Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

me. Calling me a fat slag and saying he was going to kill me. Tim told me to run and I did. I ran and ran. I knew that if he caught me he could do anything. If he hit me for missing the gym, suffocated me for sleeping in—’

‘What about Tim?’

‘I thought he was behind me, at first,’ said Chantel. ‘But when I looked back he was shouting something at Jack. Then I saw Jack push him. Tim pushed him back. Next thing I knew, Jack punched him in the face. Tim fell backwards, I think he hit his head on the railings. Then he was on the ground. Not moving.’

‘And you carried on running?’

‘Yes,’ said Chantel, her voice a whisper. ‘I did. And I’ve never forgiven myself.’

They sat in silence.

‘I don’t know what happened next,’ said Chantel, eventually. ‘I kept running, like I said, and eventually checked into a B&B for the night. I was just going to lie low for a bit, till everything had cooled down. Then I’d go back, get my things and leave Jack for good. I thought Tim was OK, I really did. A black eye, maybe, and a sore head. It was me Jack was really angry with. Me he took things out on.’

‘But Tim wasn’t all right,’ said Amy. Tears were brewing, but she needed to hear how the story ended.

‘Jack phoned me, again and again. But I ignored him. There were calls from you too, but I thought you’d both be angry at me, leaving Tim like that. So I ignored everyone. Eventually I decided I couldn’t hide for ever, so I answered the phone to Jack.’

‘He told you Tim was . . . ’ Amy couldn’t say it.

‘No,’ said Chantel. ‘He didn’t tell me. He’s never told me. But he sounded different. He cried down the phone. I’d never heard him cry before. He said he wasn’t angry and just wanted to see me again. To make sure I was OK.’

Chantel paused and looked at Amy. ‘You didn’t meet with him?’ asked Amy.

‘No,’ said Chantel. ‘I told him I never wanted to see him again. But I asked about Tim and he said Tim had run away like I had. But that wasn’t true. I’d seen Tim hit the ground. He hadn’t run. That’s when I got worried.’

Amy closed her eyes and held her hands over her eyelids to block out the light. She took a deep breath.

‘I called my mum,’ continued Chantel. ‘She told me that Tim hadn’t come home. You’d phoned her, looking for us both. I asked her not to say anything to anyone. If Tim wasn’t OK, then I was the only person who could connect his disappearance to Jack. And Jack knew that. I was dangerous to him, which put me in even more danger.’

Amy opened her eyes again. ‘He always told me that he believed you two had run off together,’ she said, the pieces falling into place. ‘He told the team investigating that too. And the local paper.’

‘I saw that,’ said Chantel. ‘If that was what he was saying, I was sure he knew Tim wasn’t coming back. Jack had killed him. He was covering his tracks.’

Amy felt the weight of years of not knowing crushing her. ‘You could have told the police,’ said Amy, her voice rising. ‘He would have been arrested.’

‘Would they have believed me over him?’ asked Chantel. ‘Me? I’d been in trouble with the police for drugs. I hadn’t even realised what happened for days. He was a distinguished officer on the fast track. And he could be so convincing, with his hero act.’

‘But there would have been evidence,’ said Amy. ‘DNA, prints?’

‘Jack was smart and he was a policeman. If there was anything to link him to what happened, he would have got rid of it right away.’

‘The body?’ Amy hated to say the word. It felt so final. So unconnected to Tim.

‘I figured Jack would have known what to do, where to hide it. It was already dark, and we were in a remote bit of the park . . . ’

Amy thought about the playground under construction, about the digger Charles had identified. Deep holes already dug in the earth. She shivered.

‘There was another reason,’ said Chantel, taking Amy’s hand. ‘I told you in the letter.’

‘I never got that stupid letter,’ said Amy, snatching her hand away. ‘Why didn’t you call?’

‘He threatened you, Amy,’ said Chantel. ‘He said that if I went to the police he’d get to you before they got to him.’

Amy sat back.

‘I thought by leaving I was protecting you,’ continued Chantel. ‘Even contacting you put you in danger. Tim lost his life to that man, Amy. I couldn’t have let him hurt you too.’

‘Chantel . . . ’ began Amy. She couldn’t finish the sentence. Wasted years, curdled by fears of betrayal. All down to a letter that slipped inside a pot.

No. All down to Jack.

Jack, who killed the man she loved and terrified her best friend into abandoning her. She thought of all the visits to the police station, the comfort he had offered her. The reassurance.

The lies.

She squeezed the lighter in her hand even more tightly, although she could feel the thin plastic strain under her grip.

‘I know you’re angry with me,’ said Chantel, looking at Amy’s hands. ‘It was all my fault. I fell for Jack. I moved in with him. It was me who brought him into our lives. And Tim was the one who . . . ’ Chantel trailed off. ‘I’m so sorry, Amy,’ she said. ‘I had to get away. I thought you’d be better off without me.’ Chantel looked around the room, at the towers of boxes and birds and broken mirrors. ‘You were always so strong,’ she added. ‘I never imagined that . . . ’ She paused again. ‘I didn’t realise . . . ’ She put her head in her hands. ‘God, Amy, what did I do to you?’

‘Jack got