but she couldn’t speak because her mouth was filled with blood and fragments of broken teeth.
She had never known pain like it, and it pulsed along every nerve in her body. From the demented look in his eyes she could tell that he had completely lost it. The red mist had consumed him. He was in the grip of a dark rage, and not for the first time. She’d seen it happen before and had likened it then to someone being possessed by the devil.
He gave her a look of sneering contempt as he stared down at her, his face tense, jaw locked, blue veins standing out on his neck.
‘I warned you,’ he yelled. ‘It didn’t have to be like this.’
Every molecule in her body was screaming, and hot tears spilled from her eyes.
She should never have let him in. It had been the mother of all mistakes. He was fired up before stepping over the threshold, intent on making her regret what she had threatened to do to him.
After slamming the front door behind him, he had launched into a furious rant, accusing her of being a money-grabbing whore. She had tried to calm him down by offering to make him a cup of tea.
But it wasn’t tea he was after. He wanted her to tell him that she was backing down and that he didn’t have to worry. But her refusal to do so had wound him up to the point where he’d snapped.
He’d smashed his fist into her face. Not once but twice. The first blow struck her mouth and stopped her from screaming. The second blow broke her nose and sent her sprawling backwards onto the kitchen floor.
Now she was at his mercy, unable to cry out as she watched him reach towards the knife block on the worktop. He withdrew the one she used for cutting vegetables. The sight of it paralysed her with fear.
‘You were a fool to think I’d let you get away with it, Megan. The others might cave in, but I fucking won’t.’
His voice was high-pitched and filled with menace, and his chest expanded alarmingly with every breath.
Panic seized her, and she tried to push herself up, but he responded by stamping on her right arm.
There was no stopping him now, she realised. Even if she could talk he was too far gone to listen to reason.
‘You’ve always been a frigging liberty taker,’ he fumed. ‘But now you’ve overstepped the mark big time.’
The knife was above her now, and as he squeezed the steel handle the blood retreated from his knuckles.
She tried again to scream but it snagged in her throat and suddenly she couldn’t even draw breath.
At the same time he lowered himself until his knee was pressed into her chest and his weight was threatening to crush her breastbone.
Face clenched with murderous fury, he moved his hand so that the tip of the knife was pressed against her windpipe. She could actually feel the adrenalin fizzing through her veins like a bolt of electricity.
A voice in her head was pleading with a God she had never believed in.
Please don’t let him do it.
Please make him see sense.
She managed to swallow back the blood in her mouth and let out a strangled sob. But that was about all she could do.
‘I can’t let you live, Megan,’ he said, and the harsh odour of his breath caused her nostrils to flare. ‘I realise that now. If I do I know you’ll make it your business to destroy me.’
She arched her body, desperate to throw him off, but he was too heavy and too determined.
Suddenly all hope took flight and she felt herself go limp.
Then she closed her eyes because she couldn’t bear to look at his face as he plunged the knife into her throat.
Beth Chambers
I jolted awake to the sound of my mother’s voice and the earthy aroma of instant coffee.
‘You need to get up,’ she said. ‘The paper phoned and they want you to call them back straight away.’
I forced my eyes open and felt a throbbing pain at the base of my skull, made worse by the harsh sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ I groaned.
‘Let me guess,’ my mother said, placing a mug on the bedside table. ‘You’ve got a hangover.’
I rolled on my side, squinted at the flickering numbers on the digital clock.
‘Bloody hell, Mum. It’s only half eight.’
‘That’s right,’ she said, her tone disapproving. ‘It’s also Saturday – one of only two days in the week when Bethany Chambers gets to spend quality time with her daughter.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ I said. ‘Is she still in bed?’
‘You must be joking. She’s been up for an hour. I’ve washed and dressed her and she’s having breakfast. She thinks you’re taking her to the park.’
I felt the inevitable wave of guilt wash over me. It had been a mistake to drink so much last night. But then how else would I have got through what had been such a tiresome ordeal?
‘How bad is it?’ my mother asked.
I closed my eyes, held my breath, tried to assess the level of discomfort.
‘On a scale of one to ten I’d say it’s an eleven,’ I said.
My mother exhaled a long breath. ‘Then sit up and drink some coffee. It’ll make you feel better.’
I hauled myself up and placed my back against the headboard. I had to close my eyes again to stop the room from spinning. When I opened them my mother was still standing there looking down at me. Her arms were folded across her ample chest and she was shaking her head.
I sipped at the coffee. It was strong and sweet and I felt it burn a track down the back of my throat.
‘When did the office call?’ I said.
‘A few minutes ago,’ my mother said. ‘I answered your phone because you left it in your bag – which you left on the floor in the hallway, along with your coat and shoes.’
I couldn’t resist a smile. It was like going back to when I was a wayward teenager. Most weekends I’d roll in plastered, barely remembering what I’d been up to. My poor mum had put up with a lot in those days and even now, aged 29 and with a kid of my own, I was still a bit of a handful. Still cursed with a reckless streak.
‘So how did it go?’ she said. ‘Was this one Mr Right?’
I shook my head. ‘I should be
