With the wipers sloshing hopelessly against the lashing rain, tears blinding me as I realise I have nowhere to go, no family left I can turn to, I don’t see the car heading right at me until it’s almost too late. Quickly, I swerve to avoid it and panic rips through me as the old Land Rover careers across the bypass and skids towards the guard rail. Instinctively, I brace my hands against the dashboard. The car ploughs straight through the rail, and a sense of calm washes over me as it plunges as if in slow motion towards the jagged rocks at the foot of the ravine. I’ve been living on borrowed time, I realise, imagining I could build a new relationship from the ashes of my broken life. That I could have the thing I craved most of all in life. Children. A family. Fate has intervened to remind me I don’t deserve one.
The shrill caw of a solitary bird seconds before the car lands jolts me from my state of limbo. I hear the windshield imploding, the creaking and grinding as the front-end compresses, forcing mangled metal back into the vehicle. For a heartbeat, everything is deathly quiet, and then the metal groans, like a wounded beast woken from sleep, and the car rolls judderingly over.
No!I’m not ready to give up.My will to live kicks ferociously in. If I’m to be punished, so be it. But I won’t allow my child to be. He doesn’t deserve this. Gagging against the salty, metallic taste in my throat, I wait, hearing nothing now but a strange hissing and popping. And then I smell it.Petrol.Pungent and acrid, it sears the back of my throat, burning my eyes and filling the car with thick fumes that will kill me as surely as a spark igniting them could.
A lurch of fear grips me, my stomach heaving, my heart booming out a warning, and I twist to fumble desperately with the door handle, excruciating pain shooting through my wrist. It’s useless, precious seconds ticking by as I struggle. Terror crackles like icicles through my veins as I register that the car is on its side, the driver’s door pinned to the ground. I’m trapped. My heart stalls as I see the flicker of a flame snaking its way through the wreckage. ‘No!’ Anger unfurls inside me.I will not let this happen.My mind ticking feverishly, I attempt to reach the passenger door, only to realise I’m pinned by the seat belt. Frantically, my lungs stripped raw, my eyes streaming, I grope at the clasp with my good hand. A surge of relief crashes through me as I hear a click and it gives.
The door is buckled, open a fraction. My blood pumping with adrenaline, I claw and heave my way towards it, shoving it wide. As I scramble to clamber out, I feel a sudden rush of hot air. Fear crystallises inside me as I see the flames gathering momentum, hungry tongues licking at the roof. How long before they engulf me and I die in indescribable agony?
Summoning every ounce of strength I possess, my desperation to survive for my child driving me, I drop to the ground, landing heavily on my knees. Primal instinct kicks in, and I manoeuvre myself to my feet to stumble away from the impending inferno. The blast when it comes slams me back down, forcing the air from my body.
The fire rages behind me, scorching my clothes, my exposed flesh, my hair. I have to get out of here. Blinking hard, my eyelids coarse and grainy, I twist my head to look up to the road above, and freeze as I recognise the person staring down at me. My heart races as I wonder whether they’re here to help me or to finish me off.
With her wild raven hair flying in the wind, the woman continues to stare stonily at me for a long, blood-freezing moment, then begins to make her way down towards me. Her eyes are locked on mine, her expression hard and unflinching, and in that moment, I realise she would have every reason to hate me.Natalia.
FORTY-EIGHT
NATALIA
Poor broken little bird.I stare down at the woman who, having undoubtedly figured out who I am now I look more like myself, is dragging herself across the ground, trying to escape her nightmare. She clearly doesn’t realise she’s been living with her nightmare.
She had no clue who I was when I saw her for her first ultrasound scan at the hospital. With my weight loss, a little filler here and there, blue contacts and blonde hair, I didn’t look anything like the woman I used to be. She’d been equally clueless when I saw her shopping in the parent-and-baby section of the department store, smiling and walking across to me. She’d been worried about her baby’s development. Working to quash a visceral pang of jealousy as she pressed a hand to her bump, I’d adopted my professional sonographer persona and reassured her it was early days. She looked relieved and, strangely, I was pleased I’d been able to help her. I’d enquired after her ‘husband’, making my point that he wasn’t hers, which I don’t think was lost on her.
She’d told me at her scan of the tragedy that had befallen him, that the poor man had lost his wife. I’d been so tempted to say how careless of him. It actually was. Clearly he hadn’timagined I could possibly have survived a fifty-foot fall into the water and that I might float back with all of his secrets. I wouldn’t have survived but for the fact that I’d entered the water feet-first. The depth and density had played a factor, I’d learned at the local hospital. They’d called it a miracle. I was blessed, they’d said. I didn’t feel blessed. I doubt Jack will either when he realises his poor tragically lost wife is very much alive and kicking.
Jack hadn’t been at the hospital, of course. Obviously I couldn’t have him there. I hadn’t felt too guilty about slashing his tyres. I’d done him a favour really. The tread was worn. Dangerous. I didn’t want him dead yet. Or her. I’d been excited at the prospect of meeting her before I disassembled the life she’s built for herself on top of my metaphorical ashes.
‘How’s he doing now?’ I’d asked, my forehead furrowed in feigned concern.
‘He’s okay,’ she replied, a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. ‘Still carrying a lot of guilt over what happened to his poor wife. He blames himself. I tell him he shouldn’t, but…’
‘It’s part of the grieving process,’ I managed, fighting back the urge to tell her just how much he should blame himself, how much he shouldbeblamed.
She’d nodded sadly, telling me she knew all about survivor’s guilt, and I’d felt for her, which wasn’t part of my plan. I might even have liked her in another life, been able to forgive her for taking my place in my daughter’s life, if she hadn’t set out to steal my husband. Innocent-looking Kara isn’t quite as innocent as first impressions would have one believe. If you ask me, it was convenient that she’d managed to ‘lose’ her family. She really will wonder what she did to deserve it when it happens all over again.
I’d felt a lurch of panic as I noticed Jack come back into the store. Making my excuses about running late for anappointment, I hurried away, telling her to take care and that I would see her soon. But not at the hospital, as she would have imagined I meant. My temporary stint there had served its purpose. Next time, it would be Natalia she saw, not kind nurse Melanie.
And here I am. And heresheis, her mother’s instinct to survive clearly as strong as mine. Continuing on down the embankment towards her, I’m quietly impressed by her determination as she raises herself to all fours and then pulls herself to standing.
As she blunders blindly away, she stumbles, crashing heavily back to the sodden earth. Again, I feel for her as I hear the anguished cry that escapes her, raw and primal. She’s obviously anxious for the child she carries inside her.Hischild.
He’s just an innocent baby, I remind myself. It’s not his fault.But then, nor is it mine. I get no pleasure from this. My aim isn’t to make her suffer. It’s to make Jack pay.
And the woman who calls herself my mother?I feel the tiniest smidgen of guilt as I consider that conundrum. Up until recently, I hadn’t seen her since I stuck the pig she was married to with a paring knife. I smile as I recall his expression after I’d pinned one of his wandering hands to the dining table. Startled with incomprehension, his eyes had been as wide and petrified as those of the broken little bird who’s now lying at my feet looking imploringly up at me.
‘What do you want?’ she asks, her voice a terrified whisper.
‘Justice.’ I smile down at her. ‘Do unto others as they’ve done to you,’ I murmur. It’s a misquote, but that’s the gist of it. Jack needs to know what loss is. He’s played the grieving husband well, but you don’t grieve the loss of something you don’t care about. I won’t grieve for him.
She looks at me as if I’m entirely mad, which considerably annoys me. Does she not realise that it’s her who’s mad,becoming involved so fast with a man she knows nothing about? Getting pregnant by him?
‘You need to get up.’ I curb my temper and extend a hand to help her.
She scrambles backwards away from me.
‘Get up!’ Growing impatient, I make a grab for her.
She squeals as I catch hold of her wrist, and I wince. I hadn’t meant to hurt her, but time is against us. ‘You need to getup.Now!’ I yell. ‘There’s petrol leaking everywhere.’
