Chapter 49 Kier

49

Kier

Devon, July 2018

‘Just go.' I feel blood rushing in my ears. Hot and violent. Woody moves towards me, whining again. ‘Just go,' I repeat, and all the time an alarm in my head is sounding.

He's seen it. He's seen it. He knows who I am. What I'm capable of.

I feel naked, exposed, as if someone's held up a torch in the dark, has been slowly sweeping it around the room, and now it's finally settled on me.

The force of it is blinding.

‘Please. Just leave.' I turn around wildly, knocking over a bottle of oil on the counter. The olive oil, a lurid yellow-green, chugs onto the wood.

I bend down to pick it up, but the bottle is broken, a sharp edge slicing the soft skin of my palm. Recoiling, my hand opens. It drops back to the floor with a thud. A thin line of blood snakes down my palm.

‘You need to see to that.' Zeph's voice is soft again as he grabs a tissue from the side, passes it to me. He takes a cloth from the counter and picks the bottle up by its end. Carefully depositing it into the bin, he lays the cloth on the pool of oil.

After mopping it up, he straightens, looking at me. ‘Kier, I stumbled on the painting when I was trying to find something. I should have mentioned it sooner … we could have talked, maybe I could even have taken you to see someone. Got some proper help. I know things aren't right with you at the moment.'

I stare at him, my head spinning. If I stay in the van any longer, I'm going to explode.

Clipping Woody onto his lead, I wrench open the door.

‘Kier, where are you going?'

I ignore the question. ‘When I get back, I want you gone.' I call. ‘Please Zeph, just leave.'

Heading up the path behind the van, I charge up the track towards the clifftops, the breeze stripping my hair away from my face. Running ahead of me, lead pulled taut, Woody's already panting.

When I stop at the top, my breath is coming hard and heavy. The town spreads out beneath me, impossibly small. I take in landmarks that have been imprinted on me since birth: the harbour and clock tower. Our old house. The park.

But the more I look, it's not the happy places I see, it's more of the unmapped.

Places I thought I'd buried for good.