Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [102]
What if it’s a trap?
It would not have surprised me one bit to see Peter standing on the other side, just waiting. As I stood, transfixed, by the door, I could picture his face, smug and angry at the same time. I could imagine him gloating that he was too clever for me. And I could picture every single blow that he would rain down on my head and my face and my body to teach me a lesson.
It was too much. I felt sick. I couldn’t go through with it. The risks were too great. And then I felt Daniel wriggling in my arms and I knew the risks of staying were even greater.
Come on, Wilson, I ordered myself. You have to do this.
I yanked open the door and – nothing! He wasn’t there. I’d never felt such relief. But now the hard work began. I literally ran as fast as I could manage with my child and luggage until I was out of the cul-de-sac. Only when I was deep in the heart of the estate did I stop fighting the urge to slow. But I dared not stop altogether. I had to get off the main road before Peter came home. If he discovered me there would be repercussions to end all repercussions.
Eventually I reached a bus stop. It was such an anticlimax after the sprint, but I had no choice. I couldn’t afford a cab. My heart was still racing when the first bus pulled up. I threw our stuff onto a rack and hurried to the back. Now the nerves began in earnest. It wasn’t just the exercise making my heart pound a hundred times faster than usual. I’d never felt so nervous. The enormity of what I’d just undertaken kicked in and panic followed. Before, on our street, I could probably have explained it away as taking a walk, getting some fresh air. It was implausible, but there was a chance he would swallow it. But if he caught me now, he’d know I was trying to escape.
And what was it he’d threatened when I’d said I wanted to leave? I hugged Daniel as hard as I could and tried to relax. This was only the first step.
Another bus and a long walk later, we arrived at Glasgow’s coach station. I’d been planning this for so long, I knew I had just enough cash for two tickets to Portsmouth. Granny and Grandpa had recently moved into the area to be nearer to Anne and her kids. There was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be more right then.
When the teller handed over our tickets, she must have thought I was on something. I remember staring at them like they were made of gold. To me, they were more valuable than any precious metal. They were our escape route out of hell. As I lugged everything out of the booking office, I just prayed I’d get the chance to use them.
Our coach was scheduled to depart at half past nine. I looked for the station clock and my heart sank. Eight o’clock. Ninety minutes stood between us and freedom. I have never felt so scared in all my life. The threat of being hanged from Brighton’s ‘Cathedral’ was nothing compared to what I was going through at that moment. Not even having a knife pressed against my cheek came close to the crushing dread that Peter was probably at that very moment on his way.
He’s going to find us. I know it.
I could just picture it. He would have been home by seven. He would have noticed the door was unlocked and gone tearing in, swearing and shouting the odds as usual. Then he would have discovered us gone and put it all together.
He’d work it all out. ‘I’ve got the bitch’s car keys, her bike keys, her bank books and purse. What’s the cheapest way out of town? A coach.’
It was obvious. He knew I had no friends. He’d cut me off from my past and stopped me having a future. The coach was my only option. He had to be on his way. And I knew exactly what he would do when he found us. I could picture it as clearly as if it had already happened. The car would sweep in, screech to a halt and he’d be out, snarling and shouting and swearing, car engine still running, door still wide open. He’d grab