thickness.
‘Is that for me?’ I ask, eyeing the mug hopefully.
‘Of course.’
I wriggle into a sitting position and sink my head
back against the pillows. ‘Lovely Day’, my favourite
feel-good song, is playing on the radio downstairs and
with the prospect of six weeks’ holiday in front of me,
life feels good.
Title: The Breakdown ARC, Format: 126x198, v1, Output date:08/11/16
18
b a paris
‘Thanks,’ I say, taking the mug from him. ‘Did you
manage to sleep?’
‘Yes, like a log. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait up for you.
How was your journey back?’
‘Fine. Lots of thunder and lightning though. And
rain.’
‘Well, at least the sun is back out this morning.’ He
nudges me gently. ‘Move over.’ Careful not to spill my
tea, I make way for him and he climbs in beside me. He
lifts his arm and I settle back into him, my head on his
shoulder. ‘A woman has been found dead not far from
here,’ he says, so softly that I almost don’t hear him. ‘I just heard it on the news.’
‘That’s awful.’ I put my mug on the bedside table and
turn to look at him. ‘When you say not far from here,
where do you mean? In Browbury?’
He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, his
fingers soft on my skin. ‘No, nearer than that, somewhere along the road that goes through the woods between here and Castle Wells.’
‘Which road?’
‘You know, Blackwater Lane.’ He bends to kiss me
but I pull away from him.
‘Stop it, Matthew.’ I look at him, my heart fluttering
behind my ribs like a bird trapped in a cage, waiting for him to smile, to tell me that he knows I came back that way last night and is just teasing. But he only frowns.
‘I know. It’s horrible, isn’t it?’
I stare at him. ‘Are you serious?’
The Breakdown
19
‘Yes.’ He looks genuinely puzzled. ‘I wouldn’t make
something like that up.’
‘But…’ I feel suddenly sick. ‘How did she die? Did
they give any details?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, just that she was in her car.’
I turn away from him so that he can’t see my face. It can’t be the same woman, I tell myself, it can’t be.
‘I have to get up,’ I say as his arms come round me
again. ‘I need to go shopping.’
‘What for?’
‘Susie’s present. I still haven’t got her anything and
it’s her party tonight.’ I swing my legs from the bed
and stand up.
‘There’s no hurry, is there?’ he protests. But I’ve
already gone, taking my phone with me.
In the bathroom, I lock the door and turn on the
shower, wanting to drown out the voice in my head
telling me that the woman who’s been found dead is the
one that I passed in my car last night. Feeling horribly
panicky, I sit down on the edge of the bath and bring
up the internet, looking for news. It’s Breaking News
on the BBC but there are no details. All it says is that a woman has been found dead in her car near Browbury in Sussex. Found dead. Does that mean she committed suicide? The thought is appalling.
My mind races, trying to work it out. If it is the same
woman, maybe she hadn’t broken down, maybe she had
stopped in the lay-by on purpose, because it was isolated, so that she wouldn’t be disturbed. It would explain why
20
b a paris
she hadn’t flashed her lights, why she hadn’t asked for my help – why, when she’d looked back at me through the window, she hadn’t made any sign for me to stop, as she surely would have if she’d broken down. My stomach
churns with unease. Now, with the sun streaming in
through the bathroom window, it seems incredible that I
hadn’t gone to check on her. If I had, things might have
ended differently. She might have told me she was fine,
she might have pretended that she’d broken down and
that someone was coming to help her. But if she had, I
would have offered to wait with her until they arrived.
And if she had insisted I leave, I would have become
suspicious, I would have got her to talk to me – and
she might still be alive. And wasn’t I meant to have told someone about her? But distracted by Rachel’s text and the present I was meant to have bought for Susie, I’d forgotten all about the woman in the car.
‘Are you going to be long in there, sweetheart?’
Matthew’s voice comes through the bathroom door.
‘I’ll be out in a minute!’ I call over the sound of the
water running wastefully down the drain.
‘I’ll make a start on breakfast, then.’
I strip off my pyjamas and get into the shower. The
water is hot but not hot enough to wash away the
burning guilt I feel. I scrub my body fiercely, trying
not to think about the woman unscrewing a bottle of
pills and shaking them into her hand, lifting them to her mouth and swallowing them down with water. What horrors had she endured to make her want to take her The Breakdown
21
life? And as she was dying, was there a point when she