Save Her, Abigail Osborne [ebook reader for surface pro txt] 📗

and someone had told her not to move. It got too much, and the words broke through. Stupid, idiotic words.

‘Cecelia, I could show you the new house if you would like?’ What? Why would you say that? Desperation to break the silence had obviously scrambled her brain.

Cecelia’s face broke out into a sinister smile, there was no warmth in her face. She leaned closer to Flora from her position at the top of the table. ‘I think you’ll find I will never be setting foot in that house. And neither will my son. If it’s the last thing I do.’

Her tone was so menacing that Flora felt a frisson of fear descend her spine. Flora looked at Alistair, hoping he had heard what Cecelia had said and would interfere. He was looking at them both with a broad smile on his face. Like the whole situation amused him. He stood up and left the table, quietly chuckling to himself as he went. Flora did not dare to look at Cecelia, she wished with all her heart that Sophie would appear out of nowhere like Reginald. But Sophie was not there, and Flora could feel Cecelia’s gaze burning into her, raising the hairs on her neck. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway which became louder with each second, filling up the silence as she waited for her husband to come back and rescue her from her evil mother-in-law.

13

It made Sophie’s skin itch to know that Flora was at a Friday Night Dinner without her. Sam took his obligation to attend these dinners as seriously as a blood oath. Being the apple of his mother’s eye had caused him to place a disproportionate amount of importance on the traditions she tried to create. Not being his mother’s favourite, Greg found it perfectly acceptable to shun the dinner when he was offered something better. Tonight, he was at a football game, best seats in the house apparently.

Sophie had gone to order a pizza and found all her cards had been taken from her purse, replaced by a scribbled note from Greg that read, ‘ha ha’. The irony that Flora had had her cards taken and replaced by someone and now she had had hers confiscated by her husband was not lost on her.

Sitting on the sofa, she flicked through the latest issue of Vogue. Her subscription was just another way of confirming that she had ‘made it’, she was not really interested in the pretentious twaddle they peddled. She couldn’t focus, distracted by a gut feeling that Flora needed her. Cecelia was a vicious viper and Sam had his head in the clouds: he wouldn’t be able to help Flora. He wouldn’t stop Flora from taking Cecelia’s words personally. Flora’s sensitivity was endearing but it made her an easy target for Cecelia.

But it was Alistair Sophie was more worried about. She tried to take heart in the fact he had never shown much interest in Flora, at least not in the way he had begun to take interest in her.

The door burst open. She started. The magazine slipped from her fingers as Greg all but fell into the room, the stench of alcohol joining him. He held himself up using the back of the sofa. Sophie stood up, warily moving away, trying to judge what type of drunk he was this time.

Before Flora had announced they were moving, she had been keeping everything under control. But things were starting to get out of hand, including Greg.

‘Hello, bitch,’ he said. A wolfish smile playing on his face. Ah, he was a nasty drunk tonight. A throb of fear pulsed through her. It was so hard to deal with him when he was in this mood. She may be able to outsmart him but she would never be physically stronger than him. He was blocking the exit. This was probably the first and last time that she would wish that they had gone to Friday Night Dinner.

Greg charged at her. ‘I should never have married you!’ he roared.

Finally, something we agree on, she thought as she danced out of his way. He stumbled to the floor, clutching the air where she had just been. She tried to edge towards the door, avoiding his flying fists.

‘Stop ruining my life,’ he shouted at her from the floor, watching her as she escaped into the hallway, running to the safety of her bathroom. She had already stored blankets and pillows in there so she could sleep in the bath at a moment’s notice, when she needed the locked door to keep her safe.

14

Flora shut the front door, wishing, not for the first time that week that she was anywhere hot and sunny. The weather had turned particularly vile that week. Which was why, at first, Flora was too preoccupied by the invasive October wind, nipping at her fingers, stealing down the back of her coat and whipping at her jeans to realise that when she tossed her keys in the bowl that stood on the sideboard next to the front door, they actually crashed to the floor.

Blowing hot air into her hands and stamping to bring back the feeling in her feet, she finally registered the clinking sound. She turned and saw her keys on the floor.

The sideboard was gone.

Wait. No, it wasn’t. It was on the other side of the front door.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She looked around and could sense that this was not the only thing out of place. The world looked off kilter. She walked gingerly into the living room. The armchair had been moved. It was no longer on the right of the sofa but to the left of it. Even the pictures had changed places. There had been three garish paintings that Cecelia had chosen especially for them. The ugly fat cupid was now in the middle of the three paintings when he used to be on the