The Fear: The sensational new thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller that you need to read in 2018. C.L. Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ if you’re sure.’ He gestures at the house with his thumb. ‘In there, is it?’

      For a moment I have no idea what he’s talking about but then I remember – I asked him to take the armchair to the tip.

      ‘It’s in the barn.’

      ‘Interesting place to keep a chair.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Where’s the barn?’

      ‘In the yard, past the garden.’

      He moves to look out of the window even though there’s no way he can see into the garden from the angle of the van.

      ‘Or you could take the track round the house and I could open the gate to the yard.’

      He looks back towards the garden, as though considering his options. A dimple appears in his chin as he presses his lips together. I used to push my little finger into that indentation to try and make it disappear.

      ‘My left leg’s a bit fucked. I’ll drive. Get in.’

      The command makes my blood run cold but, after a moment’s hesitation, I do as he says.

      We are sitting so close that, when he just changed gear, I had to lean to my left to avoid his forearm brushing mine. A wave of panic courses through me. The last time I was in a car with this man we were driving through France. But Mike doesn’t recognise me. He did a quick sweep of my body as I rounded the van, a casual appraisal any man might do to a woman he’s never met before, but there was no spark of interest when I opened the passenger door and got in. Why would there be? I’m a grown woman, not a child.

      As he navigates his way back down to the road and up the muddy track to the barn he chatters away about nothing in particular – the weather, the flooding, the news. I nod and shrug but I’m not really listening. I can’t stop staring at his face. He’s forty-nine now and his hair is more grey than black, but it’s still thick and wavy, cut short above the ears and at the nape of his neck. Deep lines stripe across his brow and fan out at the corner of his eyes. He looks old and tired.

      I was afraid that all the feelings I’d had as a teenager would come flooding back and overwhelm me, but I don’t feel love or desire. Not even hate or fear. What I feel, as I look at his long, thick fingers curved over the steering wheel, is revulsion.

      ‘Here we are then.’ He pulls on the handbrake and turns off the engine. We’re in the yard. Parked up outside the barn.

      ‘In here is it?’ Mike says, gesturing at the barn, as he gets out of the van. It’s raining heavily now and there’s an air of impatience in his voice. Am I keeping him from something? An illicit meeting with Chloe perhaps?

      ‘That’s right.’

      He doesn’t say anything as he lollops past me – there’s definitely something wrong with his left leg – but his head turns sharply as he opens the barn door. He’s spotted the cages.

      ‘Got dogs, have you?’

      ‘No,’ I say. ‘They were—’

      But he’s not interested. He’s already halfway across the barn. He grunts as he squats to pick up Dad’s green armchair. He was the strongest, fittest man I knew eighteen years ago. Now he’s unfit and wheezy, with a stomach that hangs over the belt of his jeans.

      ‘Mike, before you put the chair in the van you need to—’

      He grunts again as he lifts the chair up. ‘I’m a bit pushed for time at the moment, but if you need to book in another job give Joy a call and she’ll sort something out.’

      ‘It’s not about a job.’

      The expression on his face switches from friendly to irritated as he takes a step towards me. ‘I’m sorry, love, but I haven’t got time for a chat.’ He pauses to take a breath. ‘I have to be somewhere after this.’

      ‘I’d rather you stayed, Mike. And it would be in your best interests to listen.’

      I’m not going to let him walk away without hearing me out.

      ‘Look,’ he sighs heavily, ‘I don’t know what this is about but this is heavy and—’

      He’s interrupted by the tinny sound of a mobile phone ringtone. He lowers the chair to the ground, reaches into his pocket and presses his phone against his ear.

      ‘Hello Chlo, are you okay?’

      I stiffen at the sound of her name. I was right. He was trying to get away so he could meet up with her. The sick bastard.

      ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ Mike says. He’s lowered his voice but I can still hear every word. ‘Take a deep breath. All right … now tell me what’s going on.’ He pauses. ‘What? Oh no. Oh, Chlo, there’s got to be a mistake. There’s no way you would …’ He pauses again. ‘What woman? What did she say?’ He turns, almost in slow motion, and his eyes meet mine. He scans my face, his eyes clouded with confusion, as the tinny voice in his ear rattles on. The confidence I felt less than a minute ago vanishes. Why is he looking at me like that?

      ‘Mike,’ I say as the confusion on his face is replaced by shock. ‘Mike you need to—’

      He holds out a hand, silencing me.

      I don’t breathe a word. Instead I take a step backwards, towards the door. I shouldn’t have done this.

      ‘I’ll give you a ring back in a bit, Chloe. Okay? Stay where you are and I’ll come and get you. It’s going to be okay. I promise.’

      I take another step back. My heel catches on something and I have to steady myself on the wall.

      ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ Mike says, looking straight at me as he hangs up. ‘You fucking bitch.’

       Chapter 13

       Lou

      It all happens so quickly. One second Mike is on the other side of the barn, the next he’s speeding towards me, a look of absolute fury on his face. With no time to run, all I can do is raise my hands in self-defence and brace myself. In a heartbeat he’s right next to me but he’s unsteady on his feet and I’m quicker and fitter than he is and, as his fingers grasp at my hair, I swerve out of reach. Before he can regain his balance, I shift my weight to the left and kick out with my right leg. The sole of my trainer smashes into Mike’s bad leg. It’s like felling a tree with a single axe blow, the way he lurches to one side, his left leg crumpling beneath him. I kick out at him again, this time landing my foot square in his chest. The force of the blow sends him reeling backwards and through the open door of one of the cages. His arms flail at his sides as he tries and fails to weave his fingers through the metal bars, then SMACK, the back of his head makes contact with a pile of bricks stacked up next to a bucket.

      He’s not moving. His eyes are closed, his neck tilted to the left, his head propped up on a brick, his fingers unfurled and slack at his sides. Across the barn the armchair lies on its СКАЧАТЬ