The Lost Wife by Georgina Lees

Author:Georgina Lees [Lees, Georgina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008614034
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

I sit for a moment in the snow, my legs aching from the cold, a dull pain in the bottom of my back.

I am not a cruel person, but as I sit, my face stained in Bully’s blood, I do not know who I am. I let you define me for so long, I never stripped it all back before, to look at myself, the raw truth of who I am. Is this it? I didn’t know I was capable of something so feral, so cruel.

But that’s what Josh has done to me; he’s lit this maternal instinct to keep him safe at all costs. I need to get into that house. I need the medicine and supplies to make it out of here.

I feel like I’m in a tunnel, and at the end there’s you and Josh, and no matter what else is in the tunnel, I am blinkered, there’s only our family, the light at the end. All the cruel things I’ve done will be worth it to get to the end, all the ugliness of the inside of that dark, damp tunnel will be rewarded.

I make my way back to the main cottage with two large plastic bags full of clothes, medicine, and a wodge of cash I found in Tracey’s bedroom. My arm cries in pain, pins and needles working its way along my collar bone, pulling on a nerve in my neck. My pulse throbs in my throat, and my head feels like it’ll explode. I took a handful of tablets at Tracey’s to dull the pain, but it’s taken on a new form; it feels like I’ve been injected with a serum and it’s making its way through my body.

The snow relents, and the crunch amplifies as a new, icy layer forms, a quiet, piercing frost that feels even worse than the snowy wind.

When I get to the gate, heat surges through me, throwing me off balance, and when I look up, desperate to reach the house, the statue in the fountain turns to face me, shaking the snow from its blank expression, its hollow eyes, its smirk. Hands spout from flat stone and reach towards me.

I scream, dropping the bags, sweat dripping down my face.

I rub my eyes and see the statue is still upright, looking away towards the house, the same blank expression on its pearly grey face. I look down. My gloveless hand is covered in diluted blood.

What is happening to me?

I grab the bags and rush towards the house, not daring to look back at the fountain, but I can feel something touching my neck, just slightly, not the wind, not the snow, not a stray leave from the barren trees—a rough touch, like the fingertips of cold stone.

I throw open the door and collapse, Tracey’s belongings spilling over the hallway floor. Josh is crying, wailing from upstairs, and I can hear stifled tears from Tracey. I want the noise to stop.

I hit the hardwood floor and curl up on the hallway rug, my eyes so heavy, my cheeks swollen and my limbs and joints aching mercilessly.

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