Lover Read Free

wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, she thought, muzzily. This was all wrong. ‘No…’ she squirmed and raised her arms to push him away, but he grabbed hold of them, both wrists in one hand. Then he bent slightly, she felt the other hand push up her skirt, and then his knee was between her legs, prising them apart.
    â€˜Don’t do that,’ she whimpered. ‘Please…’
    â€˜You’ll be all right.’ His voice was thick now, urgent, and his hand was inside the leg of her knickers, touching…
    â€˜No!’
    â€˜Sorry, sorry,’ he muttered. The hand was withdrawn.
    She wrenched her own hands free and straightened up, smoothing her skirt, looking down, away, anywhere but at him. ‘Go away.’
    â€˜It’s all right,’ he said, and raised his hands to her face. She tried to sidestep but lost her balance and went over on one ankle. The world seemed to tilt and spin, then he pulled her arm and jerked her upright, pushing himself against her, and before she could move his hands were at her throat. She tried to beat him away but it was no good, and her head was pounding, bursting…
    Just as suddenly, he let go. She slumped to her knees, choking and gasping, doubled over, and felt his breath as he bent towards her. She flinched away from him, but he grabbed one of her wrists, ‘Here, take this, take it,’ and pushed something into her palm. Then she heard him back away, scuffing gravel, and he turned and ran off towards the road, while she coughed and coughed and tried to get her breath.
    When the racking and heaving eased up, leaving a dull pain in her neck and chest, her first thought was, they mustn’t find me on my hands and knees. She scrambled upright, using the wall for support, glad of the darkness.
    Footsteps. She cringed against the wall. Was he coming back? He couldn’t be… couldn’t … No, there was a torch. He didn’t have a torch—he’d said they didn’t need…but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one himself, did it? Oh, God, please… Her stomach churned and her legs felt as if they might give out at any minute. She put her hands over her face, hunched over, and slid down against the bricks, barely registering as her dress hitched, then ripped, on something sticking out. More footsteps, the torch swung in her direction, lighting the ground in front of her, and then— A man’s voice. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She should make a run for it, do something, anything… Why doesn’t someone come and help me? Please, she begged, silently. Please …
    â€˜H-hello?’
    It wasn’t him. She knew it straight away. The voice was different. Lighter. More boyish. Hesitant.
    â€˜Hello? Is anyone there?’
    She tried to force some words out, but nothing came, only the panting of breath.
    â€˜I thought I heard—’
    â€˜Yes,’ she gasped. ‘Yes. I’m here.’
    The torch swung towards her, blinding her. ‘N-no. Don’t.’
    â€˜Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. You don’t look…are you all right?’
    â€˜Yes, fine.’ Why had she said that? Of course she wasn’t all right. ‘I’m fine,’ she repeated. ‘Just tripped over, that’s all. Wretched blackout.’ She managed a little laugh.
    â€˜May I help you up?’
    â€˜No, really.’ Blue uniform. Air force. Black hair. Pale face. She couldn’t see properly. Not one of those from the car, or he’d recognise her—wouldn’t he?
    â€˜Holden-Browne. Guy Holden-Browne.’
    A hand in front of her face. Her head jerked back involuntarily, banging against the wall. She blinked. The hand was still there. She took it, and it…shook. Up and down. He’s shaking my hand, she thought, astonished. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Megan.’ Then, automatically, ‘My mother’s Welsh.’