Through sheer exhaustion, both physically and mentally, I find myself nodding off into a light and uneasy sleep which lasts for only a short while before I jolt awake. Immediately, the fear returns and I curl up in a ball on the wooden slatted bed and, once again, go over my plan for the morning.
When the craggy fingers of dawn find their way through the trees and slip through the window of the bothy, fear and anticipation battle within me at what I have to do.
Alfie is my priority. I need to get him away from Tris before I do anything else. Thoughts of Andrea’s well-being are not far behind and I wonder what sort of night she’s had. I hope she was able to protect herself from the overnight rain? Is she warm enough? I hope she’s coping with the pain of her injury. ‘I’ll come for you as soon as I can, Andrea. I promise,’ I say out loud. There’s no one to hear my promise, but I offer it up to the little bothy all the same.
I unfold myself and, with the blanket still around me, move over to the fire which has long since died out. It was enough though to dry my clothes. I dress quickly and hope I’ll start to feel warmer once I’m on the move.
It should be easy tracking along the water’s edge, but I need to make sure I recognise the spot where I fell. Once up the side of the hill, I’ll have to rely on luck and judgement to find my way.
It has been raining in the night and the going is slippery and wet. It takes me longer than I feel it should and I check my watch regularly to give me an indication of pace. Yesterday, while I had been hiding from Tris, I’d checked my watch and noted the time, which I also did when I arrived at the bothy. I estimate that, yesterday, I walked for approximately ninety minutes. If I pick up my pace and keep an eye on the time, that will give me a good indication of when I’ve reached the point where I fell.
I’ve only been tramping through the forest for about twenty minutes when the rain comes again. For goodness’s sake, how much rain can one place get? I pull the zip up high on my jacket, which I’m still wearing inside out, and hope it will only be a small shower.
As it turns out, I don’t need to worry about timing myself to where I fell. A little over an hour later, I spot the rock where I hid from Tris yesterday. All I have to do now is make it up to the top of the embankment.
Climbing is hard work. The rain-drenched ground offers little purchase and my feet keep slipping as I scramble to pull myself up over moss-covered rocks. It’s only by luck that I missed these on my way down yesterday. Where the earth is bare, I kick toe-holes in with my boot to lever myself up. Finally, I drag myself over the top and on to the even ground.
I roll on to my back to catch my breath. The branches sway in the wind, which has pushed the rain clouds away. The early- morning dawn has made way for sunlight; it punches its way through the gaps in the trees, warming the ground and releasing the aroma of damp earth and pine needles. In any other circumstances, it would be glorious to lie here, revelling in the peace and tranquillity. Funny to think that, before, I found comfort in the croft and fear from the forest. Now, it’s the other way around.
Once I leave this forest, I will have all to play for.
Eventually, I find myself at the edge of the forest behind the croft. Crouching low and using the trunk of a tree as cover, I look down at the building. My gaze rests momentarily on the shed and I think of Joanne, wondering how it has all come to this.
I mustn’t lose focus. Whatever the reasons, Joanne is now dead and my own life is in danger, as is my son’s. The latter is the most pressing fear by far. Somehow I have to get Alfie out of there. We both need to get as far away from Tris as possible.
With my jacket still inside out, I pull the hood up over my head. Then I check that the walkie-talkie’s volume is turned down; I don’t want to blow my cover this time. I survey the ground between my hiding place and the croft. The biggest open space is from the edge of the forest to the shed where the bicycle still rests. I estimate it to be approximately fifty metres. Being on higher ground, I’ll have the benefit of gravity; if I run in a direct line with the shed, keeping low, I’ll minimise the chances of being spotted. I just have to hope that neither Tris nor Zoe choose that moment to look out of the upstairs window.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes for a second while I steel myself, and then with a quick glance around I burst out from the trees and into the open space beyond.
The ground is uneven, pitted with stones, rocks and rabbit holes that I can only see at the last minute but manage to leap over or swerve round. Wet strands of long grass whip the bottoms of my trousers as I hurtle towards the shed. I glance up at the house, but only briefly, the ground is too dangerous not to watch my tread. An unexpected rock causes my ankle to turn but I push on, gulping down the cry of pain which tries to break free. I don’t have time to dwell on the possible injury. I stay on my feet and keep moving.
As I near the shed, I realise that my efforts to slow down are being hampered by the wet grass underfoot. Though I lean back and shorten my stride, it’s not enough. I’m going to crash straight into the shed. I have two options. Either thump straight into the shed and risk the possibility of alerting Tris that I’m here, or dodge the shed but grab it as I go by, in a bid to stop myself.
I choose the latter and snatch at the corner of the shed. I feel a slice of wood dig into the ball of my hand, sending a searing pain that travels the length of my arm, but the shed does the trick and I manage to bring my uncontrolled run to a halt. I drop to the ground and sit with my spine pressed against the side of the shed, out of sight from the house, while I catch my breath and inspect my wounds.
‘Shit,’ I hiss, looking at my hand. A sliver of wood has sliced the palm below the base of my fingers and it stings. Blood oozes from the wound. There’s also a large splinter embedded deep in my index finger. It’s gone completely under the skin, leaving no end to pinch and pull out. It hurts like hell, but I’ve no option but to leave it for now. The cut concerns me more. I slip my backpack from my shoulders and rummage in the side pocket for the first-aid kit and set about cleaning the wound with a sterile wipe.
When I can see the cut more clearly, it is apparent that whatever first-aid I administer will be a temporary solution only. The shard of wood has dug a wedge-shape gash in the skin, the breadth of my middle fingers; it wags up and down like a cat flap. I’m going to need stitches, I’m sure. In the meantime, I will have to make do with a square of gauze and a narrow white microporous bandage. I rip the end down the middle and tie it around my wrist, using my teeth to pull it tight.
From my position at the edge of the shed, I have a clear view of the rear of the croft, about twenty metres away. I scan the downstairs windows but can’t see anyone. Keeping low, I scurry across the garden and hunch down at the side of the porch.
I listen carefully for any sign that I have been spotted but it seems, so far, I’ve been successful. Slowly, I poke my head around the porch and, still crouching, move up to the door. Through the glass, I can see Alfie. He has his back to me as he stands at the worktop by the window overlooking the front of the property.
He appears to be making himself a bowl of cereal and a hot drink. Filling the kettle and putting it on to boil. He’s moving his head from side to side and his shoulders are bobbing too. He has his earphones in and is, no doubt, listening to some heavy rock thrash music that he doesn’t have the courtesy to use headphones for when he plays it at home. He’s wearing a hoodie and, for once, this isn’t pulled up over his head. His jeans bag at the backside and bunch up at the top of his designer-label trainers. Ones he had wanted for his birthday, which I had bought him, even though I couldn’t afford them. My only thanks had been a grunt and a ‘ta’.
Alfie appears to be alone in the kitchen. This may be my only chance. I quickly slip out of the porch and, keeping as close to the wall as possible, I navigate the woodstore and reach the double doors of the living room. I hold my breath as very slowly I look through the window. Tris and Zoe are both in the room. I can see their heads over the top of the sofa. Then Tris gets up and I snatch my head away, praying he hasn’t seen me.
A couple of seconds pass and I hear Tris talking. He’s going to light the fire. I steal another look and this time he is kneeling in front of the hearth, raking the grate with a poker.
This is the opportunity I need. I hurry to the door and gently apply pressure on the handle, breathing a sigh of relief when there’s no resistance: the door is unlocked. I slowly push against the wood and the door opens into the kitchen.
Adrenalin surges through me and my breathing quickens.
Whether it’s a subconscious thing or not, I don’t know, but as I step over the threshold, Alfie turns to face me. His eyes grow wide and his whole face flushes with surprise. The cup he has just taken from the hook slips through his hands but he somehow manages to stick his foot out to break the fall. The cup still hits the floor, but only the handle breaks off.
I hold up my hand and pat thin air while putting my finger to my mouth with my other hand in a bid to silence him. He pulls out his earphones and stares at me.
‘Everything all right?’ comes Zoe’s voice from the living room.
Alfie hesitates but I nod urgently and mouth for him to answer. ‘Yeah. All good,’ he calls.
I let out a breath. ‘Get your coat,’ I whisper. It’s too cold outside to even think of venturing anywhere without at least a jacket. ‘Hurry up.’ Alfie seems rooted to the spot. ‘Alfie!’ I hiss as quietly as I can.
‘It’s in the hall,’ says Alfie, giving another glance towards the dining room and hallway beyond.
I waggle my hand to urge him along. ‘Get it.’ Alfie looks down at the broken cup, but I tap his arm and almost push him out of the kitchen.
For once, Alfie does as he is told and fetches his coat from the hall and pushes the kitchen door closed behind him.
‘We need to go,’ I say. ‘Put that on outside.’
As I turn to leave the way I’d come in, the kitchen door opens. ‘I heard a clatter. Did you …?’ The question dries on Zoe’s lips. Momentarily turned to stone, she doesn’t move as she looks at me.
I clasp my hands together in prayer. ‘Please, Zoe, please …’ I don’t need to say anything. We both know what I’m pleading for.
Then Tris calls, ‘I could murder a coffee. Have we got any milk left?’
‘I’ll make it. You stay there,’ says Zoe. ‘Alfie’s going out for a cigarette.’
I throw a look at Alfie, who shrugs. It’s the first I know about him smoking. Zoe makes flapping motions with her hands and, nudging Alfie out of the way, picks up the kettle. She looks at me and for a second we stare at each other. I don’t know what she’s trying to convey.
‘Come with us,’ I urge.
Zoe shakes her head. ‘I can’t. You two go and get the hell out of here.’
‘Not without you.’
‘Please, Carys, go. I’m fine. I promise. I’m safe.’
I can’t risk trying to change her mind. I can’t stay any longer, not if I want to save myself and, more importantly, Alfie. I must put him above and beyond any friendship. I give Zoe one last look before turning and grabbing the sleeve of Alfie’s jacket, which he has now put on, and yank him towards the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a mobile phone. It’s not one I recognise but, without giving it any further thought, I grab it and drop it discreetly into my pocket.
We run to the end of the garden and up the hill towards the trees.
‘Where are we going?’ Alfie pants.
‘I’ll tell you in a minute. Just keep running.’
Once we are two or three trees deep into the forest, I allow myself to stop and lean against a tree as I catch my breath. I look at the phone I snatched from the kitchen. It looks like a cheap basic model.
‘Whose is this?’ I ask.
‘Dunno,’ says Alfie.
I’m not entirely sure he’s telling me the truth, but I don’t question him further. Instead, I take a small waterproof pouch from my pocket and drop the phone into it, sealing it tight. The waterproof pouch is designed like a bum-bag to be worn around the waist, and I adjust the straps before fastening it in place. ‘I’ll keep it with me. It might come in handy,’ I say.
‘What are we going to do now?’ asks Alfie.
‘We can’t go into the woods. We’ll get lost. I’ve no idea how far or even where to go to get help,’ I say, recalling my wasted efforts yesterday. ‘We have two options: the road, only I think it won’t take long before Tris catches up with us – he must have a car up here somewhere.’
‘What’s the other option?’
‘The river.’
‘The river?’
‘Yep. There are two kayaks tied to the jetty at the water’s edge in front of the croft. If we can get down there without being spotted, we can escape. Then we simply need to follow the river until we get to the nearest town. We can get help from there.’
‘Mum, this is crazy. Why are we running away from Tris?’
‘Because he’s dangerous. You’re going to have to trust me on this – I haven’t got time to explain. Believe me, we need to get as far away from him as possible.’
‘Mum—’
‘Alfie, don’t argue, not now. There’s Andrea to think of too. She’s fallen down a gorge and injured herself. She’s been there all night. She needs urgent medical attention. Please, trust me.’
‘Trust you?’ Alfie’s eyebrows rise above his fringe.
My patience snaps. ‘Don’t start. For once in your life, please do as I tell you. We’re going to sneak down to the river and get in those bloody boats. Do you hear me?’ I realise at some point I’ve grabbed his upper arms. I move my hands away.
‘All right,’ says Alfie in a way that says keep your hair on.
I’m relieved he’s decided not to argue. We don’t have time for that. Any minute now, Tris will surely realise Alfie has disappeared. I only hope Zoe’s OK.
‘Right, let’s go down the track,’ I say. ‘And then we can double back. Hurry – we haven’t got much time before Tris will be out looking for us.’
We jog through the forest, keeping parallel with the track until we reach the bend in the road and then drop down on to the track and make our way up the lane, thus keeping well out of sight of anyone looking out of the windows of the croft.
‘We’ll have to take our chances from here,’ I say in a low voice. ‘Keep close to this edge and on the count of three, we’ll run down to the river. OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Ready?’ I look at Alfie, who nods. ‘One, two, three.’ I sprint from the side of the track as fast as I can. Alfie’s feet slap the ground behind me. We clamber up the embankment and then drop down the other side where the ground slopes towards the water.
The kayaks are exactly where we left them. I pull the rope to undo the slip knot on one of them.
‘Take both of them,’ says Alfie, pulling the rope free on the other kayak. ‘We can set it adrift further up the river so Tris can’t use it to follow us.’
‘But it will slow us down,’ I say. Suddenly Tris is at the top of the bank. He must have seen us through the croft window and chased after us. He begins to shout our names. I yell at Alfie. ‘Get in the kayak! Quick!’ We both push the boats out into the river. The temperature of the water sends shock waves up my legs. It is absolutely freezing but I don’t have time to worry. As the water rises to my knees I glance behind me. Tris is now at the bottom of the bank and running towards the jetty.
I shout again. ‘Come on, Alfie!’ He has only just pushed the second kayak away. If he’s not careful, Tris will catch him. ‘Get in!’ I yell as I throw myself into the first kayak and take up the paddle. The gash on my hand stings as I grip the wooden shaft of the paddle and I feel the wound under the bandage open.
I look over my shoulder. Tris is nearly at the water’s edge. I urge Alfie with every fibre in my body to get in the boat and paddle.
The kayak rocks from side to side as Alfie hauls himself into the seat behind me. He hooks the rope of the other kayak on to ours and takes up the paddle.
‘Go!’ he shouts, plunging the paddle into the water. I follow suit, ignoring the pain in my hand as I drill down with my paddle. Alfie shouts the strokes and, despite dragging another boat behind us, we soon settle into a rhythm and move at speed through the water.
I hear Tris shout after us and I glance over my shoulder. He has run along the riverbank but now, realising he can’t do anything to stop us, has ground to a halt. His hands rest on his hips as he watches us.