Free The Waiting Game by Sheila Bugler

parade of shops and sat her down gently.
    She tried to speak, tried to tell him they had to get out of there, had to get away before Ricky made it across to where they were sitting. But her mouth wouldn’t work. Every time she tried to speak her stomach churned so badly she had to stop.
    ‘Chloe.’ Carl’s voice urgent and serious, like she’d never heard him before. Eyes looking at her with such concern. She leaned into him, let him hold her and tell her it was all okay, she was going to be okay.
    Across from her, the man in the blue jacket was still there. Still smiling. He was closer now and she could see her mistake. The jacket wasn’t Ralph Lauren. It was a cheap replica that fit badly. The man looked nothing like Ricky, either. Thin, balding hair and a pot belly. No way Ricky would ever let himself get a pot belly.
    Carl was still talking, soft, gentle words that soothed her. She liked him being with her. For the first time since all this started, she didn’t feel alone.
    * * *
    Where was Bel?
    She’d be back soon.
    Only popping to Sainsbury’s, she’d said.
    Back any minute now. She knew how Adam hated it when she was late.
    There was a crack in the ceiling. Adam had never noticed it before. Easy to miss it normally. Not so easy from this angle. A long, thin crack that ran from the light-fitting the whole way across one side of the ceiling. The crack upset him. Felt as if the house had played a trick on him. All these years, working so hard at keeping things perfect and all along, that crack up there. Mocking him.
    His right hip hurt dreadfully. He moved his leg, wiggled it back and forth, making the pain worse, but if he could move his leg it meant the hip wasn’t broken. He rolled onto his left side, got onto his hands and knees and crawled across to the sofa. Pushed his way in behind it and sat crouched down low. Hiding.
    Where in heaven’s name was Bel?
    He took his phone out of his pocket, checking to see if she’d sent him a text. Even though he knew she hadn’t because he’d have felt it vibrating in his pocket. He tried to text her, tell her to hurry up, but his hand was shaking so much he had to give up. Couldn’t get his thumb to fix on the right letters.
    Dirty bastard.
    The words spun around his head. The dreadful things she’d accused him of.
    Pervert.
    Pushing her face into his, shouting at him. So close he couldfeel the spittle on his cheeks when she spoke. Bringing all her hysteria and madness with her. Messing everything up, the way she always had done.
    Stop it. Stop thinking about her. She didn’t mean it. She was disturbed. He’d always known that about her.
    Blow jobs.
    Good God! As if he’d ever… The other things she’d said, too. About Annie. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – believe it. She was making it up. Sick in the head. Adam had tried to tell her. Said he’d pay for whatever she wanted. And that’s when she pushed him…
    He’d imagined it for so long. Opening the door and one or other of them standing there. Now it had happened. When he first saw her, looking so beautiful, he’d thought his heart would burst. Wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. Just so happy. Overjoyed.
    And when she came inside, he’d forgotten himself for a moment and moved to hug her, wanting suddenly – desperately – to tell her how much he loved her, how badly he’d missed her. Not imagining for a second she’d come back for any other reason except she’d missed him, too.
    Someone was in the sitting room. Moving around. He tensed, hand over his mouth to stop himself crying out. She was back. Maybe she’d never left. He tried to remember what had happened right after he fell.
    More movement, shuffling, coming closer.
    She told him he was going to prison. Started to tell him whatwould happen to him, what the other prisoners would do to him. She’d already made a complaint, she said. It was only a matter of time.
    She was closer now. He squeezed his body as tight