Dog pokes his head out behind me. “Who’re you starin’ at, big man?”
“No one,” I grumble, turning back inside.
It’s a lie. But a lie that doesn’t hurt. Whoever she is, I’m not ready.
But I noticed her… and that scares the hell out of me.
Chapter five
Katie
As the leaves turn from green to gold, a coolness engulfs Aviemore each day. My relationship with the animals of Eden House is shaky at best. I dare not go near the large animals in the paddock, and that bloody goat chased me from one side to the other on Friday evening.
It had rained, so the ground was slick with mud. I was doing my bestUsain Boltimpression when my Wellington boot was swallowed in the bog. My leg kept going, the boot didn’t. I escaped just in time, one boot down, vaulting to safety across the barbed wire fence.
My clothes ripped, my stomach sliced from the torturous wire. I watched the horned beast wander up to my abandoned boot, chew it, only to spit it back out as if my footwear offended him.
My day was made worse when Knobscratcher rang me about our divorce settlement. After explaining again that the judge’s decision was final, he exploded down the phone, all hissedthreats and venom. I’m expecting a lawyer’s letter any day now demanding half the funds from the house.
He doesn’t know where I’ve run off to, but he’s always been able to track me down. The thought of him appearing here, in the middle of nowhere, pricks at the back of my skull like a warning. Every step forward I make in my new independence holds the shadow of the weak woman I once was. I pray I never meet her again. She thought she needed him; he was her only hope.
A few years ago, after we had first separated, he turned up at random locations. The first time was at a coffee shop where I’d gone to write. It was nowhere near his work. I’d spotted him hanging around outside for fifteen minutes before he entered. He walked straight up to my table and sat down as if we were long-lost friends. The memory turns my blood cold.
The second time was at the cinema. My late friend, Bex, and I had been to see the latest romantic comedy, both of us needing a pick-me-up during our cancer treatments. As we walked to the taxi rank, he approached us and offered us a lift.
I said no; his eyes turned dark. We jumped into the nearest taxi.
He never hit me, but the emotional warfare had been his favorite hobby. For years, I had no freedom. No money. All my financial transactions reconciled with his records, unable to buy a pint of milk without entering it into the budget. Both sets of wages were paid into a joint bank account that I had no bank card for. I was trapped.
“Now, Katie, you know you can’t be trusted with money.” He lectured over and over, rehashing past mistakes. His favorite example was the day I brought home meat dated to expire that evening. He hadn’t come home at all that night, and I’d had to throw it away.
That weekend, I was locked away for twenty-four hours with no food or water, told to think about my mindless actions, left sitting and staring at the walls until he released me.
The final straw had come when my aunt died. My family needed me, but he refused to give me the money to attend the funeral, begging on my hands and knees for the fifty pounds for the train ticket.
The money never came.
On the day of the funeral, I sat at home and sobbed—for my aunt, for my cousins, but mostly for myself. The next day, I walked away with nothing but the clothes on my back. I never knew I had the strength, and doubt I’ll ever find it again. It almost destroyed me.
My coffee has gone cold by the time I drag myself out of my past. So many wasted years trapped with him. At almost fifty, I finally have control over my life. I need to grab it with both hands. Even if part of me scans the shadows for him. Even if part of me will never truly believe the danger is gone.
The two terriers barrel toward me, yapping merrily. I’m becoming oddly fond of them. They keep me safe at night; they patrol the grounds as I sleep. Knobscratcher never allowed pets. Too much competition for my affection, he couldn’t cope. I said I didn’t like animals, but the truth is, I have no experience with them. I never had the chance.
My ex had the same view when it came to having our own children. As soon as we were married, he told me there would be no family. It was just us forever. A child would disrupt. Get in the way. Be a nuisance.
I was taken to the clinic at just twenty-one years old. No kids for me.
Then came the affairs. Many of them, each one less important than the last. Until her. A young girl madly in love with the bastard who was my husband. He let her down too, leaving herpregnant and alone, denying the child was even his. Or so I heard.
I clip on the dog leads, pockets filled with treats, and we head out for our daily walk. Strolling in the countryside clears my head, gets me ready for a few hours of concentrated writing. My inspiration comes easier here in the fresh air than clouded in London smog.
The path has become our daily route. I love the changing landscape—the rolling green fields, the narrow Scottish stream known as a burn. I learned that fact at the local pub last week.
Rabbits dart through the grass, hopping over the tall stalks. Then woodland, conifers stretching high, the smell of pine needles thick in the air.
I travel back in time. My imagination creates Scottish warriors in kilts hiding behind trunks, waiting to ambush the English soldiers. It’s ridiculous, but lovely.
Lost in my daydream, I’m paying no attention to my feet and don’t notice the fallen log. My shins connect first, sending me flying. Predictably, it’s perched on the edge of a slope, and I slide down the hillside like a human rollercoaster.