The Christmas Forest by Rebecca Boxall

Author:Rebecca Boxall [Boxall, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-19T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-one

Saturday 9 December 2017

Enid

I was certain the poor hostage must have been killed and that we would be next. In my terror, I’d closed in on myself. All I could hear was the thumping of my heart in my ears and I’d lost all sense of time since that horrifying gunshot. It couldn’t be going well or surely we’d have been saved by now.

I was uncomfortable, my thighs starting to burn in the squat position I’d adopted, with Shemika balled up behind me. If necessary, if it came to it, I was quite prepared to be her human shield. Shemika was only five or six, after all – just Dan’s age – and with her whole life ahead of her.

I thought of Dan and wondered if I would ever see him again. Then I thought of poor Fred. Would he know by now what had happened? Last of all, I thought of Bess, but it was agony to consider that I might never see her again. My sister and soul mate and protector. At least I could be sure she’d look after dear Clifford and the hedgehogs for me. I broke down, silently, the tears streaming down my face, but I wiped them away on my sleeve. I didn’t want Shemika to know I’d all but given up.

‘I’m scared,’ Shemika whispered to me as I shifted to try to get more comfortable.

‘It’s okay,’ I told her. ‘It’s all going to be okay. You’ll see your mummy very soon.’ I didn’t mean it at all, but if Bess has taught me anything over the years it’s that sometimes there’s no place for honesty. I might have had my doubts about that in relation to Patricia, but right then – with Shemika – I knew it was the only way.

‘Do you like animals?’ I asked. I knew I should try to distract her.

‘I’ve got a doggy. She’s my best friend.’ A girl after my own heart.

‘What sort of doggy?’ I asked.

‘You mean what flavour?’

Despite myself, I smiled. ‘Yes, what flavour?’

‘A Pomeranian. She’s called Pixie and she has a sweet little pink tongue and the kindest big eyes.’

‘She sounds like you,’ I whispered. ‘She’ll be pleased to see you. Who’s looking after her?’

‘My Auntie Aliyah and her boyfriend, Donnie. We’re going to Ghana, me and Mummy.’

Not now, I thought to myself. I could feel sweat dripping down my back.

Shemika reached out for me and we waited, hand in hand, for our fate. What felt like a lifetime later, though it was probably only a few minutes, we finally heard a noise: the footsteps I’d so dreaded. I thought I might be sick.

Then, all at once, the door to the cupboard was pulled open and standing there in the sudden brightness, before my tear-blurred eyes, was a man with a gun.

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