Forget Her Name(82)

It’s a strong punch, straight to the nose. Sharon goes down heavily, legs akimbo, grabbing at the shelves on her way, cereal packets raining on her head. Blood starts to trickle from her nose at once, satisfyingly thick and red.

I look down at her. Sharon is a very irritating woman and this is something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time. Or Cat has. I’m happy to do it for her.

What are sisters for, after all?





Chapter Forty-Nine Sharon raises a trembling hand to her face, staring at the blood on her fingertips in disbelief. Then she tilts her head and squints up at me. ‘That’s it, you snotty bitch,’ she growls. ‘I’ve had it with you and your bleeding-heart politics. You are so fucking sacked.’

‘Can you sack a volunteer?’

‘I’m terminating your volunteering agreement. As of right now.’

I smile. ‘Is that it?’ I say. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘You hit me. That’s assault.’

Time to go, I think.

I’m not afraid of Sharon but I’ve achieved what I came here to do. The couple have disappeared with their bags of food. I’d better leave too, before things get complicated.

I’m almost at the door when there’s a clatter of heels behind me and something strikes me violently in the back, winding me.

‘What the fuck?’ I say, turning to see Sharon. She jumps on me, half strangling me, her chubby little arms around my neck.

‘You’re not going anywhere!’ she snarls, almost hysterical. ‘Not until the police arrive. Petra,’ she shrieks, ‘call the police!’

I try again to shake her off, but Sharon must weigh about eleven stone, maybe twelve. Heavy, in other words.

‘Okay, okay, you win, you win,’ I say. ‘I give up.’

‘You must think I’m an idiot.’

‘Of course, but I’d never say so to your face.’ I turn and start struggling towards the door, Sharon hanging round my neck.

‘You’re not getting away,’ she says.

I back up against a metal cabinet, and slam her into it. She swears but her grip doesn’t loosen. I’m laughing. This is so funny. Her hands tighten around my throat. I shift round and bang her against the cabinet again, hoping to dislodge her, then stagger on a few feet. Petra seems to have disappeared. I’m beginning to worry that she may actually have called the police. If I’m arrested, that would be a bad thing. A very bad thing.

‘Bored now,’ I say.

I snap my head back and there’s a loud crack as it makes contact with her face.

Sharon howls and slides to the floor.

‘I told you to let go,’ I say.

It feels good to be rid of her weight. I grab hold of my own shopping bags and head for the exit but there’s someone in the doorway, blocking my path.

It’s Dominic.





Chapter Fifty ‘Hey, sweetie,’ I say calmly. ‘How’s Jasmine? I didn’t like to disturb her when I left this morning. She looked a bit tied-up.’

He is angry but in control. ‘You need to come home, Rachel,’ is all he says.

I glance at the car keys in his hand. ‘Dad’s car. Is he with you?’

‘Robert’s still at the house. Trying to calm Jasmine down. She’s in a terrible state, wants to take the next train back to Birmingham.’

‘Best place for her, I’d say.’

He doesn’t answer.

‘Well,’ I continue smoothly, ‘I have to congratulate you on working out exactly where I’d be. Or have you been cruising the streets for hours, looking for me?’

‘Come on, we can talk in the car.’ Dominic looks past me, a sudden flicker of uncertainty in his expression. ‘What the hell happened here? Looks like you’ve been busy.’

I glance round and see Sharon sitting on the floor, her nose and mouth covered in blood, twin black streams of mascara running down her face. One of her high heels has come off and there’s something ugly about her tan-stockinged foot.

‘She assaulted me,’ Sharon tells him. ‘I’ve got witnesses.’

Dominic looks at me. ‘Shit, Cat.’

‘Wrong name,’ I growl.

He makes a face but says nothing.

I walk towards Sharon and she scrabbles backwards, terrified.

‘You’re a terrible boss, Sharon,’ I say. ‘And you’re such a mess.’

‘A . . . a what?’

‘Why so much mascara? And who wears tan tights these days?’

Sharon stares at me, her mouth open but no sound coming out.

I look back at my husband.

‘I thought we were going home,’ I say, and then head for the door with him following.

It’s cold outside, that grim afternoon-darkening in the sky that means dusk is not far off. Traffic is thickening up, too. But North London is always busy.

‘Okay, where’s the car?’ I ask.

‘Round the corner. Assuming it hasn’t been towed away by now.’

‘Illegal parking.’ I give him a flirtatious smile. ‘How sexy and rebellious of you.’

‘Better move quickly. In case they really did call the police.’

But someone is running after us down the street. I look back, half expecting to see Sharon again.