Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📗

now. With Dad taken away so suddenly by a heart attack, will Mum change? All that hard work for what? A retirement of luxury holidays for one, a big, converted barn with empty rooms, and a fast car with no one to drive it. All those days and nights when they were too busy working to spend time together… No, grasp the day and enjoy it, I say. Life’s too bloody short.

Chapter 7

The Previous February | Sarah

I open my eyes slowly and stare at the slab of pavement-coloured sky between the cheap curtains. For a moment I’d been back in the log cabin, Robert’s warm breath on my cheek and the promise of a day filled with brisk walks, log fires and love-making.

But I’m not going to think about Robert. He let me down but I won’t let him ruin my life. The people going into the cabin after us must have discovered his body by now but no one has come to arrest me yet and hopefully they’ll never find me. I need to put what happened behind me and plan what to do next.

First I need a cup of tea. My eyes feel bruised and my nose is tender, but I don’t ache as much as I’d expected after all that driving. I drag some old clothes out of the wardrobe, kick my bloodstained clothing into the corner and throw an old jumper over it in case Mum pokes her head in my room. I’ll deal with it later.

I make my way downstairs, carefully sidestepping the piles of tatty newspapers and letters on the treads. Mum isn’t on the sofa, which is a good sign. At least she made it up to her bedroom. I head to the kitchen then stop in surprise in the doorway. Mum’s there in her grubby dressing-gown, a container of milk in her hand and two steaming mugs of tea on the counter.

‘Where did the milk come from?’ I ask. ‘The fridge was empty last night.’

‘I’ve been to the shop. Got some bread and bacon too. Thought you’d be hungry.’ She brushes a strand of greasy hair from her face and fixes me with a direct gaze.

She’s waiting for me to challenge her about going out in her nightwear again, but I keep quiet. I just hope she put her coat over her pyjamas instead of the dressing-gown.

‘Thanks. Mum. I am hungry.’ For now, I don’t care what the neighbours think. I’ll just enjoy the cup of tea and bacon sandwich. They’re probably used to her anyway. When she needs more alcohol her only thought is getting supplies.

‘What brings you home, then? Boyfriend trouble again or did you walk into a door?’

‘Something like that.’ I sit at the table, pushing bottles aside to clear a space.

Once I’ve eaten I’ll sort this place out. I’ll take the empties to the bottle bank and chuck the bedding from the boot in the clothing bank. At least there’s no blood on it to raise suspicion. Then I’ll go to the library and look at the internet to check the news and find a job. I have to carry on as though the police will never find me. Build a new life. I suddenly realise I haven’t even considered going back to Manchester this morning. I can’t face heading north and getting nearer to yesterday’s traumatic event.

‘Want to talk about it?’ Mum asks.

I jolt and look at her with surprise. It’s as if she can read my mind and knows something terrible has happened. I’ll never confide in her, though. As if she’s worth listening to. God! How many times have I seen Dad knocking her into the next room? She’s hardly a marriage guidance counsellor. ‘Visited Dad lately?’ I ask, and she turns away to put sugar in the tea then brings it to the table.

‘I tried my best for you, Sarah. Your father wasn’t an easy man, even from the start.’

‘Why did you choose him then?’

‘It was more a case of he chose me. Once he had his sights on me he wouldn’t let go. It must have been my Spanish ancestry that appealed to him. Called me his little gypsy girl because of my long dark hair and golden skin.’ She almost smiles at the memory. ‘I was flattered by his attention and everything was wonderful for the first couple of years. It all changed after you were born.’

‘Maybe he never wanted kids. He certainly never made me feel wanted.’

Not only did he push me away, at times it felt as though he really hated me. I don’t know what I did do, or didn’t do, to justify it. Mum always denied it, but when he threw my artwork aside or ignored that the fact that I’d scored the highest in my spelling test, I knew there was no pleasing him. ‘I used to catch him staring at me like I was a maggot on his pizza. He hated me,’ I added.

‘Don’t be silly. Of course he loved you. He just wasn’t good at showing it.’ Mum examines her dry hands as she says this. She can’t meet my eyes because I know and she knows that she’s talking bullshit.

I stand abruptly. ‘Let’s get that bacon in the pan, then we’re going to clean this place.’

I’ll wait until she’s had a few vodkas then I’ll ask her why he hated me and why he ruined both our lives. I have my suspicions, but I want to hear it from her. From this day forward I’m going to take control of my life. No one is going to make me feel inferior or mess with my head ever again.

Chapter 8

The Following June | Jenna

Nisha takes the paracetamol from my outstretched hand. ‘Thanks Jenna, you’re a life-saver. If I don’t stop this headache now it could develop into a migraine.’

I’m here on a mission of mercy as Nisha isn’t allowed to leave the travel agency to pop to the shops. ‘How can you even