I just wanted to make it all go away. Make him go away.
I watched as he trailed a finger down her cheek and neck, his face too close to hers. Then he gripped Daphne’s upper arms and pushed her back against the wall of the cottage. ‘You’re a liar,’ he snarled. I saw the fear in her face and it took me right back to the time Victor had first hit me. When I realized that not all men were kind-hearted like my father had been. A naive little fool.
But I wasn’t that person any more. You had changed me. Daphne had changed me. I needed to protect her and the life the three of us had.
‘Leave her alone,’ I called from the doorway.
It was like snapshots flashing before my eyes: Daphne’s fear, the sneer on Neil’s face, as though he was enjoying the power.
I don’t remember snatching the breadknife from the block on the counter.
I don’t remember striding across the patio and plunging it just below his ribcage in one swift movement.
It was all so quick.
I let go of the knife in shock at what I’d done, stumbling backwards, catching sight of the horror on Daphne’s face.
‘You bitch,’ Neil rasped, dropping to his knees on the lawn. ‘You fucking bitch.’
He clutched the handle of the knife where it protruded from his stomach.
My hands flew to my mouth. Oh, God, oh, God, what had I done?
Neil flopped backwards onto the grass, his hands still around the knife handle. Blood soaked the front of his T-shirt: a bloom of crimson against white. There was so much of it. I started to gag in horror.
Daphne was by my side in an instant, her arm around my shoulders. ‘It’s okay,’ she said gently. ‘It’s okay … oh, Rose, Rose …’
‘The police. I need to ring the police.’ I felt like I’d been winded.
Neil was now lying prostrate on the ground, his pale eyelashes fluttering. Daphne bent down and pulled the knife out of his wound. But it seemed to make things worse, the blood pumping out faster than before, gushing over his fingers as he held on to his stomach, groaning.
I took off my cardigan. ‘Quick, let’s try to stem it with this,’ I said.
She shook her head. ‘He’s dying, Rose.’ Her voice was clipped, matter-of-fact, emotionless.
‘I need to tell the police,’ I sobbed.
‘No. No, you don’t.’
‘I do. We could save him!’
‘You want to save him? A man like him? A bully, a nasty fucking piece of shit.’
‘I –’
We were interrupted by moaning coming from Neil. I knelt down and pressed my balled-up cardigan against his stomach. As I did so he grasped my hand with such force that he unbalanced me and I toppled backwards. ‘Now you’re both murderers,’ he hissed, spittle flying out of his mouth and landing on his chin. ‘You’re both the same.’
A jolt of shock. ‘What?’
‘She’s Jean Burdon,’ he said, his finger pointing towards Daphne, who was standing behind me. ‘Jean Burdon.’
‘Shut up,’ I hissed, my mouth dry. ‘Stop talking. I’m trying to help you.’ I got back on my knees and leant over him. He repulsed me but I couldn’t let him die. Panic engulfed me. ‘Daphne,’ I shouted behind me. ‘Call an ambulance.’
She knelt down beside me. ‘I’m not calling anyone, Rose,’ she said calmly. I felt her hand on my shoulder. ‘We need to let Neil die.’
His eyes were closed now and his face had a sheen to it. Was he already dead? I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, this waxwork man lying on my lawn.