Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,101

a long handle that I left on the hob after supper.

‘It’s ok, Mia. It’s ok!’ My voice trembles as I scramble under the table and grab the knife. Ignoring the pain in my knee, I race to the back door, bolting it shut just in case Patrick comes back.

Mia is sobbing and shaking violently. I need to take control. I lift the heavy saucepan out of her hands and place it on the counter.

‘Darling, are you all right?’ I grasp her, but she is staring at the blood on my hands and down my front.

‘What’s happened?’ she stutters.

‘Oliver. Is he ok?’

‘I think he’s in his room.’

She looks so young and fragile, my daughter, shivering, her arms hanging loosely by her sides, her fringe almost hiding her eyes. I want to scoop her up, apologise for being such a terrible mother, for failing to protect her. But we need help. Now.

I seize the phone.

And then there is the most terrifying bang, followed by a roar. It sounds as if a grizzly bear has slammed through the front door, sending everything in its path flying, and is now getting nearer and nearer. Mia freezes. I grab her and pull her behind me.

I grasp the phone in my left hand and snatch the knife from the counter where I placed it. I hold both behind my back.

Footsteps thud along the hallway. The internal kitchen door is kicked wide open and Patrick crashes in.

‘Where are you, bitch!’ Patrick screams. He staggers towards me, blood pouring down his cheek, wildly waving a knife so much larger and more vicious than my kitchen knife. He must have pulled the knitting needle out, because little remains of his eye. My stomach lurches as I look at his disfigured face.

I shove the phone into Mia’s hands. She needs to get out of here and call the police. We are standing between the stove and the island unit. If Mia runs the long way around the island, she can dodge Patrick, who is moving closer and closer to me.

‘Run, Mia!’ I say. ‘Run upstairs and lock the door!’

‘No, Mum!’

‘Go! Go now!’ I shout at her, and the terror in my voice spurs her to move, skidding around the side of the island unit and darting behind Patrick just as he turns to face her. As her footsteps thump up the stairs, he turns back towards me.

‘Where is Fiona?’ Patrick is waving the knife from side to side. His shoulders are hunched forwards, and his chin juts out.

I don’t answer. She is crumpled on the floor just a metre behind me. He might be blind in his left eye, but surely he will see her with his right eye. I need to talk to him, to distract him. It goes against every instinct, but I take a step towards Patrick, holding the knife behind my back.

‘Did you love me, even just a little bit?’ I ask. I have to know.

‘What has love got to do with it? I’m only taking what is rightfully mine.’

He lunges towards me, shoving the knife forwards, but I am quicker than him and dart to the left, sticking out my right leg. He topples towards me, and with both hands, I hold the kitchen knife out in front of me, plunging it with all my strength into his stomach as he lurches forwards. I’m shocked how easily it goes in. He collapses to the floor, right next to Fiona. For a moment, I stand there, utterly horrified at what I have done. And then, unthinking, I lean down and pull the knife out again. Patrick lets out a guttural, terrible howl. Blood is seeping through his shirt and puddling underneath him.

‘Help me!’ he whispers. But it is as if I am frozen. All I can do is stand there and watch in horror as the blood pours from his body, creating an ever-increasing pool of sticky redness on the kitchen floor.

I hear the sirens, as if they are coming from a place far away. When the blue flashing lights strobe through the kitchen windows, I still feel as if I’m detached, watching a horror movie unfurl in my home.

They surround me then, these unfamiliar faces, crowding our home once again.

They take me to the living room. Oliver is there, still in his school uniform, his face the colour of our white walls. And Mia, my brave girl, has her arms around her brother, her childhood dissipated in the space of the last thirty minutes.

We sob