Free Anything for Her by Jack Jordan

train. She has dreamt about him returning into her life ever since they met that night. He is always asking questions, wanting to know why they didn’t come back, why he was left with the bodies. He always does it in front of other people: clients, Michael, her parents, her son, a police officer strolling past. In every dream, her jaw drops in horror as everyone she knows looks at her, distraught, slowly beginning to see the real her: a monster. In every dream, she agonises over her decision to deny it – or kill him. In some dreams, she begins to deny everything, but by the end, she lunges at him and kills him in some way. Sometimes she bludgeons him to death with a hammer; sometimes she penetrates his chest with a kitchen knife. In other dreams, she shoots him in the head with the shotgun that suddenly appears in her hand. The dreams push the barriers ofreality and fantasy, and the plot is always flawed, but her reaction remains the same: sheer terror.
    Louise jolts out of her daydream at the sound of knocking on the window of the car. Brooke jumps back, startled, and Louise’s heart is pounding. She winds down the window.
    ‘For goodness sake, Brooke. You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!’
    ‘Jesus, sorry!’
    Louise gets out of the car and the two hold each other in a fond embrace, both of their hearts still racing from the fright.
    ‘I’ve missed you,’ Brooke whispers.
    ‘I’ve missed you, too, darling,’ Louise replies, stroking her daughter’s hair. She hadn’t realised how lonely she was until she saw her daughter.
    She takes Brooke’s suitcase and puts it in the boot.
    When Louise gets into the driver’s seat, Brooke has already put on the radio and changed the channel.
    ‘Interesting morning,’ Brooke says with a smile, although her eyes cannot help but reveal her terror.
    ‘You’ll never see him again, Brooke. That was just an unfortunate coincidence.’
    ‘Well, who left the glove, then?’
    ‘You think it was him?’
    ‘Well, it’s odd that I find the glove, and then get chased by him the following day.’
    ‘How would he know you? Or where we live? Hedoesn’t know who we are.’
    ‘Well, someone knew to leave the glove.’
    ‘It’s not the only thing that’s been left,’ Louise says, deciding on a whim to tell her daughter about the birds.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’ll tell you over lunch. You must be starving.’

Chapter Twenty
    Louise drives them back to the village and parks outside the only pub in the area. They walk inside, attracting glares from the old, ghoulish men who are sitting at the bar.
    ‘What’s their problem?’ Brooke whispers, as they wait to order.
    ‘They have small-town syndrome here. A new face is a threat.’
    ‘I miss London already.’
    They order food from the specials board and try to ignore the miserable men who are staring at them like drooling bulldogs. The atmosphere feels musty – the sour stench of local ale stains the air and the men at the bar exude the scent of stale cigar smoke.
    Louise orders a white wine. Brooke orders the same. Louise almost protests, but remembers her daughter is eighteen now: she can do whatever she wants. They take their drinks to a secluded table away from the acrid odour of the bar, and wait for their food to arrive.
    ‘So what has been left for you to find?’ Brooke asks.
    ‘Birds.’
    Brooke frowns.
    ‘Birds?’
    ‘Dead birds.’
    ‘What the fuck?’
    ‘Language,’ Louise scorns.
    ‘I’m an adult now, Mum, and – given the situation – I think you can let swearing slide.’
    ‘You’re right.’
    Being given permission to swear sparks a youthful flash of excitement in Brooke’s eyes. Louise’s heart warms at the sight. She hasn’t seen Brooke act her age for a year. A glimpse of her eighteen-year-old innocence proves that it is still in there somewhere; that one day her daughter might be able to live her life without being suffocated by guilt.
    ‘Why dead birds? What