She’d driven herself and Isla to A&E, where they’d patched her up – the burns nipped like a bastard but were superficial – and bought the bolt for the door. When they’d got back, she’d fetched a screwdriver and drill from Duncan’s shed and fixed the bolt in place, and locked them into the bedroom.
That evening, Nick had tapped on the door. ‘Maggie? Maggie, are you okay in there? Do I need to call the GP? Maybe get you a referral to some sort of mental health service?’
Two hours later, he’d been back.
She’d been woken by his footsteps coming along the corridor. Stopping at the door.
The handle had slowly turned.
She could hear his breathing.
And then a soft laugh.
She felt like she was being a right nugget, letting him do this to her, letting him get the better of her, but what could she do? She was a wee five-foot-nothing woman and he was an athletic, six-foot teenage boy who was prepared to do God knew what to get rid of her.
She could go to Yvonne and Michael’s, eh? Stay with them?
But the farm was just ten minutes’ walk away, down the track that wound its way through the fields and woods. They wouldn’t be safe from him there either. At least here, in her own home, she called the shots. If she wanted a bolt on her bedroom door, she got one. That might not be possible at the farm. She could imagine Yvonne pursing her lips and going, ‘Well, I really don’t think that’s necessary.’
At least she had most of the day without Nick.
When Isla had drunk her fill and gone off to sleep, making the wee snuffling noises that always made Maggie smile, she gently eased her into the car seat and drove to Langholm, to the coffee shop, to Pam and Liam. They were both shocked by her injuries.
‘The wee prick!’ Liam growled. And, as Pam bustled off to get Maggie a glass of water – hot drinks had lost their appeal – he muttered, ‘He needs dealt with.’
‘I know.’ Maggie jiggled Isla, who was screwing up her face, working up to a tantrum at her nap being disturbed. ‘But what can I do?’
‘I know people.’
‘Oh Jesus, no, Liam. No.’
‘Why not? Wipe the wee prick out.’
‘No.’ Maggie rocked Isla, who was making the experimental noises that meant she was about to kick off. ‘What I need to do is think how I can get Duncan in the clear. Then deal with the whole Nick problem.’ She dropped her voice and said, under cover of Isla’s crying, ‘Look. I’m flattered you’d do that for me . . . but no. That’s not happening. Right? It would break Duncan’s heart if he lost Nick.’
‘Okay.’ Liam gave her a stern look, like Maggie was the one being unreasonable here. ‘It’s your funeral.’
Back at Sunnyside, she put Isla down in her cot in the bedroom and did a deep clean of the kitchen. She had always found that housework cleared her mind and was hoping she might have some brainwave about how to get Duncan off the hook.
Aye, it had been dark, but was there a chance someone had clocked him in the car, driving Isla around? She could ask him about the route he took.
The baby monitor on the worktop suddenly came to life, distorted wails bouncing off the kitchen’s hard surfaces.
‘Okay, okay, missie, I’m coming.’ Maggie went quickly to the sink to wash her hands.
‘Don’t cry, little sister,’ crooned Nick’s voice.
She was out that kitchen and up those stairs in a heartbeat.
Nick was up here!
She barrelled into the bedroom.
Isla was writhing in the cot, her face purple, mouth wide, eyes scrunched shut. There was a big red bruise on the side of her head.
Maggie snatched her up and turned a three-sixty.
The room was empty.
Holding Isla to her, she flung open the door to the en suite, but that was empty too.
‘Nick!’ she called out. ‘Nick, I know you’re here!’ She was sobbing now, rocking Isla, whispering, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay.’
She bolted the bedroom door and set Isla down on the bed, gently stroking her poor wee face as she looked at the bruise. It was big, a couple of inches across.
Jesus!
He’d done this? He’d hurt a gorgeous wee innocent bairn? What had he done? Hit her with something? Oh Jesus, she couldn’t even think about it! She’d been telling Isla, ever since she first knew she was pregnant, that she would keep her safe, that no one would ever hurt her, and now this had happened and Maggie had been downstairs happy as Larry doing her Mrs Mop act while up here in this room, Nick . . . Nick . . .