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Same height, same hair colour. She could almost pass for Deborah from behind. But as the woman turned, he could tell she was no more than a cheap imitation.
Albert belched as he supped the last of his ale and placed his cap on his head. Another would’ve been grand but he knew his pension wouldn’t stretch that far. His mouth watered as he thought of the homemade steak and kidney pudding his neighbours Mark and Jean had promised to make him for supper. He gripped the table and hauled himself up, flinching as he straightened out. It wasn’t easy being old. Once the ageing bones had set in the same position for more than a few minutes, they rebelled at being moved.
Fifty-eight years later, any mention of Lillian still made his heart flutter. There would never be another.
Twenty years ago, it had been a thundery night, just like this. Her own child, Hannah, then only two years old, had been screaming. In darkness and half asleep she’d staggered from her bedroom to comfort her. As the toddler’s wailing continued, she’d hurried along the landing before colliding with her drunk husband, Terry, at the top of the stairs. Just like back then, her heart quickened and the walls seemed to be closing in, showing no mercy. She wanted to fall to the floor and curl up in a ball, closing her eyes until it was all over and she could breathe again.
Debbie shivered as she pulled the coarse blankets over her shoulders. Lying on her side in a pool of sticky wetness, she thought of the small life she’d pushed from her body a day ago.
He didn’t know what had happened or where she’d gone, but it had been four long years and Debbie hadn’t tried to contact them at all. No one had seen her and initial police investigations and appeals had come back with nothing.
