Sara's Child by Susan Elle

knowing it has nothing to do with the glorious sunshine. Hurry back, Logan. Phew!
    However, Logan’s business with the visitor has taken a long time. Long enough that Catherine has made her way back to the terrace and is sipping a glass of iced orange juice, freshly prepared for her by the inestimable Aida. With the French windows open, she can clearly hear Logan outlining a property refurbishment deal to someone. It doesn’t sound to Catherine like he is talking about doing up just any little building, not with the huge amounts of money she’s heard him mention. Mmm, I wonder if Logan can find us some new office premises at a reasonable price. If any prices can be called reasonable these days!
    Then she hears the visitor speak for the first time, his Welsh accented voice deep and distinctive. She stands reflexively, the glass slipping unnoticed from her hand. Walking backwards, she stumbles off the terrace on to the surrounding grass and freezes, completely immobile.
    That voice! This one’s a beauty; I can cut toes off in a blink, watch. No, no, Oh God, please no. See, now listen to those lovely screams – that’s what real pain sounds like, little girl. I can’t breathe…I can’t…
    She hasn’t even noticed their conversation conclude; hasn’t stopped hearing the sound of that voice…that voice…that voice, her mind repeats as her world rocks beneath her bare feet.
    “What the hell!” Logan rushes forward, takes hold of Catherine’s stone cold shoulders and gives them a gentle shake. “Catherine, what is it?”
    As she follows Logan’s glance down her body, Catherine realises that her bare legs and feet are now soaked in her own urine. “Oh my god!” She cries out on the verge of hysteria. Then a hand flies up to cover her mouth, her eyes going wide as that voice, that terrible voice, reverberates around in her confused thoughts. I’m sorry, mummy. I’m so sorry…
    Before Logan can stop her, Catherine dashes off into the house, up the stairs to her bedroom and locks the door safely behind her. She barely makes it to the bathroom in time, vomiting as if her insides will tear at the force of it. When it finally subsides, Catherine can only think of a shower. She can hear Logan hammering on the bedroom door demanding to be let in. Were it a less sturdy door it surely would have given way. But she can’t focus on Logan right now, can’t even comprehend how frantic he must be after finding her in such a state. Lifting her face into the warm spray of the shower, Catherine slowly lowers herself to the floor of the cubicle. She sobs a million tears, each one clearing away the mist that has hung over the buried memories of her mother.
    She was hiding in her mother’s bedroom under the bed. The noise of someone breaking into the house downstairs had terrified her. She had hoped and prayed that he would take whatever he wanted quickly then go before her mum came home; but Catherine’s prayers hadn’t been answered. She’d heard her mum calling for her, becoming increasingly impatient when she got no reply. Then there was a scuffle, her mother screamed but the sound was cut off suddenly and Catherine held her breath in fear. Then she heard heavy feet on the stairs and the bedroom door had opened; Catherine had clapped both hands over her mouth to stop any noise escaping then had to listen as the man dumped her mum’s body on the bed and began tying her to it.
    “I tried, mummy…” Catherine, hands clasped around her knees, rocks herself with the pain of remembering, “…I tried to warn you that he was there; but it wouldn’t come out. My voice just wouldn’t come out,” she sobs for her mother over and over. Then, finally, when the only water tumbling down her face is the spray from the shower, Catherine draws herself up, wraps a large towel about her and moves robotically to the wardrobe.
    Downstairs Henry is trying to calm Logan, telling him to give her some space and time. “She’s stronger