Page 97 of Ticket Out

The kitchen was empty.

She ran, grabbing up one of the metal-legged chairs with a thin wooden seat and back, and raced down the corridor, turned right into the lounge and then remembered there were curtains over the doors.

She yanked them open with one hand, looked over her shoulder, and seeing nothing, took a few steps back, lifted the chair up over her head, and slammed it into the glass door.

It was thick glass.

It cracked but it didn’t break, and panicking, she slammed the chair into the glass again.

This time it did give, shattering outward.

She heard the sound of him, an animal noise, behind her, and she leapt through, glass shards crunching under her shoes, and a piece of glass stuck in the door frame caught at her sleeve and pulled her back slightly.

She jerked it free and ran, shouting as loudly as she could.

She didn’t get far, though.

He was on her, arm clamped around her waist, hand over her mouth, dragging her back inside.

She kicked out, trying to slow him, hinder him any way she could, screaming behind his hand, and a shout from one of the gardeners gave her hope.

But he was relentless. He pulled her down the hallway, back into the kitchen, and bodily threw her into the larder.

She landed hard, winded, just in time to see him grab the key out the lock and slam the door, locking her back inside.

She’d gotten nowhere, except now she didn’t control the key.

She slowly rolled onto her stomach, got her knees bent under her, and used the larder shelves to help her stand.

The mower was off now, and the gardeners were talking excitedly.

So maybe she hadn’t gotten nowhere.

She heard their voices get closer, and then the sound of Mr. Knife hailing them.

How was he going to fast talk away all that? she wondered.

Mad girlfriend? Hysterical woman?

Why not? It’s not as if it hadn’t worked many times before.

They were talking too quietly for her to hear any longer, and she began to stockpile tin cans at the back of the larder for ammunition, and then, because she didn’t have anything to lose anymore, she began to smash jars by holding onto their metal lids. The best one was a vinegar bottle that contained rosemary and chillies.

It felt right in her hand, and gave her more reach than the fatter, rounder jars.

It had broken into jagged spikes, and she reckoned she could do some damage if she stabbed him with it.

She had tried to do the smashing to one side, but it was a narrow larder, and she would have to watch the tricky situation underfoot now that she had emptied jams and pickles everywhere.

She also finally found the curry powder.

It was in a hessian sack behind a stack of pickles, and she scooped some out into a small bowl she found.

Cinnamon in his face had worked well. Curry might actually work better.

chapterforty-two

James was aboutto turn into the driveway of High House when a dark green van with Bromwell’s Gardening Services stenciled in pale cream on the side blocked the way, drawing up with a squeak of brakes at the sight of the Wolseley.

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