Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rosie

Mum’s screamwas so loud, I heard it over my earphones, my audiobook drowned out by her terror. Fuck, how I ran.

Dinner plates were crashing from the draining board as I raced into the kitchen, smashing into jagged chunks over the floor. There was Scottie, slamming Mum into the oven as she lashed out and battled against him. She screamed obscenities in his face until the vicious, stumpy weasel clamped his hands around her throat.

“You’d better shut the fuck up now, Bev, you stupid, fucking bitch!”

I screamed before I charged, set to wrestle him to free my mum, but he elbowed me away like I was a scrawny wisp, knowing I wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

“FUCK OFF, ROSIE! KEEP OUT OF IT!”

Mum was choking, her eyes wide as she struggled, and I didn’t know what to do. Then he slapped her and shook her and slapped her some more before he was at it again, hands back crushing her windpipe. I was shaking too bad to try to put a knife into him, so I bolted out of the apartment and down the corridor to hammer at Martha’s door.

“MARTHA, IT’S ROSIE! HELP! HELP! IT’S SCOTTIE! HE’S GOT MUM!”

I could hear the roar of the TV from her living room as I hammered. Thank fuck she was in there.

“MARTHA, PLEASE! OPEN THE DOOR!!”

The TV went quiet, and I could hear Rolo barking. I heard her approach the other side, but she didn’t open up for me.

“Call the police!” she shouted, but I didn’t have time.

I slammed my fists against the wood.

“MARTHA, PLEASE! HE’S CHOKING HER!”

“CALL THE FUCKING POLICE!” she screamed back.

Fuck it, she wasn’t going to open the door.

I ran to the end of the corridor, but Trisha ignored my screams, even though I could hear Ramsay crying in her hallway.

I ran down to the floor below, but I knew nobody there would help me. Everyone hated Scottie Barnes, and they didn’t like my mother much, either. I was alone and petrified, and there was no way the police would show up in time.

So, fuck it.

I grabbed hold of the handrail and ran upstairs.

Gerald and Eveline in number eight were in their 80s, and Bertie in number seven was on crutches from a fall, so there was only one option left, and I took it. I raced to the end of the upstairs corridor and I hammered on number six’s door.

“PLEASE! WILL YOU HELP ME! PLEASE! I NEED HELP!!”

I prayed, still hammering, trying to scream out through my sobs, because I was sure Scottie was so fucked up tonight that he was going to kill my mum.

“PLEASE! I NEED HELP!”

I could barely see through the tears when the door of apartment six opened, and there he was. The tall, sinister man upstairs. He was in one of his suits, his striped navy tie hanging limp as he towered high. His eyebrows were pitted for a moment as he looked down at me through hard green eyes. I pushed my glasses up my nose to meet his stare, and managed to suck in enough breath that he could hear my words.

“Scottie has got my mum in the kitchen, and he’s choking her. PLEASE, please, come and help me. Please, save my mum!”

I was so relieved when he stepped out and raced ahead of me. He took the stairs three at a time, on a mission as he ran, already storming through our open front door by the time I got back to our floor. I’d only just made it to our hallway when Scottie came sailing across into the living room, clattering over the coffee table. It bust underneath him as he hit the deck, and I hoped his rotten legs were broken too, but unfortunately not. He hitched up on his elbows, unscathed.

The man from apartment six stepped up to him, and he looked so tall in there, showing up Scottie for the pathetic little shit he was. Mum’s asshole of a boyfriend looked up at his assailant, but he didn’t move, didn’t protest, didn’t try to fight his way out of it. Pathetic wimp.

I found Mum sobbing on the floor in the kitchen. Her lip was red and bloody, and her cheek was already swelling, but at least she wasn’t fucking strangled. Not this time.

“Stay there!” I told her, like she had anywhere else to go.

My slippers crunched on broken plates on my way back through to the living room. The man upstairs was still standing there, staring out the idiot on the floor.

“GET OUT!” I yelled at Scottie. “Seriously, Scott, get the FUCK OUT OF HERE! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

The vile prick dragged himself up from the floor and slid away against the wall with a sneer, daring to look at me like I was the piece of shit and not him.

“Bev fucking started it!”

He brushed himself down and loped off with a self-righteous swagger, as though he was the one in the right for throwing the damn punches. It still hurt me when he did that, every single time.

I pressed my back to the front door when I’d slammed it closed, eyes shut tight as I tried to come down from hyperdrive. I must have been as pale as a ghost as I gathered myself, choking back a fresh round of sobs. My ears were ringing, and I could feel my pulse in my temples, but it would be ok… Mum would be ok now… she’d be ok.

The man upstairs was in the kitchen when I opened my eyes. He was helping Mum to her feet, supporting her as she winced in pain with her hand on her side. Shit, it looked like Scottie had given her a punch in the ribs, too. No surprise, since it was his usual go to spot. Nobody could see the bruising.

Together we eased her onto the sofa as she gritted her teeth. I was sitting right beside her when I saw him reach into his suit jacket and pull his phone out. I watched him key in the emergency services number, but I choked out a wait before he hit call.

He looked at me, his piercing green eyes so hooded with rage that I felt the burn.

“There’s no point,” I told him, hating my words. “She won’t talk to them, and they won’t arrest him, and he won’t get convicted for it. He never does.”

I realised then that I’d never heard the man upstairs speak before. He sounded like an Etonian graduate when he did.

“The police won’t arrest him? Are you being serious? Of course they will.”

I shook my head. “Mum won’t talk to them. She always denies it. Always. They’ll barely even look at her when they get here, they’ve seen it so many times.”

I sighed. At least we’d got almost six months clear by now. I’d even dared to hope…

Mum was looking at the floor, not at me, and not at him, either. He crouched down beside her, staring until she met his eyes.

“Is this true? Will you really ignore the police if I call them?”

Her shrug said it all. Her voice sounded blubbery through her thick lip.

“Scottie is Scottie. He gets like this sometimes. It’s just how he is.”

The man upstairs raised his eyebrows, and his shocked expression confirmed my suspicions. He really didn’t belong here in this block, in this place, in this crappy life.

“That’s absurd,” he told her. “That vile piece of shit needs arresting and charging. I’m going to get the police over here. I’m sorry, but he needs to be held accountable.”

Mum grabbed his wrist as he made to dial in the number again.

“Please don’t do that.”

I wasn’t sure whether to shout or cry at her, so I did neither. I looked over at him instead.

“She won’t listen. She never does.” My voice burst into stupid racking sobs. “She never listens to me.”

It must have been like witnessing a car crash. The poor guy should have been watching Mastermind upstairs, or reading a classic highbrow novel, enjoying a quiet Thursday evening, but here he was, crouched in our shitty living room next to a smashed-up coffee table and two fucked up women.

“I still think I should call them,” he said, but I shook my head again.

“It won’t make any difference. She’ll just lie to them and tell them she fell.”

Mum found her fake brave face and gave him a smile.

“I’ll be ok now, thanks. It’s over. Me and Scottie are over. I won’t be going back to him in a million years. No chance. We’re done.”

She always fucking said that.

He looked almost as unconvinced as I was, but he got to his feet. What else could he do?

“Thanks,” Mum said to him. “For helping me. Scott’s a jackass.”

“He’s more than a jackass,” the man upstairs said. “He’s a violent, abusive, cunt.”

My breath hitched at the sound of the C word spoken in such a posh tone. I was staring as he put his phone back in his pocket, his eyes still angry.

“Do you need the hospital?” he asked Mum. “It’s Beverly, yes?”

She nodded, giving him a lip-swollen grin. “Bev, yes. And no, thanks. I’ll be alright. It’s only a couple of bruises. No big deal.”

I despised the way she always made it sound so normal.

His green eyes burned into mine.

“And you’re Rosie?”

I wondered how he knew my name, since nobody ever spoke to him.

I straightened my glasses back up, took a breath.

“Yeah, I’m Rosie.”

“Julian,” he said.

Julian.

I got up from the sofa, so grateful for his help that I wrapped my arms around his waist to give him a hug. “Thank you so much for helping us.”

He stiffened up at that, uncomfortable, giving my shoulder a token pat as I squeezed him tight. He backed away as soon as he could do, straightening his tie. His emotions retreated, eyes turning duller as the adrenaline in the room came back to earth.

“Do you need some help cleaning up in here?” he asked me, surveying the damage, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“No, thanks. We’ll be ok now.”

He gave the slightest nod.

“Please do call the police if he shows up again.”

“I will,” I lied. “I’ll call them.”

“I’ll be upstairs,” he told us. “I’m happy to be called as a witness.”

The genuine expression on his face made my heart sink at its contrast in my life. This place was always so two-faced and dismissive. Nobody usually gave a shit.

I followed him to the front door, embarrassed at how I’d hugged him. I waved him off like he was just a passer-by, not someone who had just saved my mother’s life.

“Bye,” I said.

It sounded so pathetic, but he smiled as he held up his hand.

“Please, try to persuade her to call the police.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

I watched him reach the staircase before I locked us in tight, making sure I put the bolt across. Mum was sitting up straight when I joined her, daring to touch her ribs to check out the damage. No broken ones, it seemed. Lucky for her.

Weirdly, she was grinning. She looked bizarrely happy for a woman in the aftermath of an attack, with a split lip and swollen jaw.

“He’s really nice,” she said. “The man upstairs.”

I nodded. “Yeah, he was great. I’m so glad he helped us.”

“He saved me,” she said, looking over at the doorway. “Did you hear his accent? He’s definitely from somewhere posh.”

Yes, I’d heard his accent. The memory gave me goosebumps. Nice ones.

“What a great guy,” she said again.

I knew her voice when she was like this. Loved up, like whenever she made up with Scottie, gushing after he’d bought her a cheap bunch of apology flowers from the corner shop. I got a tumble of sparks in my stomach. A barrage of sensations all at once. Relief, mixed with hatred of Scottie, bound up with gratitude for the man upstairs. And something else… a feeling that floated like Mum’s voice did, right down deep.

“Julian,” she said, like he was a saviour.

And he was a saviour. He’d opened his door to me as I screamed.

Mum stared wistfully over at the door.

“I really like Julian, you know,” she told me, and I nodded.

Yeah. I really liked him, too.