Page 4 of The Little Cottage by the Cornish Sea

Three minutes is a long time when you’re waiting for a home pregnancy test.

Will had no idea of my suspicions, and it was just as well.

‘When we become a family,’ he’d promised me once, ‘everything will be different. I’ll be less stressed. We’ll start to enjoy ourselves more. I’ll spend more time with you. And together, we can start our own dynasty. The Compton dynasty!’

That had been years ago. Four, to be exact.

In the following years, everything had changed.

Will was no longer nice or even indifferent.

He had become impossible to be with. He was always angry; sometimes more than angry.

So instead of challenging him, I stayed out of his way.

But then he’d charge into my office and start berating me for something I’d done or hadn’t done, it didn’t matter to him.

He took any chance he had to put me down.

And now the ultimate betrayal. How could he do this to me, accuse me of theft and blackmail? Had he ever truly cared about me?

The three minutes were up.

I took a deep, deep breath and closed my eyes tight.

I could handle this. I could handle whatever came my way.

When I’d gone to his house to break up with him, I knew there was a chance I could be pregnant.

But even for a child’s sake, I couldn’t let Will stay in my life.

And now I had no choice but to keep my big-girl trousers on, just like I had done all my life.

With my heart hammering against my aching ribs, I forced myself to open my eyes and stared at the stick. Pregnant . I knew it. I was going to have a baby. Bloody Will’s baby.

So finally, at the end of the worst day of my entire life, I let go and cried again.

I cried in anguish for this baby who was one day going to ask me where Daddy was.

What could I possibly say? I cried for all the years I’d stayed in the hope that things would get better.

I cried because I’d been so weak, as if paralysed by the fear of loneliness and the dread of change.

I cried because it had been the first time in my life that I’d ever been afraid of anything.

I was afraid of letting my baby down, of not being brave and smart enough to give it the best I could. But I’d give it my all.

With unsteady arms, I braced myself against the sink and looked at my reflection.

My normally bright-green eyes were now spent, and my once glossy hair looked matted and dull.

But what completed the dismal ensemble were the scratches on my face.

I was a mess and Mrs Nankivell had been right to doubt me.

Too late to cry over spilled milk. Just bloody get on with it now. There was only one thing I could do. Soldier on. Make the best of what I had and try to create a new life for myself here in Cornwall.

Shrugging off my worst thoughts, I nipped back to the kitchen to take stock of the place. Old but solid, with a butcher’s block in the centre, all it needed was a good cleaning and a couple of personal touches. Who cared if it was old?

Obviously, no one had lived here in ages, and judging by the contents of the drawers, they had left in a hurry too.

There was a set of brass cutlery, a ceramic cooking pot, an old pewter jug, an old baster – though the plastic bubble on the end had seen better days – alongside a rusty runner bean stringer, a metal colander, an old set of scales missing the weights, and a bent whisk.

A tea strainer completed the forlorn ensemble.

Yes, I would definitely have to nip out to get some basics tomorrow.

Had I been clever, I’d have seen all this coming.

I’d have secretly packed an emergency bag or two with some survival essentials while I found my feet elsewhere.

But I had never thought that it would get this bad.

I had been an absolute idiot to believe that things would one day get better. That all I had to do was have faith.

But now, in this old, terraced cottage, I could start from scratch.

It would be just me and these thick walls, the low, beamed ceilings and the huge hearth that took up half of the tiny sitting room.

It had very good bones and loads of character, with a tiny window seat, sash windows and flagstone floors.

A decorator’s dream. Now if I only had a decorator’s budget to fix it up.

I couldn’t let a baby come into the world and live here in this state.

Hopefully, by the time it was born, I would have made it much more welcoming and homely.

In the kitchen, just a few feet away from the tiny sitting room, I leaned over the ceramic sink and pushed out the window to breathe in the chilly night air.

I couldn’t see a single thing of the garden in the dark, but I remembered from the photos on the website that it was a good-sized one.

Even if it needed some work, I could make it perfect.

I envisaged borders in full bloom and hanging my washing in the sun while singing to the baby, who sat in the shade, perfectly content to gurgle and laugh at her mummy’s silly antics.

Interrupting my musings, I closed the kitchen window and climbed up the narrow staircase to where, thank you, God, a tiny bathroom was squeezed in between two bedrooms. And it even had a tub! Probably not big enough for an adult, but I was tiny myself. For now.

The smaller bedroom was completely bare, as if no one had ever occupied it except for the dust mites.

The larger bedroom, as musty and drab as the rest of the house, featured a massive brass bed that had turned black with time and neglect.

There were no personal belongings anywhere except for an old, battered sea chest in the corner. And that was it.

Not that I was expecting much, but this place had absolutely nothing.

I went back downstairs, grabbed a pen and notebook from my bag and leaned against the butcher’s block to make a list that made me consider how much my freedom and a new life were going to end up costing me.

I had very little savings, but if I was careful and spend-thrift, I could at least get the bare necessities: cups, plates, glasses, bleach (lots of it), some washing up liquid and some cleanser of sorts.

A couple of tea towels, milk, tea and oh, more hobnobs.

Perhaps I should start being sensible and get some fresh fruit and vegetables as well.

I also needed to get bath towels and sheets.

The rest would come slowly, slowly, after I found myself a job somewhere.

I crept downstairs and out the front door to the magnolia tree under which I’d parked the car. It was very similar to the one I’d crawled down only hours ago. I hoped that it was a good omen for me and my freedom.

The only luxury I had with me was my coat: a memory from my mum. At the thought of her beautiful smile and sing-song voice, my throat constricted. And I realised that, for different reasons, she had run away too.

I grabbed Will’s backpack from the car; it contained my new life, along with another bottle of water and the packet of Hobnobs that would have to be both dinner and breakfast.

Tomorrow, I’d go out and get a few essentials.

New life, new start, one little thing at a time.

But I’d have to make do with the contents of Sophie’s make-up bag.

I peered inside. There were some travel-sized luxury shampoo bottles, a new toothbrush, thank God, and some toothpaste too.

And a new, still-wrapped bar of soap. It was pathetic how happy it made me.

The thought of having a bar of soap that wouldn’t be touching Will’s skin made me want to cackle with bliss.

It annoyed me tremendously when he came to my home and left the dirty suds to dry on the bar instead of rinsing it off.

I knew it sounded anal, but what was the point of leaving dirt on the soap for the next person?

It was because, just like everything else he did, he didn’t care .

There was no consideration whatsoever for anyone else but himself.

I dug the pyjamas out of the bag I’d thrown together, praying that the water in this cottage worked, even if it was cold. A decent wash would help to rid me of the adrenaline still pumping through my system, keeping me in a constant state of stress.

I turned the taps, and breathed a sigh of relief as I heard the pipes gurgle to life in the walls.

Only… no water was coming out. Or, there was, but only the faintest of a trickle, and it was cold.

I couldn’t help but be disappointed. I fiddled around with the taps to eke out a decent flow but to no avail.

And now, tired and fed up, I couldn’t even turn the tap off.

The trickle had become constant. I couldn’t go to bed as manky as I felt, even if the old bed was worse off than me.

I remembered seeing a bucket under the kitchen sink so I ran downstairs and fetched it, careful not to slip on the steep stairs.

I ran back upstairs and placed the bucket under the tap, and when it was enough, I washed my face and hands and brushed my teeth. I’d have to ask Mrs Nankivell to call someone sooner rather than later.

Exhausted and finally coming off the adrenaline high, I plunked myself onto the brass bed which sank and slightly bounced, but not quite back into place.

It was like when a dog burrows a dip to keep cool.

Without any bed linen but the damp, green coverlet, I opened the airing cupboard and found an old, wool blanket.

I had nothing else. So, still shivering from the shock of today’s events and the cold, I wrapped up like a sausage roll to ward off the dampness hanging in the air.

Tomorrow, I would take care of everything, but now, I was too exhausted by all the miles, all the hills and dales seen through a haze of terror.

But that was all behind me now, hopefully.

Yes, granted, there was always a chance Will would find me, but a frisson of excitement passed through me.

The baby and I would wake up here every morning to a new, wonderful Cornish life, and hopefully, she would know nothing about my past. I would never let Will come near me – or my baby – again.

I lay on my side in Sophie’s flimsy silk pyjamas covered by one of her thickest jumpers, another one rolled up under my head as a pillow. Tomorrow, I would face everything. All I needed to know was that, for tonight, I was safe.

Only I couldn’t sleep. Or maybe I did for a few minutes, but I woke up feeling even more exhausted as I tossed and turned like the fugitive that I now was.

It would have been unfair to blame the bare, lumpy mattress.

All I could think of was my future. In the quiet of this very dark night, I tried to start making a plan and then changed it as soon as it went awry.

From here, unless Will or the police found me, there was no going back.

Kate Miller was gone, her place taken by Sophie Graham, a complete stranger who would have to build a new life from scratch.

I had been stripped of anything I owed, loved and missed.

There was nothing left of me but my essential core, and the baby now inside me.