Читать книгу Saving Sophie: A compulsively twisty psychological thriller that will keep you gripped to the very last page - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 32

Karen’s Monday had already veered off course and it wasn’t even midday. The call with Rachel left her shaky, anxious and guilt-ridden. Of all the times to miss counselling. She hadn’t missed a session in over a year, her routine now disrupted. It was usual for her agoraphobia to determine her schedule, along with Mike and Sophie – a lot depended on them offering their time to help. But now all three factors had dictated her day.

She tipped the dregs of coffee down the kitchen sink and contemplated the view from the large window overlooking the back garden. The grass needed cutting. Bailey would get lost in the undergrowth when he went outside to do his business. It was too wet to cut today, not that she could do it anyway. It would wait for Mike, he could do it at the weekend. Every now and then she braved going out the back, but only if it was quick – pegging out washing was the longest task she could manage without panicking. There was something about the houses either side that made her wary – too many windows, too many places someone could watch her undetected. And the six-foot fencing around the perimeter of the house might prevent someone climbing over easily, but they could hide behind it. Watching. Waiting.

No. Inside was best. She had more control over her environment inside.

As she was skipping counselling today, she ought to do something constructive. She needed to take her mind off things, avoid the horrible, dark thoughts about Erin’s death, about poor Rachel. Shopping. Yes, that would work – log on to the Tesco website and sort this week’s food shop. She wouldn’t usually do it until Mike got home on a Monday evening, but under the circumstances bringing it forward seemed a good move.

Karen opened her laptop. It was positioned on the glass, rectangular dining room table where she always sat to trawl the internet. She chose the black leather and chrome chair facing the wall, closest to the patio doors leading to the back garden. The front window was at the far end of the open-plan lounge to her left. It was good to get the overall feeling of light, of an outside world, but not too much of it. If she positioned herself in a certain way she could achieve the right balance of enclosure and an illusion of space. Safe space.

Having completed the shop in record time, Karen selected the delivery slot for an evening. Mike or Sophie would be around then to open the door and take the shopping from the driver. She stretched back, clicking her neck from side to side. Her days were a far cry from those she’d spent working in probation. She’d never had time to pee then, let alone sit around trawling the internet and playing Bejewelled on Facebook. Part of her missed the job, the service users, her colleagues – but mostly she’d forgotten it, forgotten the woman who’d once inhabited that role. How quickly things had changed.

The dark cloud began its descent. Thinking back always had the same effect; a physical reaction creating a heaviness in her limbs, a black cloak dropping over her head. Breathe in … and out. In … and out. Karen reached for the keyboard, navigating to the desktop, and clicked on the icon that might stop the progression of another attack. The virtual lounge appeared on her screen. She quickly typed in the name of her online friend in the self-help clinic and waited. Hopefully she’d be logged in and see her ‘red flag’, indicating she needed someone to talk to urgently.