes me a glass of water and a handful of pills, and I knock them back in one. I’m suddenly exhausted, not just from the beating but from the sheer magnitude of keeping everything together over the last few months, from the stress of lying to Mina, to Sophia, to everyone at work. This morning’s meeting with DI Butler feels like months ago.
“I’ve messed up,” I say suddenly.
Out of everyone I could confide in, a seventeen-year-old girl isn’t top of my list, but sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone with no skin in the game. I give a loaded