The Woman Before by Jennifer Moore

Author:Jennifer Moore [Jennifer Moore]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2022-05-24T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

All this time Fern had been looking for proof of the woman’s existence and now she’d found it. But something was wrong. Very wrong.

‘Marte!’ Her name caught in Fern’s throat as she reeled back, reaching blindly behind her for a wall that didn’t seem to be there. She almost thought she saw her – a flash of golden hair spinning out in a dizzying whirl. Marte? Linny? But Fern was the one spinning, twisting away from the blanket as if it was burning her eyes.

Twisting.

Stumbling.

Falling.

‘Whoooooaaah there,’ came a voice, growlingly deep and slow, words stretched all out of shape. Too long. Too low. Like one of her dad’s old vinyl singles on the wrong setting. ‘Steady noooow.’ Hands snatched at her as she hit the ground, ankles and knees buckling beneath her. And then came the pain – a long shoot of it, hot and red, barrelling up her left leg, bringing everything back into focus. Too much focus. She could see the individual pores on Barry’s nose, and the dark hairs straying from the tufted tunnels of his nostrils. She could see the thin line of sweat beading on his upper lip. And his breath. Oh, his breath. Cheese and raw onion, with top notes of coffee halitosis. Fern jerked her face away, wincing as another shaft of pain ricocheted up towards her knee.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Barry, his voice heavy with concern, but otherwise back to normal. Vowels all operating at the correct speed.

Fern wasn’t all right, no. She felt sick and clammy, nausea swimming inside her stomach as she closed her eyes against the sight of the blanket. Marte’s baby blanket.

‘Can you get up or do I need to call someone? Is the baby okay?’

Fern nodded, holding in a squeal as the plumber’s fingers wedged themselves under her arms. But then he straightened up, pulling her with him, and she took a long gulp of clear air, collapsing her weight against the stone wall she’d somehow missed on her way down, and breathed into the pain.

No sign of any phantom blondes now. That was all in her head. But the blanket was real enough. It lay in a discarded heap at her feet, the S of ‘Sofia’ snaking away into a deep fold, taking the other letters with it.

‘How long do you think it’s been there?’ Fern asked. ‘The blanket. How old would you say it was?’ Six years? She shivered as she imagined Marte bent over the red fabric, smiling as she stitched her daughter’s name. Where was she now? And Sofia?

Barry kicked at it with his booted toe. ‘No idea. It’s certainly seen better days though. I take it it’s nothing to do with you?’

‘No,’ she whispered. Not six years. How could it be six years?

‘That’s old houses for you,’ he said. ‘Never know what you might find. Priceless antiques in the attic? Bodies under the floorboards?’

Don’t say that. Stop it. Fern didn’t want that picture of Marte in her head. But it was too late – it was there now.

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