Rob ran a hand through his hair and looked up, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
He ordered a mineral water instead, to wash down the last few peanuts that he scraped from the bowl.
The clock at one end of the bar told him it was after ten.
Becky would be in bed by now, asleep with any luck.
He finished half the water and got to his feet, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his car keys. He passed the young couple on the way out. They were still kissing.
Rob sucked in several deep breaths as he stepped into the pub car park. He shivered a little, surprised at how chilly it had become.
The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked across to the waiting Audi.
It was parked beneath a large oak tree, and he noticed there were several dollops of bird shit on the roof.
That was meant to be good luck, wasn’t it?
On any other occasion, he probably would have smiled.
The car park was dimly lit, illuminated only by two sodium lights near the exit onto the main road.
Rob squinted in the gloom, trying to make out the door lock.
The tree towering above him and the bushes that grew so thickly around this side of the car park helped to blot out any natural light, and he was forced to bend forward to find the lock.
He heard the rustle of leaves, and was about to straighten up.
More crunching of gravel close behind him.
He realized in that split second that he wasn’t alone.
And then the first blow landed.
81
ROB FELT A crashing impact on the back of his head.
The blow was so hard it slammed his head forward, smashing it against the side window of the Audi.
He fell to his knees, the gravel digging into his skin, adding to the pain he already felt. But at least this added pain kept him conscious.
A foot connected hard with his ribs – once, twice.
The breath was torn from him, and he felt a crack as one of his ribs snapped from the force of the kick.
He tried to roll over, tried to clamber to his feet in an effort to protect himself from this sudden assault.
If he could just get up . . .
Something struck him in the face.
He wasn’t sure whether it was a fist or the same object that had clouted him around the back of the head.
Whatever it was, it split his bottom lip and he tasted blood.
Rob shot out a hand to block the next kick aimed at him, and he succeeded in deflecting the worst of the impact, but he shouted out in pain as his little finger was crushed.
With his other hand he clawed at the door handle, trying to pull himself upright, desperate to at least defend himself against this frenzied onslaught.
Another blow caught him in the mouth and shattered a tooth, but he grabbed at the hand that struck him and managed to ensnare the wrist in a vice-like grip. He pulled his assailant towards him, driving his own forehead towards the onrushing face of his attacker.
Rob felt the impact, but heard a satisfying groan from his assailant as he was headbutted.
He had little time to savour his triumph.
Another powerful blow caught him across the bridge of the nose, pulverizing the bone. Blood burst from it, and Rob fell to his knees once again.
He took another kick to the stomach. Then several to the small of the back.
He curled into a foetal position, hands covering his head in an attempt to prevent further damage.
But his attacker seemed to become more incensed by this, and started stamping on his head, on his protecting hands.
Rob was convinced he was going to die.
He was battling to remain conscious while kicks rained in from all directions, mainly aimed at his head now.
Blood was pouring down his face, and he felt agonizing pain from his broken finger and rib.
Still the blows rained down, and Rob was beginning to wonder if this madman was ever going to run out of energy.
This madman . . .?
One thought flickered briefly into his head.
Was this the same person who had tried to kill him the previous night?
Was . . .?
The assailant was now stamping on his arm, trying to knock it away from his face.
A kick cracked part of Rob’s bottom jaw. Two teeth spilled onto the gravel as he opened his mouth in pain. The blood that poured from his burst lips and lacerated face looked pitch-black in the gloom.
Rob was losing consciousness.
A particularly powerful kick sent him onto his back.
Like an upturned turtle.
He couldn’t protect himself any longer.
More kicks to his sides and stomach.
He couldn’t focus properly any more. Blood in his eyes. Pain. Fear.
A thunderous kick to his head.
Someone was using his skull like a football.
Something else broke. Another bone shattered.
Rob’s eyes rolled upwards in the sockets.
Darkness . . .
82
SHE WAS DREAMING: that was the only explanation.
Hailey rolled over in bed, trying to force her eyes open. Expecting the residue of her dream to vanish with the intrusion of waking.
She heard the sound again.
The doorbell?
She looked across at the radio alarm: 11.56 p.m.
Hailey was gripped by a feeling of unease.
Somebody playing a joke?
She was grateful she’d put the security alarm on. She glanced across at the phone beside the bed, thought how easily she could reach it if she needed to.
The doorbell sounded again.
Whoever was down there wasn’t giving up easily. She began to wonder how long they’d already been there.
She swung herself out of bed and pulled on a T-shirt, then she crossed to the window and looked out.
Either the person standing at the door had no transport or their car was parked out of sight.
Why would he have come to the house tonight? She was meeting him tomorrow.
