Read Online The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) by Henriette Gyland - Free Book Online
Authors: Henriette Gyland
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to her, weren’t suffering, but she wasn’t prepared for this guy.
How was it possible that someone could live like that in an affluent society? There was no dignity in begging wherever you were in the world. In a moment of kinship she realised that she too had swallowed her pride many times and accepted what others could offer. It didn’t matter whether it was food, shelter, or simply words of encouragement.
‘Sure,’ she said and found a pound coin in her purse. ‘Here, go get yourself a cup of tea.’
She watched him wobble along the pavement. Did giving him money make her a good person? And if it did, did it mean that Fay, who’d given him a bag of apples, was a good person too? Her mind couldn’t allow that. It simply wasn’t right.
Absent-mindedly she played with the knife in her pocket, unable to accept that Fay might be nice. That Fay might have been pushed into doing what she did by some desperate circumstance, just like this beggar had thrown himself at the feet of a stranger, shoving all integrity and self-respect aside, because he was desperate.
Her mind was conspiring against her with all these doubts.
Fay seemed to enjoy being outside on this mild spring morning. She stopped to stroke a cat sunning itself on a garden wall, picked up a stray crisp packet and put it in a plastic bag which hung from the handle of her shopping trolley.
She’s picking up litter now. Helen bit back an angry outburst. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Fay was doing it on purpose. To wind Helen up.
Suddenly, eyes narrowed, Fay swung around and manoeuvred the shopping trolley to create a shield between them. ‘What do you want?’
Adrenaline surged through Helen, and she took a step back. Fay might be old, but she was a killer. Dangerous.
‘You look familiar. Do I know you?’
Helen shook her head.
‘Then why are you following me?’
The way Fay was standing took Helen right back to the old nightmare. Crazy-haired and wild-eyed this woman had stuck a knife into her mother’s throat. Blood – sweet, dark, and life-giving – had ebbed away, splashing the inside of the car. Helen’s life plunged into darkness.
The terror of the memory almost paralysed her, but her rage was as fresh as ever, and her hand closed over the knife.
Bitch.
Murderer.
Something shifted in Fay’s eyes, and the demon who’d killed Helen’s mother was gone, replaced by an unremarkable middle-aged woman who just looked sad.
Helen eased her hand out of her pocket. Reality hit her with a thump. Even in a moment of rage, did she have what it took to kill another person? Did Fay, who gave apples to beggars?
What really happened that day?
For years she’d been so certain of what she’d seen, but she’d been five years old at the time and had suffered an epileptic fit. It occurred to her now this didn’t exactly make her a reliable witness.
‘Well?’ said Fay. ‘I’m waiting. Are you going to tell me what you want or do I call the police?’ She produced a mobile phone from her coat and held it like a weapon while directing her challenge at Helen.
Helen supposed that prison made you expect the worst of others, but she had no pity for the time Fay had spent inside. Her mind blank, she was struck dumb. All the things she’d wanted to say for such a long time floated around her, unformed like mist. After all, what did you say to the woman who murdered your mother?
Hello?
Long time no see?
No way.
She needed an excuse for being in the area, and heard herself say, in a chirpy, happy voice she didn’t recognise as her own, ‘I’ve heard that there’s a room to let in this road.’
‘Who told you?’ Eyes narrowed again.
Think, Helen, think. ‘Winston.’
Fay relaxed. ‘Oh, yeah, Winston knows everything that goes on around here. Don’t tell him anything you don’t want other people to know.’
‘I followed you down the road because I thought you might know where it is,’ said Helen, encouraged.
‘You did,
How was it possible that someone could live like that in an affluent society? There was no dignity in begging wherever you were in the world. In a moment of kinship she realised that she too had swallowed her pride many times and accepted what others could offer. It didn’t matter whether it was food, shelter, or simply words of encouragement.
‘Sure,’ she said and found a pound coin in her purse. ‘Here, go get yourself a cup of tea.’
She watched him wobble along the pavement. Did giving him money make her a good person? And if it did, did it mean that Fay, who’d given him a bag of apples, was a good person too? Her mind couldn’t allow that. It simply wasn’t right.
Absent-mindedly she played with the knife in her pocket, unable to accept that Fay might be nice. That Fay might have been pushed into doing what she did by some desperate circumstance, just like this beggar had thrown himself at the feet of a stranger, shoving all integrity and self-respect aside, because he was desperate.
Her mind was conspiring against her with all these doubts.
Fay seemed to enjoy being outside on this mild spring morning. She stopped to stroke a cat sunning itself on a garden wall, picked up a stray crisp packet and put it in a plastic bag which hung from the handle of her shopping trolley.
She’s picking up litter now. Helen bit back an angry outburst. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Fay was doing it on purpose. To wind Helen up.
Suddenly, eyes narrowed, Fay swung around and manoeuvred the shopping trolley to create a shield between them. ‘What do you want?’
Adrenaline surged through Helen, and she took a step back. Fay might be old, but she was a killer. Dangerous.
‘You look familiar. Do I know you?’
Helen shook her head.
‘Then why are you following me?’
The way Fay was standing took Helen right back to the old nightmare. Crazy-haired and wild-eyed this woman had stuck a knife into her mother’s throat. Blood – sweet, dark, and life-giving – had ebbed away, splashing the inside of the car. Helen’s life plunged into darkness.
The terror of the memory almost paralysed her, but her rage was as fresh as ever, and her hand closed over the knife.
Bitch.
Murderer.
Something shifted in Fay’s eyes, and the demon who’d killed Helen’s mother was gone, replaced by an unremarkable middle-aged woman who just looked sad.
Helen eased her hand out of her pocket. Reality hit her with a thump. Even in a moment of rage, did she have what it took to kill another person? Did Fay, who gave apples to beggars?
What really happened that day?
For years she’d been so certain of what she’d seen, but she’d been five years old at the time and had suffered an epileptic fit. It occurred to her now this didn’t exactly make her a reliable witness.
‘Well?’ said Fay. ‘I’m waiting. Are you going to tell me what you want or do I call the police?’ She produced a mobile phone from her coat and held it like a weapon while directing her challenge at Helen.
Helen supposed that prison made you expect the worst of others, but she had no pity for the time Fay had spent inside. Her mind blank, she was struck dumb. All the things she’d wanted to say for such a long time floated around her, unformed like mist. After all, what did you say to the woman who murdered your mother?
Hello?
Long time no see?
No way.
She needed an excuse for being in the area, and heard herself say, in a chirpy, happy voice she didn’t recognise as her own, ‘I’ve heard that there’s a room to let in this road.’
‘Who told you?’ Eyes narrowed again.
Think, Helen, think. ‘Winston.’
Fay relaxed. ‘Oh, yeah, Winston knows everything that goes on around here. Don’t tell him anything you don’t want other people to know.’
‘I followed you down the road because I thought you might know where it is,’ said Helen, encouraged.
‘You did,
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