Kim & The Hitman, Sandie Baldry [red novels txt] 📗

warm liquid running from my eyes washed away by the stabbing rain.

A dog walker, a little distance from me, veered the other way. Didn’t blame him. I must have looked a sight, drenched, the rain dripping from my face. I raised a weak hand to get his attention, but the figure disappeared in the distance.

As I stumbled towards the houses, I contemplated the last few hours and how I got myself into this mess? What was I thinking? I had learnt a lot about myself over the last few hours. I woke this morning worrying about how I looked and as I knocked on the door of a detached house. I was still worried about my appearance. I knew if I were them, I would shut the door on me again. As luck would have it, a young girl of only about ten answered, standing there in shock as I stumbled into their hall and collapsed.

 7

At last, Detective Inspector Hampton had me to himself, well besides another lady detective sitting there, whose name escaped me.

Since they had relieved me of my clothes, I sat there in a white paper bag, which was the best way to describe it. But I was alive, cleaned up and fed hot tea, and asked if I wanted to call anyone. What I wanted was to go home, have a hot bath and sleep for a week. As tired as I was, I gazed at the handsome detective, thinking naughty thoughts. I know. I pick my moments. What is wrong with me?

They wanted to know every detail—a blow-by-blow account of the conversation between the hitman and myself. I was so tired by then, and it didn’t help I had to write everything down. They asked stupid questions; did he tell me his name? Did he say where he came from?

 It didn’t occur to me to ask him for a CV. I’ll try to remember next time. I was brought up to respect the police, still tempted to write it. I made a point, however, of telling them Jenna’s husband had ordered the hit, which led to how I knew this. Embarrassing with DI Handsome looking at me. But I bit the bullet and told them in writing that I had walked into the wrong toilets and overheard it.

Realising they would not get much more from me, they had me driven back home. I walked through the door and into the living room in my white paper bag, where dad sat watching a nature program on the television.

‘A new look for you?’ he said with a glance at me before returning to the screen where a lion was chasing down an antelope. I turned away. I was squeamish over such things. I knew the lion had to eat, but I was always on the side of the prey.

***

It was getting irksome, repeating myself. How I had escaped the hitman, whose body was still to be recovered; gone into the sea and presumably washed away. At least that’s what I told myself. Though I don’t mind admitting I’ve woken up in terrible sweats some nights thinking he was still alive and out there, waiting for revenge. Finding myself looking over my shoulder. My heart elevated every time I saw a tall thin figure in a rain mac. They offered me counselling, but I considered it therapy to talk to my clients at the salon. I felt safe there, under the bright lights, and I was never alone. It was at night at home I found myself double-checking the doors were locked. The catches on the windows pulled over.

Dad had ranted at me as I locked him out one night. He should have told me he was going to her’s next door. And what was wrong with texting me? Oh, that would be because he didn’t have a mobile. The man needed to get himself into the current century.

It helped to talk to the girls who were in awe of me, for a short while anyway. Every time I went through it, I would pinch myself. Why was I still alive? I relived the whole thing again and again in my head. What could I have done differently? That was easy to answer, mind my own business next time. The thought that circled in my head was that the man might still be alive. Everyone, and by everyone, I mean dad and Emma at the salon, said it would be impossible to survive a fall like that. It may be so, but I wouldn’t be happy until they found his rotting corpse. It had now been three months.

However, I was getting more work at the salon and better tips, and I had passed my driving test, so not all bad.

I’m not one of those women who thinks she must have a man in her life, you know, to make her feel complete. But it would be nice to have someone to share stuff with. I was looking at places to live. Listening to dad’s bed rocking three times a week with her next door wasn’t doing my ego any good. He was getting loads, and I wasn’t getting any. And as long as I lived with him, I wasn’t likely to.

I wanted to get back to my normal life, well, actually, to get a life. My beauty blog had taken off after the event but was now dying away—my fault since I’d lost the will to keep it up and add fresh content. And I hadn’t bought anything new in a while. The girls were telling me it was a sign of depression and I should go shopping with them. Paula suggested I could stay at hers. I still wasn’t certain about her, so I declined politely, of course.

I needed to get back into the swing of things; buying a dress from the catalogue and telling the girls