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  ‘Come on Martin surely you want to know what we were up to all afternoon.’ She put her foot on the back of his head and pressed it hard into the ground. ‘All afternoon! Think about it Martin, let your mind run riot you fucking pig. Imagine all the things we were doing to each other and then get it in your head that I’m never going to tell you!’ she screamed. ‘Never! And if you ever touch me again I’m going to fucking kill you. Do you understand me?’ She stepped away and he rolled over, still clutching his throat, fury burned in his eyes. ‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’

  The question became rhetorical, because she kicked him cleanly and precisely in the balls before he had chance to answer. Air escaped loudly from his shocked mouth and he rolled over again with one hand on his throat the other between his legs.

  ‘It’s over!’ she screamed and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She flew into the bedroom completely unprepared for what had just happened. She stood in the centre of the room with her mind in whirling turmoil; she needed a suitcase fast but they were all in the attic. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she repeated to herself. She opened her wardrobe and tossed clothes and shoes aside looking for her sports bag. When she pulled it clear of all the junk that had accumulated at the bottom of the wardrobe over the years she stuffed it full of clothes and snatched her make-up. She glanced back at the door imagining seeing him standing there. ‘Fuck! Fuck! Come on Simone. More speed less haste.’ She rushed into the en-suite. Toothbrush. Toiletries. ‘Come on! What else?’ How long did she have before he was on his feet again? She feared she was in genuine danger; she only won the fight because she took him by surprise, one on one with him and she doubted she would stand any kind of chance regardless of her police training. If she didn’t leave soon there was a distinct possibility Martin would hospitalise her or even kill her. Images of Caroline Sheppard burst into her consciousness; a bloody helpless woman, drained and limp, and the lonely last gasps before death.

  Every part of her being was screaming for her to get out of the house but she needed one more thing. She dropped the bag and flung open the drawers on her bedside table. She found what she was looking for, a leather organiser containing her passport and the passbook to their savings account. She grabbed it and stuffed it in the sports bag. She was out of time; everything else would have to stay.

  Out of the bedroom and into the corridor. Where was he? Down the stairs she went, fast as possible, bag slung over her shoulder. Then from out of nowhere Martin came flying at her screaming and crazed. He slammed into her and she hit the wall but the bag of clothes cushioned the impact. He punched her hard in the stomach and then twice in the face. The blows came at her in quick succession and her legs went from beneath her and she dropped to the ground.

  ‘You don’t fucking leave me!’ he shouted insanely. ‘No. NO. NO! YOU DON’T GET TO LEAVE!’

  He drew his leg back to kick her in the face but she launched herself at him using everything she had to power into his chest. The crown of her head crunched against his chin and she heard the clipped smacking sound as his teeth snapped together and they both tumbled to the floor. Simone was first to her feet; she snatched one handle of the sports bag and pulled it towards her only to find that he had hold of the other. She tugged it once, twice, three times but he wouldn’t relent. She took a step back and kicked at his face. He tried to knock the blows away with his free hand and kept snatching at her foot but adrenaline, anger and fear drove her on. She shouted, ‘Fuck off forever!’ and kicked at his face again, this time accurately and the bag burst free from his grip when his nose broke. She dashed to the door and out into the driveway, clambered into her car and drove away. The tyres screeched as if in pain and she didn’t look back.

  Simone got about a mile from the house before she had to pull into a supermarket car park because her whole body was shaking violently and she was rapidly becoming incapable of driving. She found a set of empty spaces at the back of the car park and slowed to a stop. She switched the engine off and gripped the wheel tightly to stop her hands from shaking but the tremors reverberated through her arms and into her back making her whole body tremble uncontrollably. She stole a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror and looked away. Explain this one she thought. Cuts old and new had opened and blood caked her face. She considered that, maybe in time, like the veteran boxer she probably wouldn’t bruise anymore. The nail on the middle finger of her right hand had been torn off and she yelped with pain when she dropped the windows by an inch in an attempt to let some cool air into the car.

  Her hands fell to her lap and she put her head back into the headrest, she closed her eyes and breathed evenly to push the hum of pain to one side as the adrenaline dissipated and her body became still.

  She fell asleep.

  Simone could hear a voice, it was high pitched and young; it speared her slumber and woke her up.

  ‘Mum, look at this lady, is she okay?’

  Simone opened her eyes as best she could and a child was staring at her through the window; a little girl with blonde hair and a floppy hat was calling out to her mother. ‘She’s got blood on her.’

  Simone’s face was tight and sore and her left eye had puffed up around the cheek bone, she tried to smile at the little girl in an attempt to reassure her that she was okay and to stop her from calling her mother over but it was too late.

  ‘My God, have you been in an accident?’ The woman looked at Simone and then at the car, scanning it for damage, trying to understand why the woman inside was in such a state.

  Simone was groggy but she was acutely aware of how terrible she looked, the girl wouldn’t stop staring at her with a child’s fascination for passive horror.

  Simone opened the door and climbed out of the car with rubbery legs, the child stepped away, suddenly frightened, she hid behind her mother and peered around her legs.

  ‘I know I look a state but I’m okay. Honestly.’ Simone’s voice was dry and croaky and she was covered in sweat. She expected the woman to accept her reasoning that she was okay but she didn’t, she was young, no more than twenty-three; she put her hand on the back of her child’s head and straightened her back defiantly.

  ‘No you’re not,’ she said. ‘Look at yourself. You need help. Sit back down and let me help you.’

  Simone did as she was told. She was too tired to protest, too tired to lie.

  ‘I was going to suggest we call the police but…’ She motioned to Simone who looked down at her shirt and at the lapels of her uniform. ‘…you are the police,’ the woman finished.

  ‘What’s your name?’ said Simone.

  ‘I’m Kate and this is Melody.’

  ‘Simone.’

  ‘Can I call someone for you Simone?’

  She considered this and replied, ‘No. Thank you.’

  Kate looked stern. She wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  ‘I’m really thirsty; could you get me something from the store?’ Simone pulled a ten-pound note out of her bag. ‘I can’t really go in there looking like this,’ she said, ‘would you mind getting me some water, maybe a sandwich, any kind will do, and some wipes so I can get cleaned up?’

  Kate and Melody took the money and Simone watched them walk hand in hand until they became blistering seraphic silhouettes with outlines that burned against the sun as it cast long shadows across the car park.

  A few hours ago, Simone had been happier than she could ever remember but deep down she knew that amount of happiness could never be permanent, for if it was, it would be likely to drive her insane. Simone was under no illusion that when she was tossed back into the reality of her life that fleeting glimpse of sunshine would slip behind clouds. And the inevitable crash from happiness to helpless despair happened as surely as night follows day and her real life as a battered wife had left her needing help from a stranger in a Tesco car park.

  When they returned Kate handed her the bag of shopping and left her alone. Simone drank heavily from the water bottle and found Kate had brought a
first aid kit. Simone cleaned her hands and face with moist antiseptic wipes and bandaged her finger. She took a bite from the cheese and ham sandwich and discovered that one of her front teeth felt painful and loose when she chewed. She moved the food to the very back of her mouth and ignored the pain as best she could and made a mental note to see a dentist when she had time. She really didn’t want her front teeth to fall out. The food instantly fuelled her body and brought her back from the shaking, sickening crash of drained adrenaline.

  Kate waited patiently while Simone ate; she sat with Melody while she played and when Simone had finished walked over to her and said, ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Much better, thanks. You’ve been very kind, you too Melody.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, when we saw you we knew we had to see if you were okay.’

  Simone tried to smile, hating the fact that she needed help.

  Kate said, ‘I take it that didn’t happen in the line of duty.’

  Simone was reluctant to talk about what had happened but felt obliged to give some kind of explanation. She saw the wedding band on Kate’s left hand. ‘You’re married?’

  She nodded.

  ‘He’s kind to you?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘And to Melody?’

  Simone noticed that Kate was very pretty, with tanned skin and freckles that peppered her nose, dark hair kissed her shoulders when she looked over her shoulder to the car in which Melody sat and played. When she turned back she was swollen with love and Simone could see that Kate had never imagined her husband harming her daughter and if that ever happened she would die to protect her. ‘Yes of course,’ she said.

  ‘Then you’re very lucky.’

  Kate gave no response but it was clear she understood. She said, ‘Where are you going to go?’

  ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

  ‘Do you need me to get you anything else?’

  Simone shook her head.

  ‘I have to go back inside and do my shopping.’ She looked uncomfortable and tried to explain. ‘It’s the reason we came here.’

  ‘Of course. Go ahead.’ Simone tried to reassure her. ‘I’m going to be fine.’

  ‘If you’re sure there’s nothing else I can do for you.’

  Simone shook her head again. ‘Thanks.’ She was grateful but now she wanted to be alone and no longer a concern for Kate the Samaritan.

  Kate couldn’t hide her reluctance to leave but relented and said, ‘Okay, come on Melody.’ The child looked up and jumped out of the car, she slammed the door shut with a grunt and took her mother’s hand.

  ‘Is the lady going to be okay?’ Simone heard Melody ask as they walked away.

  Simone took her mobile phone from her bag and held it loosely in her palm staring into nothing and considering who she was going to call.

  Her first instinct was to call her parents; it seemed the natural thing to do when your life had suddenly fallen apart, but she knew they couldn’t help her anyway, they lived miles away, having moved to Taunton when her father retired a few years ago. Her news would drive them crazy with worry and she didn’t want to burden them with her problems as they were both getting on in years and she was their only child. They had her late in life and Simone had tested their patience in her rebellious years but now, when she looked back at her dubious past through the eyes of an adult she knew she always meant the world to them and they were just as important to her.

  On hearing what had happened they would insist on either driving up to see her or try and persuade her to drive down to them and she would spend most of her time on the phone trying to dissuade them from either action. She needed to tell them what was going on in her life, tell them her marriage had ended and what her relationship with Martin was really like, but the more she thought about it the more she knew she wasn’t ready to admit she had been lying to them for as long as she could remember. No, she would call them later, maybe in a couple of weeks after things had settled down, when she had a grip on the situation and at least some solutions to her problems were in motion. They would be less likely to worry if she was positive about her future when she spoke to them and could assure them she was going to be okay.

  Her body throbbed with pain and sweat beaded from her temples as she scanned the contacts list in her phone. She called the bank that held their joint account and transferred exactly half the balance into her personal account using the passbook she remembered to take before she left the house. Then she hesitated, unsure of her next move.

  When she dialled again she knew she was going to have to explain herself, she wasn’t calling her parents but the truth still had to come out, she couldn’t be cryptic about her situation. Lies wouldn’t wash and by asking for help she was opening the door to confession, her life and weaknesses were about to be unveiled, and she felt ashamed.

  Lucy answered. ‘Hey, Simone. What’s up?’

  Simone stayed mute, the phone hissed in her ear.

  ‘Hello, Simone? Are you there?’

  When Simone finally spoke her words spilled into the telephone network like human waste into a sewer pipe. It was as if someone else was speaking for her; throwing their voice from over her shoulder like a ventriloquist with an evil puppet. ‘I need help,’ she said. They were simple but important words. ‘Can I come over?’

  Simone watched for signals of disappointment from Lucy. She was ashamed at being a victim and was convinced that it was only a matter of time before something betrayed Lucy’s true feelings towards Simone. She watched for that split second change in expression or tone of voice that would give her away. Simone expected her to say something like - ‘I thought you were stronger than that,’ and ‘I just don’t understand how you could let him do that to you.’ But she didn’t. Nor did she, as Simone imagined she would, give any impression of despondence or discomfort or any indication of displeasure at being in the same room as her. Lucy was tough and brash and could hold her own against anyone but that night she was nothing but comforting and supportive and said she felt privileged at being the one Simone chose to confide in.

  When Lucy’s boyfriend came home he found two drunk and emotional women sitting together on the couch.

  Walk Through Fire:

  Part 2

  The Silence - 1990

  Nathan West, his father and Simone were sitting around the kitchen table drinking mugs of tea and enjoying comfortable conversation. Nathan watched Simone discreetly as she circled her index finger around the edges of a years-old purple wine stain that no one had bothered to sand out because sanding took effort and besides, old wine stains gave character to the finish of the antique oak. The conversation was broken for a second when the phone rang and Nathan stood to answer it. He ignored the one in the kitchen, preferring the more private telephone in the hallway. He was made of eggshells and ready to crack, constantly fearing the phone call from the police that would condemn him.

  Nathan breathed a little easier when he answered the phone to Martin, but his relief was short lived.

  ‘I think we need a chat,’ Martin said and Nathan’s ear grew hot against the earpiece.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ll meet you outside St Mary’s, tonight at eight.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’s nice and quiet there.’

  Simone burst out laughing and it carried into the hallway. There was silence on the other end of the phone as it travelled down the line. It was a silence so complete Nathan wasn’t sure whether Martin was still there until he heard him sigh and ask, ‘Is she there?’ His tone was flat and wrathful.

  ‘Who?’

  Martin cleared his throat. ‘See you tonight Flame Boy,’ he said and hung up.

  Dusk.

  Martin was sitting on a bench in the graveyard when Nathan arrived at the church.

  ‘This is all very dramatic,’ Nathan said as he approached and sat down.

  Martin ignored him. He was in control, he had Nathan tightly by the balls, th
ey both knew it and Nathan had the creeping suspicion he was about to get fucked.

  Martin sat in silence looking at the ancient brick of the church wall. He was relishing his moment.

  ‘Get on with it Martin; I’ve not got all night.’

  ‘I wonder if they’ll bury him here.’

  ‘Bury who?’ said Nathan, knowing exactly what Martin was talking about.

  ‘That poor sap you burned.’

  ‘People have to die before they bury them.’

  ‘Not always,’ he said.

  Nathan sighed, as ever, he had little patience for Martin’s bullshit.

  Martin and turned to look at him for the first time since he sat down, ‘You’re alive, and yet I could bury you,’ he said with a sneer.

  There was nothing Nathan could say to defend himself. He was guilty, it was as simple as that, and the guilt drove him to hate himself on so many levels he couldn’t even begin to make sense of it. But now his future was in Martin’s hands and that made him feel physically sick. ‘What do you want?’ he snapped.

  ‘You’re not going to like it.’

  ‘Let me guess, you want me to stay away from Simone?’

  ‘For starters.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘I want you to go away for good, I want you to take your hippy hair and your stupid T-shirts and go somewhere far away and forget about coming back.’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  Martin hated him; Nathan could see it in his eyes. There was nothing there but pure hatred and for some reason that surprised him. It was obvious they had never really been friends, but Nathan had never thought they were enemies. It was clear now that Martin’s infatuation for Simone had fuelled his vitriol and jealousy towards Nathan to the point where it had been chewing him up inside and now he had an opportunity to get rid of him. It was a dangerous place for Nathan to be.