Wake Wood Read Free Page B

tearing the envelope open and shaking the contents over her.
    The confetti had cascaded down, a shower of glittering multicoloured rain.
    And that’s how he liked to remember his daughter. Standing outside the house she’d been carried into as a newborn , while glitter floated and sparkled around her like fairy dust.
    ‘Have a great day, honey.’
    Beaming, Alice had smiled and waved up at him and then at Louise, before turning and walking down the garden path. Below him, Louise had taken her time to close the front door. He’d suspected that she too had been watching Alice and regretting – just a little – the speed at which their daughter had been growing up.
    He’d been lying on the bed when Louise had brought two cups of coffee upstairs. She’d placed them on the bedside cabinet before looking down on him.
    ‘You had a busy night, Patrick. You must be tired.’
    He’d reached up and grabbed her arm, pulling her down on top of him. ‘Not that tired.’
    He had begun to unbutton her shirt. She’d smiled the slow lazy smile he loved.
    Coffee forgotten, they’d rolled over on the bed, kissing, stroking, fondling one another, and slowly undressing, taking their pleasure at a leisurely pace, secure in the knowledge that each knew the other’s body as intimately as their own.
    And that’s why he’d never forgiven himself. While he’d been kissing Louise’s breasts, thighs and mouth, thinking only of his own and Louise’s satisfaction, Alice had stopped outside the massive wooden gates that walled off his surgery and the yard in front of it.
    He’d relived the sequence of events so often it had entered his nightmares. Him grabbing his trousers, thrusting them on, zipping them as he ran, charging down the stairs barefoot, out through the door into the yard. Seeing the gate ajar. Rushing in and finding the dog’s pen open and the dog worrying and tearing at Alice’s bloodied, inert body. Him fighting the dog, pushing the animal aside.
    Carrying Alice out of the pen and locking the dog in, so he could deal with it later.
    Scooping up and holding what was left of his daughter close to his chest, desperately willing strength and life into her broken body. He hadn’t needed to look at Alice’s face or into her eyes, or check her vital signs. He’d already known. But his mind had refused to accept the evidence of the images that had rotated in a kaleidoscope of horror around him.
    Louise talking at speed into her mobile phone. Blood pouring from Alice’s head and facial wounds, soaking his chest, flooding on to the ground. More blood dripping from minor wounds on Alice’s hands. One of her shoes lying stained and abandoned in the yard. Such a small, inconsequential thing given the trauma of the moment; but he’d noted it, along with the bite marks and imprint of teeth that marred his daughter’s neck, legs and frail body. She’d been plastered in blood and tissue mixed with the dog’s saliva.
    But worst of all, her throat, torn wide open, her carotid artery severed. Still dripping blood.
    Charging out of the yard holding Alice in his arms, heading towards blue flashing lights. The raucous, head-and-ear-splitting din of sirens. He’d run towards them wanting help. His mind still refusing to accept the evidence of his eyes, right up until the moment cool, dry, capable, latex-gloved hands tried to wrest Alice from him.
    He’d refused to hand his daughter over. Curling his body around hers, he’d knelt on the pavement, hugging her, keeping her close, willing her to be alive again.
    Because he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of losing her.
    Not to anyone. Not even to Louise, who’d crouched beside him, her tears falling on his arm, diluting Alice’s blood.
    That morning had marked the beginning of his nightmare. He’d relived it every second of every day since. And now – now – he wanted it to end.
    But was he brave enough to finish what he’d begun?

Three
    AFTER ALICE’S DEATH , Patrick felt