Henry didn’t reply, seeming to contemplate the demand. He couldn’t give Randell money. I didn’t want to be even more indebted to Henry—but more importantly, I didn’t want Randell to get ideas. Today it was ten thousand pounds, tomorrow twenty thousand, and then thirty thousand. Drugs were expensive, and he would always find new ways to blackmail Henry once he realised he could.
“I have a better idea,” Henry finally said.
Randell raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“I’m calling the police.”
Randell stiffened beside me but quickly masked whatever fear the threat had stirred in him with arrogance. “Go for it. By the time they get here, I will have stabbed you both.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Your tiny knife doesn’t scare me. But if you so much as leave a single mark on Kate, I will destroy you. I’ll hunt you down, wherever you are, and make your life a living hell. I’ll make sure you never feel safe again.”
Uncertainty flickered in Randell’s eyes—he hadn’t anticipated Henry’s threats. But he stayed where he was, keeping his knife pointed at me.
“If you think I’m bluffing, you’re mistaken,” Henry continued. “This isn’t a threat—it’s a promise. Unlike you, you pathetic son of a bitch, I have unlimited resources to ruin your life. So let Kate go and put the knife away. Do me that favour. And more importantly, do yourself that favour.”
I felt and heard my heart pounding in my chest as my eyes flicked between the two men. Randell returned Henry’s withering look, but he said nothing. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still—and then Randell finally stepped away from me. He retracted the blade with a click. At last, I could breathe again.
“Good decision,” Henry said. “Now fuck off!”
Randell hesitated. I could see how much he hated this. He was used to getting his own way, forcing his will upon people like me and my mum, who couldn’t stand up to him physically. But Henry was different. Still glaring at him, Randell moved away from me. I was afraid his retreat was a ruse and that he’d lash out at any moment, but he seemed to grasp that the situation wouldn’t end well for him if he did. He turned and fled.
I didn’t dare move. The blood was still thundering in my ears.
I felt movement beside me—Henry. I lifted my head and met his eyes. His expression was steely, but beneath the rage, I saw his concern. I must have been a mess—damp, dirty, and tear-streaked.
“Are you OK?” he asked, his voice thick with worry as he held his umbrella over my head.
“Yes,” I croaked, fighting back a whimper, but the relief was too much. Tears spilled down my face, and I threw myself into Henry’s arms. He caught me instantly, pulling me close. I clung to him, burying my face in his chest as sobs wracked my body. I couldn’t believe Randell had threatened me with a knife. He would stop at nothing now. “I was so scared.”
He stroked my back, his proximity calming my racing heart. “I know. But you’re safe now.”
Thanks to you.
“Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head, and Henry relaxed slightly. The rain intensified, but he didn’t move, keeping me in the safety of his embrace. For a moment, I simply soaked up his reassuring presence, then he placed his hands on my shoulders and gently held me at arm’s length to examine me. His blue eyes were clouded, as if he were struggling with his emotions too.
“Shall we get out of here?” he asked.
I nodded, eager to leave.
He took my hand, and we left the cemetery together. I cast one final glance over my shoulder at my mum’s grave. Our footprints—mine and Randell’s—were still visible. Not even in death was she free from that monster.
44
Hey, I’m staying at Randell’s tonight. There are leftovers from last night in the fridge for you to heat up. I hope you had a good day. Let me know when you get home.
Old message from Kate’s mum
Kate
Henry opened the passenger door of his Bentley and gestured at me to get in. I hesitated—I was soaked through and my trousers were muddy, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t walk back to the hotel alone and risk running into Randell again. He must be livid about the turn our encounter had taken. So I followed Henry’s silent order.
He closed the door, walked around the car and slid into the driver’s seat. Without a word, he turned on the engine and cranked up the heating. Warm air blew out at me. I shivered and sunk into the seat with relief. The confrontation with Randell had only lasted ten or fifteen minutes, but it had drained a week’s worth of energy on a day when I was already feeling fragile.
Henry drove off, still not speaking. The silence between us felt deafening—or maybe it was just my own thoughts screaming at me. I glanced over at Henry uncertainly. His eyes were fixed on the road, his jaw tense. He had seemed relieved at the cemetery that I was OK, but now he seemed annoyed more than anything else.
“Are you angry at me?” I asked.
