Finding Grace(68)

How could it be that only yesterday, she’d lain in his arms in her own bed and he’d been so caring, so considerate?

Lucie felt sick and ashamed, her guilt and remorse laced heavily with worry. Stefan hadn’t told her what he intended doing with Rhonda’s body. What if he was caught disposing of it? What if the police came looking for Rhonda and Stefan told them that Lucie had killed her?

The fact that Lucie hadn’t gone to the police of her own accord made her look incredibly guilty. But if she did go to the police, Stefan would implicate her in the murder anyway and they would both go to prison.

How easy it was to judge others for the decisions they made when one wasn’t inextricably linked to them. If someone had recounted her choice to her, Lucie felt certain she would have said that the right thing to do was take her chances and report the crime.

But it really wasn’t as simple as that. The shock and the shame would surely kill her dad. And when it came down to it, selfish or not, Lucie didn’t want to go to prison. She hadn’t murdered poor Rhonda, even though Stefan would ensure all the evidence pointed to it.

She felt very sad that a young woman’s life had come to such an abrupt end, but it hadn’t been her fault. She hadn’t killed Rhonda, and the more she thought about it, the more certain she was that this one salient fact was what she must cling on to, to preserve her sanity.

She would stay in the B&B tonight, knowing there was no risk of Stefan coming after her, and tomorrow she would go back to campus, pack up her sparse belongings and head home to Nottingham on the train.

There, she would try and build her life again and resolve to put the terrible events behind her for good.

She closed her eyes and made a solemn pact with herself and with God, who knew the truth of what had happened.

If you let me walk away from this, I’ll bury the memory of today and never dwell on it again. I’ll try and make the most of my life and help others where I can.





Forty-Eight





The years passed like bleached-out patches of time that should have been filled with everything that Lucie had dreamed she would do and be.

She was surrounded by disappointment. No matter what she did, it dripped from her like melting wax, smothering the faintest hope that her life might ever improve.

Her father made at least one comment a day, often more, about how he still found it difficult to believe she had thrown her golden chance away so readily. She never came close to telling him why. She couldn’t lay that at his door.

Lucie settled into grey, colourless days where she didn’t leave the house. She took on some private bookkeeping work that she did from home during the mornings, usually.

The only communication that came from Stefan was a regular warning to keep quiet.

Breathe a word of what you know and I’ll tell the police you were involved in Rhonda’s death.

But over time, the texts appeared less and less frequently. She had honestly thought he would hunt her down, but in reality, he seemed glad to be rid of her. She was obviously of no more use to him.

After many months of barely leaving the house, Lucie’s dad sat her down for a chat.

‘It’s not healthy, love. A young woman with everything to live for, stuck at home day in, day out.’ He handed her a scrappy note. ‘I got a counsellor’s name from the clinic. Apparently, she’s good. The doctor can get you on the waiting list.’

Lucie had known she was struggling. She’d even looked it up; agoraphobia, the fear of going out. She didn’t feel like it was a fear, as such, more the easy choice to keep anxiety at bay.

She was surprised to find she embraced her dad’s suggestion and within six weeks, her first appointment came through.

Baby steps, the counsellor said. And one of those steps – a very important one, as it turned out – was to venture to the local café once a day, if she felt she could.

The first few times were difficult. She nearly turned around and didn’t go on several occasions. But then, she came to look forward to the five-minute walk for a latte or a homemade lemonade, in the better weather.

A man came into the café almost every day. He was a little older than Lucie, tall and good-looking, and he always made a point of lingering a little longer at the counter than was strictly necessary, right by her regular table.

For her part, Lucie would find an excuse to walk past his table, and they’d chat, mostly about the weather or current affairs. He was very interested in politics and the environment, and she’d talk to him about the takeaway cups the café used, and about how they could suggest to the management that they cut down on plastic wrappings for the sandwiches and suchlike.

He asked her out, to a Green Party community event, and Lucie accepted.

‘I don’t even know your name,’ she laughed.

‘Blake Sullivan. Eco-warrior and all-round nice guy.’ He beamed. ‘At your service.’

They quickly developed an easy friendship. Lucie made it clear she wasn’t looking for a deep and meaningful relationship at that point in time, and he accepted it without question. But they went out regularly as friends, and after a couple of months, it turned into something else.

Suddenly she realised they were a couple, and it felt right. It felt like she’d been given another shot at happiness.

In the evenings, Lucie would watch a bit of television with her dad, and then, if she wasn’t seeing Blake, she’d retire to her bedroom to read or watch a film.