Bright Lies: A Chilling Psychological Thriller by AA Abbott

Author:AA Abbott [Abbott, AA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Perfect City Press
Published: 2020-11-22T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27 October 2016 - Emily

Tears are streaming down my face. Megan was my only hope. I don’t have another plan, but no way am I going home. I limp back to the village station.

A train is due in ten minutes. Maybe I can change to one of the London services at Bristol Temple Meads.

As the train arrives, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in its windows. My reddened eyes are really noticeable. Once I’m fidgeting in my seat, I find my washbag. Hastily, I blot my face with a tissue and pile on concealer. Mum’s Pan Stik has made it into the bag too. I daub it all over my bruises, despite the agony when I touch them.

I’m so absorbed in the task that the train manager is at my side before I notice.

“I’ve got a ticket somewhere.” Fishing around in cagoule and jeans pockets, I pretend to look for it.

We arrive at Parson Street, the stop before Bedminster.

“I’ll see you later,” the train manager says. She presses a button to open the doors, and steps down onto the platform.

Thrusting washbag into backpack, I drag it to the next carriage. The train is virtually empty, and no-one alerts the train manager as I exit just before the doors close again.

Although I’ve never been to Parson Street before, it’s not hard to get my bearings. The station is next to a main road and buses are thundering past. I decide to catch one, recalling that Bristol’s bus station is a hub for long distance coaches. Perhaps in another city, I’ll find a job and a place to live. There are youth hostels everywhere. Megan doesn’t have to travel to Wales for the hostelling experience: there’s one in the centre of Bristol.

First, I need to buy pop. This morning, I filched bread, cheese, chocolate and crisps from the kitchen, even the spare cash Mum keeps in a tin for door-to-door salesmen. It’s now obvious I should have taken something to drink as well.

Luckily, there’s a small convenience store nearby. I squeeze a litre bottle of water into the backpack and buy a can of Coke to drink straight away.

The city centre can’t be more than two miles. I change my mind about taking the bus. To save the fare, I start walking. It’s slow going: my bag is heavy and I ached all over before I started.

I stop outside a phone repair shop. A poster in the window announces they buy phones for cash. Taking the iPhone from my pocket, I wonder how much they’d give me for it. It would be a good idea to sell it. While I’ve deleted David’s app, I’m sure the police can trace a mobile phone easily.

A hand tugs at my elbow, causing a spike of pain. “I’ll buy your iPhone for two hundred quid,” a deep voice offers.

I turn to the would-be iPhone buyer, trying to hide my surprise. His voice is deceptive. He looks younger than me, a short, red-haired lad carrying a skateboard.

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