He threw the rope aside in fury and stepped across her.

As he bent to the rocks she closed her eyes and drew up her knees. With all the strength left in her battered body she kicked out at him. Both feet connected with his lower belly and he tumbled back amongst the loose stones at the edge of the promontory.

“Shit!”

Pauline curled forward and threw herself at him. She screamed with the effort and felt him grab at her hands, pawing at her arms in panic. The ground beneath him was unstable and rocks and pebbles cascaded into the swirling water. She shook him off and fell back onto her behind. Drawing up her knees again she planted both feet flat against his chest and with a mighty kick pushed him further over the brink.

“Bitch! Bitch!” He screamed at her, but he was clawing now at the crumbling edges and she kicked again and again beating down on him with her heels and thrusting with all the strength left in her legs. She heard the crack as his nose broke under the onslaught of her pounding feet and then with a rumble of rock and a final screech from him, the verge collapsed and carried him away into the tumbling waves.

He screamed again.

She heard the thud of him bounce against the rocks.

Then there was nothing but the cry of the gulls and the waves breaking on the shore.

She couldn’t move. She simply lay on the rocks for now and just breathed but knew that she would have to look.

On hands and knees she crawled forward. Then, stretched full length again, because she suspected that her legs wouldn’t hold her, she peered over the edge. His body was far below. She couldn’t tell if he was alive. He made no effort to swim and as the water took him towards the rocks she believed that at the very least he was unconscious.

She was still bound but able to push to her feet and clamber to the beach side of the rocks. Far below, walking in the evening light was a group of teens, a dog walker. She yelled to them and held up her arms. The nearest group turned and peered towards her. She lowered her aching arms; they would come now. She tried to shout but all that she could manage was a keening wail and then two of them turned and began to run away. As they did the sounds of their panicked calls floated back to her. They pointed as they went and then the others joined the dash; they ran from her, they ran from the creature in the rocks, they ran from the fabled figure on the headland, the ghoul from the past.

Hysteria took her now and she began to laugh as the tears rolled down her filthy face and the effort and the anguish took the strength from her legs and she flopped to the ground and lowered her head into her hands. If he had been alive surely he was dead by now. She couldn’t help him. She couldn’t help herself, all she could do was to sit in the sunset and cry.

At last the world wheeled away and darkness descended. She was done, there was nothing left and so it was over.

Chapter 25

The cold forced her back to the world, cold and the shivering. When she opened her eyes the sky above was indigo, silver stars were sliding through the blanket and so she knew she had been out of it for a while.

The pain in various parts of her body had become an old enemy by now and so pushing herself to a sitting position brought no surprises. The world tipped and swam but righted quickly and the slight nausea passed leaving her feeling drained.

The horror of the fight swarmed back in. She lowered her head and forced herself to breathe deeply. Was he still there? Did the body still swill back and forth at the foot of the cliffs? Of course she would need to go and look.

She had killed a man.

What was she going to do now?

This wasn’t something that could be fixed. He was dead. Wasn’t he? Her mind’s eye recalled the image of his body, arms flailing as he rolled towards the rocks.

It was her fault he was dead. How would she ever be able to bear it? Right now most of what she felt was empty. The fear was gone, the horror numbed by a sort of disconnection.

First she had to get rid of the rope which was still around her swollen wrists. He had loosened it when she tripped repeatedly and so, with a little effort she was able to wriggle her hands free. She tossed it to one side among the boulders.

She leaned sideways and then rolled to her knees and, using the rocks for aid, managed to push herself upright. Stiffly she made her way to the edge of the cliffs and made herself look. His body was still caught in the tumble of rocks at the base of the promontory and the receding tide raised his arm and waved a hand to her. Surely it was just the action of the water? Could she be sure? Maybe he was still alive? Horror consumed her and bile rose in her throat.

She must clamber down. She should at least do that. She ran, small uncertain steps back and forth looking for a safe place but there was none. Often she glanced back to where he lay. White water broke against the body. Surely he must be dead. But then, did he try just now to raise his head?

“Hello? Hello, can you hear me?” The only response to her desperate call was the roll of waves and the distant cry of a single gull making for his roost.

She didn’t want to be responsible for the death of anyone! It was unthinkable! More tears, yet more, and she wiped them away on the back of her hand and admitted to herself it wasn’t possible to reach him and that he was beyond help.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but you hurt me. I wish you hadn’t hurt me!” Leaving the whispered words to fade into the breeze she turned and staggered back towards the beach. She slipped and scrambled down the rocky side, opening old wounds and rubbing fresh grazes onto her hands and arm. But she felt none of it, for her soul was broken, her feelings were dead.

Was it possible that it had been just one day since he had forced her along the beach? Had driven her terrified and shaking and with no idea of the horror that she would endure and the tragedy that would unfold? She trudged past the road and to the dunes where he had hidden her bag and coat under some fallen pine branches. It was no surprise to find that they had gone. No great loss; a cheap phone, a few pounds in her change purse. It didn’t matter.

At the cottage the little gate was ajar and she pushed through and up the sandy path to the kitchen door and there she stopped. What was she thinking? She must go to the farm, call the police, tell someone what had happened.

Could she bear it?

If she didn’t what then? There was another option: just leave the body to be found by a passing fisherman or an unsuspecting dog walker. Could she expunge this event from her history and pretend it had never happened? If she called the police they would question her and dig into her past. Perhaps they would find her account of the events as unbelievable as the motor cyclist had done? There were two distinct paths, one – the hardest – was to get help and face the consequences. The other was to run again, to fly from the terrible day and lock it away in the back of her mind and live with it.

She raised her hand to the door and realised that she had no key. If it was locked then she would have to go to Dolly and ask to be given access. Perhaps the choice wasn’t to be hers to make after all.

Chapter 26

“Dolly, I’m sorry to disturb you but I’ve lost my key.”

“Oh good heavens, Pauline! What’s happened?” Dolly stretched out her arms in automatic response to the figure standing in front of her. Then she hesitated; the other woman looked so damaged that she didn’t know where it would be possible to touch without causing harm.