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

vision, making her stomach heave. Here she was lying in a luxurious super-king-size bed with Sam’s arms wrapped around her knowing full well that her best friend was in the house next door with an evil bully.

Flora tried a visualisation technique to empty her mind, needing respite from her discordant emotions. Picturing herself on a secluded beach, she breathed in and out to the sound of waves lapping gently in front of her. She almost felt the gentle breeze brush at her hair. But then the waves swept Sophie’s dead body to her feet. The pale face was covered in blood that turned the sea a deep shade of red. Sophie’s dead body opened its eyes. ‘Help me,’ she asked in a croaky, terrifying voice.

Next, Flora tried to count sheep but instead of jumping over the fence they surrounded her. Hundreds of sheep with Cecelia’s face, all screaming at her that she was a money-grabbing tramp.

Creeping out of bed, Flora was flirting with the idea of taking sleeping tablets, but instead she walked around the house like an unsettled ghost, fingering her necklace. Stepping in front of the canvas of her parents, she gently stroked her mother’s face, wishing more ardently than ever that she was there to tell her what to do. But her parents were gone and all she’d ever had was Sophie. Beautiful, brave, strong Sophie who had never let her down. Her guilt devoured her once more. She found PC Valerie’s card on the kitchen island and wondered if she should call and tell her about Sophie and Greg. Would she be able to help?

But then she remembered the PC’s words the last time she had called with an update. ‘The Chief Constable has taken a personal interest in this and will be following the case closely. So please try not to worry.’

If Sophie was right, the police would not be an option. Flora sat in the living room surrounded by things that Cecelia had chosen, allowing herself to remember all the insults, cruel jibes and general hell that Cecelia had put her through. If she channelled that it was easy to want to give it all up. To leave everything behind and start again somewhere else. But then walking back into her bedroom, her heart contracted painfully. Sam slept so peacefully. Arms open wide, welcoming her back into bed. His laugh floated through her mind, how his eyes had brimmed with tears on their wedding day. The pure, unadulterated love they shared stole her breath. How could she leave him? She wanted to wake him up and tell him everything she knew, to beg him to help her.

But he couldn’t even see through his mother. Did she honestly think that he would believe her? That he would see through his brother and do the right thing? Sam was a good man, she believed that. But his family were his Achilles heel. Could she balance Sophie’s future on his love for her?

She watched the sunrise and although she felt sick, the beauty of watching the sun emerging, lighting up the world eased the ache in her heart. Slowly, she got dressed and ready to leave for work. Sam was singing I’m a believer in the shower and rather than face him, she slipped out of the door and drove to the centre. Her first session wasn’t until 9am but there was always plenty she could do. Distracting herself with menial tasks was a blessing for her whirling mind.

Her insomnia soon caught up with her and to get through the day she had been surviving on Charlotte’s cups of teas, heavily dosed with sugar combined with a bottle of Lucozade every hour. But that had not stopped her snapping at Thomas. Her addled brain had forgotten that he could not stand anything that was the colour red and she had squeezed red paint into a pot and put it on his desk without thinking. Immediately, he started rocking backwards and forwards, a persistent humming signalled his distress. He began to pull at his ginger hair, strands coming out in his fingers. The humming got louder and Flora’s headache escalated in response.

‘For god’s sake stop it, Thomas!’ she shrieked.

The room went deathly silent as ten shocked faces turned in her direction. She never raised her voice. Thomas stopped dead but then he spotted the ketchup once more and continued to meltdown. She had shocked herself and stared dumbly at him, unable to move or think straight.

Charlotte marched into the room and picked up the plate of food and took it into the kitchen. She came straight back out with a fresh plate and sat next to Thomas.

Flora took advantage of Charlotte’s intervention and dashed into the back room. She shut the door and leant back against it. Her breath came quickly and tears leaked from her eyes. She felt awful. She was the one supposed to advocate for these children, to lead by example, to give them the patience and understanding that they deserved. She had never lost her temper before. Shame leached her strength and she collapsed into Charlotte’s chair and put her head in her hands. She cried until there was nothing left, she was emotionally barren.

Sniffing, she stood up intending to go into the bathroom and splash water on her face. She stopped in her tracks when she realised Charlotte was standing there, her head down, making no sound.

‘Sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t see you there.’

‘Flora. I need to tell you something. It’s important.’

‘Not now, Charlotte. I can’t. Not now. Can you watch the children for a little longer.’ She strode from the room and locked herself in the bathroom, needing to be alone to compose herself.

Washing her face in the sink, she finally felt strong enough to face the world again. Flora went back into the classroom and spent the rest of the day trying to make amends for her behaviour. She was furious that she had let her personal life impact her treatment of