Someone Who Isn't Me Danuta Kot (best books to read .TXT) 📖

– and he was a creep and she didn’t care, she didn’t – but his kid, that wasn’t right, and they’d hurt her kitten, and they’d hurt her. What had she done to them?

Nothing.

She was going to the pub tonight, she was going to ask questions and she’d find a way to get into that cupboard and take those pictures. She’d show them they hadn’t managed to scare her away.

But right now, she had other things to think about. It was already after seven and she had to be at the supermarket by eight. She pulled her clothes on and looked at her bruises in the mirror. Make-up wasn’t going to help – she’d just have to face them down.

The kitten. Milk in one dish, biscuits in another. She limped downstairs to the junk room at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed one of the boxes. It would do for a tray. She went back upstairs with it, each movement making her wince, and filled it with torn up loo paper – that would do for the moment.

OK. Coat, bag, phone, purse…

Her purse.

She usually left it on the small table after she got out her card for the meter, but it wasn’t there.

She hadn’t used the card last night.

She scrabbled in her bag, then tipped the contents out over the bed. It wasn’t until she’d gone through everything three times, and tipped the bag up and shaken it, that she was prepared to admit it.

Her purse was gone.

That was her card for the meter with at least five quid on it, her bank card and… shit. The envelope with her money from the pub.

She went cold as the implications struck her. That was all her money. What was she going to do? Her head was aching, her face hurt. Everything hurt, and now she had no money. She wanted to sit down on the bed and cry.

And that’s really going to help.

She lifted her chin. They wanted to stop her. Well, she wasn’t going to stop. She was going to keep right on doing… She wasn’t even sure what it was she had been doing, but she was going to keep on doing it anyway.

Now, she needed to get to work. Losing her job wasn’t going to help. She could see if Bryan would give her any overtime. And she could tell Carl what had happened. He might pay her again. Yeah, right. That was going to happen, wasn’t it?

He might be prepared to sub her. At a price.

But she had to have money, right now. Feeling as though she was taking the first step towards a sheer drop, she took a ten-pound note out of the rent and headed downstairs, back towards the yard, looking carefully across the ground as she went in case her purse was there.

It wasn’t, but she could see the evidence of a scuffle, the empty paraffin bottle still lying on the ground, the burned pile of rags. She didn’t even know who it was who’d attacked her. Johnny Dip? Carl? Did he know about the pictures? Was it Carl sending her fake text messages from Andy? But why would he? He didn’t want her snooping around in the cellar.

And now she had to admit she was scared. She might not know who had attacked her, but she knew they were still out there. It felt unsafe to step out of the flat. Even the road would have felt dangerous, but she had to go out the back way and through the gennel – the shop didn’t open until nine.

Feeling horribly exposed, like someone was going to jump her at any moment, she pushed open the gate and looked round, her phone clutched in her hand. The gennel was empty and when she got to the end, she saw the road was quiet – a few people walking along, and… Her feet slowed. There was a bunch of kids standing on the corner, crowded round someone she couldn’t see. The group shifted as she approached and she saw the lad in the centre of the group, who’d been hidden before.

It was Lewis, Jade’s Lewis.

No bike today.

She took in the designer gear and the cool trainers that she knew Jade couldn’t possibly have afforded, but the clothes were scuffed and stained, his lip was bleeding, his face looked pinched and he looked scared – petrified. He might be a little shit, but he was still just a kid, her mate’s kid, and he looked like he was in deep trouble. Hadn’t she been there herself? He was what? Eleven, twelve? About the same age she’d been when everything finally fell to pieces.

On impulse, she stopped. ‘Lewis?’ she said.

One of the lads, the tall, lanky one she’d seen with Lewis before, looked round. His hand was in his pocket, gripping something. ‘Fuck off, bitch.’ Slowly, the others began to move towards her.

Her mouth felt dry. She stepped back, out of arms reach, and held up her phone. ‘Do you want the coppers here?’ she said.

‘Yeah, like…’ The tall, lanky lad was sneering, but while the attention of the group was directed towards her, Lewis ducked, turned and ran. A bus was heading down the opposite side of the road, pulling into the stop. He was across the road, almost under the bus wheels and scrambling onto it before the others could react. ‘Let him go,’ the lanky guy said. His eyes, cold and empty, met hers. ‘You’re dead, bitch.’

They turned and sauntered away.

Becca’s legs felt shaky. She ought to do something, but she didn’t know what. Lewis was safe, for now. The others were gone and she had no idea who they were. She hesitated, then saw that her bus was just pulling into the stop. She couldn’t lose half a day’s pay. It was hard to run. She stumbled towards the bus, waving, and by some kind of miracle, the driver waited for her. ‘Morning, love,’ he said cheerfully as she eased herself up onto