Page 1 of Her Hidden Shadow

Prologue

Eight years ago

I turn in bed and pull the sheet over me. The air is sticky and the nights have been unbearably humid. A slight breeze catches my face, drying the droplets of perspiration on my forehead. Slowly, slowly, I feel sleep taking hold. Deeper and deeper I drift, until I’m dreaming of our wedding. My mind is filled with images of me in the fifties-inspired dress that I’ve chosen, vintage and fluffy skirted, all in an off-white. I want to be a bride. I want to be her bride and I want babies. She’s kind, loving, everything I always wanted in a partner, and I know she’ll stick with me through sickness and in health until the end of time. We have everything; perfect well-paid jobs and lots of friends. I love my life.

A slight cracking noise sets me on alert. I know it’s not her, she’s in New York on business. Thanks to that noise I’m awake again. I don’t sleep well when she’s away. Knowing that it’s just the breeze or the joists helps a little. The house is old and sometimes it sounds like the floorboards are alive. I hear another crack so I hold my breath and listen, but the blood rushing through my body is whooshing in my ears as my heart pumps hard, and I can’t hear. I try to reassure myself that it’s nothing. It’s the house and it’s a noise I’ve heard many times before, so why am I scared?

Swallowing, I pull back the sheet and adjust my cotton pyjama shorts. If I don’t check the house and all the locks, I will never get back to sleep. Maybe I should turn the light on. My index finger hovers over the switch. If there is someone there, the light will tell them that I’m awake and which room I’m in. My vision is nicely adjusted to the dark, so I move my finger away from the switch. If there is someone out there… damn, I’m already thinking like there is an intruder. It’s the floorboards and I’m simply fulfilling my need to check. To be fair, I do this at least twice a week. It’s becoming an unhealthy routine.

A tapping sound comes from the stair area, echoing throughout the building. That’s not right. The house doesn’t make that noise. A flash of panic makes me gasp for breath. I need to call the police. Someone really is out there. It’s not my imagination this time. Our house is being burgled or worse, maybe I’m about to be attacked. I begin to creep back towards the bed and feel along my bedside cabinet for my phone. It’s not there. I left it there. Panic rises as I get down on all fours and trace the carpet with my shaky fingers, then they move under the bed. My phone has gone.

A crash behind my door stops me dead. I don’t know what to do, where to hide. I lie on the floor and try to slide under the bed but there are too many boxes, and I can’t fit under. The wardrobe – I could hide in it, or I could shift the chest of drawers in front of the door.

I’ve left it too late. The door handle comes down as the intruder stands just metres away from me, his own breaths coming thick and fast behind the partially opened door.

As I stand, I wonder if I can escape out of the window. Tears force their way out and begin to slip down my cheeks. I’m too high up. If I jump, I’ll break my ankles and then the intruder has me regardless, or they might leave me in pain to die. The door creaks open and all I see is a dark figure standing at the entrance to my bedroom. The door bangs against the wardrobe as his heavy steps enters my space. I gasp for breath and my vision is prickling.

‘Please don’t hurt me. Take what you want. My car keys are in the kitchen. Take it. There’s money in my bag.’ I hold my breath, in the hope that he leaves.

He takes another step closer, and I feel sick, or I fear I might faint. It’s as if the world is spinning and I can’t control it. He makes no effort to leave the room and head downstairs for my car keys and that tells me one thing. He wants me.

I go to scream but I know it’s useless because we don’t have neighbours. We decided to live in the country where we wouldn’t be bothered by other people and their noise but right now, I wish I could bang on a wall or shout out the window at someone walking a dog or coming back from the pub.

A light almost blinds me. My phone flashes with a message and he’s holding it. I glance at my intruder, and I see his dark head to toe clothing and a slit where his eyes are.

I scream and beg as he drops my phone and drives his heel into it. That’s when I see him pulling something light coloured and patterned from his pocket. Its length tells me it’s a scarf and it’s familiar. It’s my scarf, the one that my wife-to-be bought me. I’d left it on the coat hook downstairs. I know he’s come to kill me.

Standing, I charge towards him, knowing all I have is the fight in me. He hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t want to talk, and I sense that he’s enjoying my fear. As I make contact, it’s like hitting steel. I bounce back onto the carpet. From the floor, I kick hard aiming for his crotch, and he screams. I struggle to my feet, knowing I have a moment to get away. Before he has a chance to react, I hit out again, catching his nose. I dart past him and down the stairs but he’s upon me before I know it and the dull thud to my head tells me it’s game over. Dazed, I slip to the cool, tiled floor, my long spiky earring bouncing away from me. I feel the silkiness of the scarf as he snakes it around my neck. Drops of his blood slip down my arm. If only I’d hit him harder. I don’t want to die. I’m not ready. Tears fill my eyes as I gasp for breath. All I can think of is the wedding I’d never have, the babies I’d never hold and my wonderful partner. It was going to be me and her forever. I’d found my happy ending. In my mind, I tell her that I love her, and I hope she knows.

It’s over. I’m over.

One

Lauren

Sunday, 29 January

‘Here’s to the best fiancé ever,’ Lauren shouted over the din as they clinked glasses in a roar of cheers. This was her sixth mojito, or was it her seventh? She’d lost count. Maybe it was the eighth. A slice of lime fell out of her glass and landed on her red-hot cheek as she downed the drink. All that dancing had made her face glow a prickly red. It had been such a long time since she’d been out with her friends but nights like this were precious. She bit her bottom lip, still reeling that Tiffany had decided to cry off, citing that she felt like she was coming down with a cold. It wasn’t the first time Tiff had let them down, but Lauren wasn’t going to let her absence ruin a night of celebration. ‘Bunch in ladies.’ Maxine and Dee huddled close as Lauren held out her phone and pouted. She hit the photo button and with a swift edit to reduce the redness, followed by a filter that livened up her inebriated face, she WhatsApped it straight to Robbie.

‘Congratulations to our friend, Lauren.’ Maxine held up her near-empty glass.

Robbie had finally proposed after five years together and Lauren had accepted. Married life was about to begin, and she couldn’t wait for all the happy years to come.

Her mother didn’t like him, but then she didn’t like any of her boyfriends. At the end of the day, she knew exactly what she was doing. When you know, you know. She was a firm believer in that.

‘That smile you’re wearing is the smile of a super-happy woman.’ Maxine nudged her.

‘I’ve found the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. When I’m not with him, my heart aches. I’ve never known anything like it, Max.’ What on earth was she saying? She needed to save soppy talk like that for her bestie, Sienna, not her work pals who were single and treated her to a succession of comedic talks about dates gone wrong. She’d never live that statement down when she was back on the make-up counter on Monday. They did all like to take the pee. Thinking about Sienna, she was disappointed that she had let her down too, but she did have a valid excuse, not like Tiffany.

Max looked at her with glassy eyes and laughed. ‘I can see where the passion comes from. I’d do him.’

‘Control yourself, girl.’ Dee giggled as she elbowed Max in the side.

It was okay, Max hadn’t registered the soppy drunken talk so maybe Lauren wouldn’t be ribbed at work on Monday. Lauren pulled up the photo she’d just taken and smiled as Max and Dee laughed. She’d remember this night for the rest of her life. She clicked the Instagram app and stared wide-eyed at the three hundred comments congratulating her on their engagement. All she’d posted was a picture of her hand wearing that gorgeous diamond. ‘Wow, I’ve never felt so popular.’

‘What?’ Maxine scrunched her brows.

Lauren clocked the time on her phone. It was almost two in the morning. No wonder Robbie hadn’t seen her photo, he’d be fast asleep. She couldn’t wait to get back home. She was going to sneak in, undress and snuggle up to him in bed because the next day she was going to desert him again for a spa day with Sienna, where she’d finally get to celebrate with her best friend. ‘Taxi will be outside in fifteen minutes.’ She hadn’t left anything to chance knowing that all the taxi ranks around the centre of Birmingham would probably be empty on a Saturday night, the taxis all taken by revellers.

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