One
Chapter 17: The Redcliffe Gazette
Part Two
For my mum and dad,
with much love and many thanks.
October 2018
The screaming inside had stopped. But the thoughts in my head still clamoured for attention. I studied my hands, turning them over to examine my palms. Perhaps my future was written on them, along my lifeline. I started to twist an imaginary gold band around the third finger on my left hand. One, two, three times. The smooth skin here, where previously there had been a wedding ring, proved that I was once married. No, not once. Twice.
The nausea came in waves every time we went over a bump in the road. I wanted to tell the driver I thought I might throw up. The taste of fear was foul in my mouth and I needed some fresh air. But the driver couldn’t have heard me even if I’d shouted. You’re supposed to look out of the window when you’re carsick, but the one in here was small and too high. When I craned my neck, I could just make out flashes of grey sky between bare branches, or occasionally the upper floors of tall buildings we passed. Looking up made me dizzy. Lowering my head, I stared again, in shame, at my hands. Gnarled and dry-skinned, they might have been a sweet old lady’s hands rather than those of a cold-blooded killer.
I felt as though I was retracing my steps, travelling back in time. Five years ago, I’d been taken away in a white van just like this one, and now I was being taken back again. It wasn’t the same place, it wasn’t even the same city – this was London, not Bristol, but people here would scrutinise me and judge me and determine my fate, just as they had done before. At least this time there would be two or three friendly faces among the sea of hostile ones. Two or three people who believed in me.
I hoped it would be three. It was my lucky number.
When I’d been taken
