Page 1 of Prove You Wrong

Chapter 1

Ella

‘Oh crap, wank, bollocks. Please don’t do this.’

The swear jar would be brimming if anyone could hear me right now.

As the rain and wind shakes my car, the scene in front of me flickers from illuminated to dim and a warning light pings on my dashboard. Fault with the lights. No kidding, being half shrouded in darkness gave that away.

This is all I need.

After ferrying my little sister around all evening so she could celebrate Halloween with her friends, and then a midnight call out to go and help my mum, I’m now breaking down in a storm. I take a deep breath. I’m only about a ten minute drive from home but it’s not safe to continue in this weather.

Not like this.

Not after the accident.

Despite my cautious pace, the water thunders like Niagara Falls on my windshield. Judging by the pattern of the light fanned out on the ground — or lack thereof — at least one front bulb has gone, if not a fuse.

At three in the morning the road is deserted, but straining my eyes through the downpour, I can see a glow ahead. Hazards blinking, and my one good headlight guiding me through the darkness, I drive slowly until a square of light comes into view.

A single blue-tinged security light illuminates a hanging sign swaying in the rain. The Bull Inn. Seeking safety, I pull into the pub's car park. Red-bricked, the building looks like an old public house where, centuries ago, weary travellers would have sought shelter and food on their lengthy journeys. It doesn’t offer quite the same respite today. With the car park empty and no lights on inside, the place seems abandoned. But at least I’m off the road.

Deep breath.If I want to get home tonight, I need to fix this, and to do that, I need to acknowledge this is horrifically stressful and completely inconvenient, while also having faith I can rise to this challenge. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ I whisper.

The pounding of my heart quells and I double-check the battered manual in the glove box. I can sort this out. A damsel in distress, I am not.

The torrential rain continues to hammer on the roof of the car, almost obliterating the view through the windscreen. I can’t fix the lights in a downpour like this. Squinting around the car park, I come up with a plan.

There’s an emergency bag for this very eventuality stored in the boot, but I don’t want to get out unless I have to. Climbing into the back, I fold down the back seat and retrieve my stash from the dark cubby hole, taking out a poncho, head torch, and my supply of spare bulbs and fuses.

I throw on the poncho and head torch and thrust the spares into the pocket of my hoody. With both hoods up and torch blaring, I take another deep breath before opening the door.

To the side of the pub are a few picnic benches, a couple under a wooden framed gazebo. The security light’s glow doesn’t particularly reach here, but I’ll be okay with my head torch. I sprint over, rain pummelling me, grateful to reach the meagre protection of the plastic, corrugated roof. I lift a bench up onto two legs, aiming to drag it across the gravel. My fingers slip on the cold, soaked wood and I swear again under my breath. If my sister were here, she’d be euphoric about our swear jar filling up.

The pebbles underfoot scrunch and squeal as I haul the table a couple of inches before resting it down again. Moving around to the other side, I pull it a couple of inches further. Getting into a rhythm, I alternately lift and heave each side until I’ve worked it out of the way. Next is a patio heater, which squeaks as I brace it against myself.

‘What the fuck?’ The male voice is deep, ragged. I jump out of my skin.

With my pulse smashing in my ears, I turn, but I’m instantly dazzled by a flashlight in my face.

‘Waa,’ I choke out, staggering back. ‘You’re blinding me.’ My wet, stinging fingers rush to shield my eyes.

‘As opposed to you robbing me?’ The voice is accusatory, not threatening.

‘I’m not robbing you.’ My dissipating shock quickly turns to outrage. I feel affronted, as well as blinded. The cold and wet are starting to seep through my layers. ‘I’m just trying to sort out Helena.’

‘Who’s Helena?’ The torch beam flicks off me and over the rest of the car park to my sad jalopy before returning to sear me in the eyes once more. My vision doesn’t have the chance to adjust before it’s assaulted again.

‘Where’s Hel —’ The voice raises up a notch.

‘Helena’s my car.’ I interrupt, wincing. ‘Can you stop it with the interrogation tactics, please? Sorry if I’m in the way, this won’t take long.’

The direction of the light shifts. ‘You’re trying to fix your car? In this weather?’ His voice is softer now, bemused.

‘That’s why I’m feng shu’ing this smoker’s area, I didn’t want to flood the engine with rain.’ I point to the roof.

‘And you couldn’t call roadside assistance because?’ He’s moved closer, but with my eyes struggling to adjust, I can only make out a silhouette. He could be dangerous, but if he were predatory, wouldn’t he have pounced by now?

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