Page 33 of Her Last Walk Home

Backing away from the window, she picked up her dirty clothes and sat on the bed with them bundled in her arms. She mulled over what Boyd had said. Was it true? Should she and Chloe move out and let their mother get on with her life? She was so caught up in her own woes that she rarely considered Lottie as a separate entity. She needed to assess her life, her future. She was twenty-three, with a three-year-old son. Her future held… what? She deserved better than this. She had to be proactive with her life, or it would pass her by.

The smell of alcohol from the clothes was disgusting. She recalled when it had been spilled. When she’d met Jackson. She grabbed her phone. She could call him to see if he wanted to bring her on that dinner date he’d mentioned. That’d be doing something proactive.

Without hesitation, she tapped his number and listened to it ringing, praying that he’d remember her. Then praying that he wouldn’t answer so she could hang up and forget all about it. Daft idea anyhow.

‘Katie,’ he said, just before she disconnected. ‘I knew you couldn’t resist me.’

She laughed and felt the tension leaving her body. ‘Jackson. About that dinner…’

29

Shannon was drunk. Scuttered, George would say. Shit. She didn’t want to think how she was going to pay him back what she’d spent on his bank card. She’d waved Jess into a taxi outside Danny’s. She knew it’d cost another ten euro on George’s card to get home, so walking was her only option.

Buttoning up her teddy coat and snuggling into the warmth of the collar, she slung her bag over her shoulder and set off down the street. It was bloody freezing, and her skirt was way too short and her tights too thin to protect her legs from the sharp breeze. She looked over her shoulder at the taxi rank, but it was now empty. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty in these heels, and she’d be home.

When she reached the bridge, she turned left heading for Cairnbeg, her terraced estate. Nearly there. Another five minutes. She wouldn’t have to pass the cinema complex where Laura’s body had been found. That was good. She couldn’t bear to think of her lying out in the cold all night, dead.

The lights of Cairnbeg beckoned. Almost home. But she had an unsettling feeling that someone was following her. Glancing over her shoulder, all she saw was the sparkle of the canal as it flowed slowly under the bridge. Keep walking. Don’t lookback. She stumbled on her heels and put out a hand to the wall of a house to steady herself. Damn it, she was so drunk. George would throw a hissy fit. As she turned into the estate her laboured breathing eased a little.

Had she imagined she was being followed? Or had there really been someone skulking behind her in the dark, walking in her footsteps. She was now among the lights and houses and gardens. Still a shiver of terror rattled her to her core.

Nearly home.

She was safe.

Almost…

He was walking a good distance behind her. Then she looked back and he slid into a doorway before she saw him. Her pace remained steady. She wasn’t running. That was good. But she looked like the whore she was, in that fucking fluffy pink coat. All long legs and narrow sharp heels. A whore called Shannie. For God’s sake.

Keeping well back, out of sight of her nervous glances, he watched as she turned into the estate. His car was parked at the pub. How could he snatch her and get her back there? He’d made a mistake offering to buy them the drinks. That had spooked her. Still, he’d followed her and her friend into Danny’s. The bustling crowd there had helped him remain hidden. And when they’d left, he was able to follow unnoticed.

Now he hung back and watched and waited to see which house she entered. Then he’d decide what to do next.

Without turning on a light, Shannon sneaked the bank card back into her brother’s wallet where he’d left it on the kitchen table. She had one foot on the bottom step of the stairs when she heard him speak from somewhere in the depths of the house.

‘You are some bitch, Shannon Kenny.’

Through the open sitting room door, she saw her brother seated on an armchair in the semi-darkness. The floor lamp beside him burst into light as he put his foot on the switch.

‘What are you doing in the dark, George?’ She didn’t move.

‘What areyoudoing, more like?’

‘Heading up to bed. You okay?’ Still she did not move.

‘Had a nice time on my money?’

Shit. He knew. ‘I’ll pay you back. I’m sorry. I’m skint.’

‘Not find a fancy man to bail you out, then?’

‘Will you stop? Look, I’m wrecked. We can talk in the morning.’

He jumped out of the chair and in an instant was in the hall, grabbing her arm and pulling her off the step.

‘You promised you’d help with Davy. But then you disappear and I can’t work or get to the gym. Then you have the cheek to steal my bank card. You are some muppet.’

She exhaled with relief. He was mad, but not so mad that he couldn’t make her smile.

---