Hiding From the Light by Barbara Erskine

she heard a loud purr. One of the cats had woken up. Bending, she picked him up and lifted him up onto her shoulder. Her eyes had filled with tears again. Wine glass in hand, she climbed into the swing seat and lay back. In seconds Max was joined on her knees by his sister, Min, cuddled up into the crook of Emma’s arm. In ten minutes, Emma was asleep.
    As she began to dream first one cat, then the other, slid out of her arms and fled through the scented shadows, in through the French doors and out of sight.
     

If the old lady’s hiding place were discovered, she would die. There would be no escape. She pushed herself further back against the old brick wall and held her breath, aware of her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
    ‘We know you’re there, Liza.’ The voices were closer now. Women’s voices. Soft. Insinuating. ‘Come out and talk to us. You know it is what you have to do. It is the will of Christ.’
    She put her hands over her ears and pressed hard, fighting to escape their words. If she didn’t make a sound. If she stopped breathing. If her heart ceased its infernal din, she would be safe. They would never find her here. Never.
    ‘Liza!’ They were closer now. At the gate. ‘Liza, why make it harder for yourself? Surrender to us, make your confession before Almighty God. He will be merciful. Come, Liza. We know you’re here!’ The voices were growing louder, echoing in her head, coming from every side now.
    Liza!
        
L
iza!
             
L
iza!
                   
A
lmighty God will be merciful, Liza …
                       
A
ll you have to do is repent Liza …
    She could feel the sweat, ice cold between her shoulder blades and under her breasts. Her stiff, swollen hands were clenched into tight, white-knuckled balls, her nails cutting deep into her palms.
    Come out, Liza!
          They were laughing.
             
P
ray, Liza …
                  
I
t’s your turn, Liza …
     

With a start Emma sat up, feeling the perspiration cold on her body. She was shaking with fear. It took several seconds before she realised she was still outside on the roof terrace. She staggered to her feet and went to lean on the parapet, staring down towards the patch of darkness which was the garden square, trying to steady herself, aware of the noise of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. It was only a nightmare, for God’s sake, sparked off by her row with Piers. Stupid bad dream!
    She glanced down at her hands gripping the rail they had added on top of the wall when they moved into the flat. They were shaking. She could actually see them trembling as her fingers clung to the cold metal. With a frown she forced herself to let go and turned towards the French doors.
    She stood for a long time under the shower, her face upturned to the sharp drumming of the water, letting it drive out the fear. Then she wrapped herself in a huge towel and went into the kitchen.
    ‘Emma?’ Piers found her there an hour later. He turned on the light. ‘Come to bed, sweetheart. We’ll discuss the cottage in the morning.’
    ‘There’s nothing to discuss.’ She rubbed her face wearily. ‘It’s done. The offer is made.’
    ‘And can be withdrawn. You haven’t signed anything.’
    ‘No, but –’
    ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning, Em. Come on.’ He reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Maybe we can compromise. A cottage might be fun. One day. We could drive around a bit. Get some ideas.’
    She sensed a softening of his attitude and glanced at him quickly. ‘Do you mean that? You’ll think about it?’
    ‘I’ll think about it.’ Turning off the light, he led her towards the bedroom.
       
    Peggy and Dan were late for lunch. When they followed Emma out onto the roof, Piers was ensconced on the swing seat with a pile of newspapers, the wine already opened, and a half-empty glass beside him on the table.
    ‘Sorry, darling, we