Under the Harrow: by Flynn Berry Read Free Book Online Page A

have all her plans twisting through her head, and she would drink too much to drive home. I am so certain about this that I start to call every midrange hotel in central Bristol.
    “Hello, this is Rachel Lawrence. I want to book the same room as I had on my last visit. Could you check what that is?”
    As soon as the clerk says they have no record of a Rachel Lawrence, I hang up and dial the next number, until one says, “Room twelve.”
    I ask the rate. “That seems like more than last time. Is it a weekend rate?”
    “The rate on eight March was also ninety-five pounds.”
    I have a glow of pride. I’ve always known her better than anyone else.

9
    “ N ORA,” SAID RACHEL, “ do you want to come with me or stay?”
    “Stay.” And I fell back asleep. Rachel tripped down the stairs. She said good-bye to Rafe and the others who were still awake, then turned the knob so the screen door wheezed open into the summer air. The sun hadn’t risen yet but the pavements were warm, had stayed warm through the night.
    Rachel told me this story only once, on the assumption that I would remember every part of it, and she never had to tell it to me again.
    She walked with her sandals in her hand. Later, she found out the time of the sunrise that day and decided she must have left Rafe’s shortly before five. The sky was an uncanny, electric blue. Soon after leaving, she stepped on a sharp pebble and tied her sandals back on. She seemed to think this part was important. She described it precisely. I don’t know if this was because she thought she would have been able to run otherwise.
    She said she had a surge of happiness. Instead of going home, she thought about going to the river to watch the sun rise. She said she felt sorry for the people asleep in their houses, that her life was better and more vibrant than theirs.
    She crossed onto our council estate, a spiral of identical white boxes, half of them empty.
    A man appeared, walking very quickly between two of the houses toward her and the road. She saw him from the corner of her eye as she passed the strip of lawn. When she turnedaround, the man wasn’t on the road behind her, and she assumed he had gone inside.
    Then he appeared two houses ahead of her. He must have doubled back and crossed on the lawns. This second appearance unnerved her. She couldn’t decide if it would be better to continue on toward home or run back to town.
    The man continued down the lawn and stepped onto the road. He didn’t look at Rachel, who was now frozen a few meters behind him.
    He started to walk away from her, in the same direction as she had been going. When there were about five meters between them, she took a step forward. She liked that he was in front of her. It made her feel more safe. She decided not to run, she decided it would be better if she could see where he was.
    For the rest of the walk home, she would be in earshot of other people’s houses. If anything were to happen someone would hear and come outside. If she ran away, he might catch her in the stretch of fields between the estate and town, with no one around them.
    Keeping the same distance between them, she made it about half a block.
    The man turned around and came toward her. He walked strangely, high on the balls of his feet, with short strides. She started to shout at him. While she shouted, he came closer in quick, jerking steps.
    It was meant to frighten him away. She had been told that, we had all been told that. Make a scene, draw attention, make it difficult on him, and he will leave you alone.
    It didn’t make any difference. As soon as he was near enough, his hand closed around her throat, and he pulled her to the ground by her neck. He kneeled beside her, with his leg blocking his groin. With one hand pinning her neck, he punched her in the stomach and chest and face. She hit and scratched him. When he bent close enough, she tried to drive her fist into his windpipe, but he turned and the blow landed