The Eyes of the Accused: A dark disturbing mystery thriller (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 2) by Mark Tilbury Page A

actually escape this shit-hole. Thankfully, the baby was still moving about inside her, but she didn’t know how much longer it could survive without sustenance.
    The bottom of her back hurt like murder. Trying to sleep on the semi-inflated airbed was like trying to sleep on a park bench. To make matters worse, she could only lie on her back because of her condition. The stench in the basement was overbearing. Damp, excrement and piss. A vile cocktail. It was also freezing cold, with the two-bar electric fire her only source of heat.
    She only got up to use the toilet bucket. Thankfully, nature had rendered her constipated, so it was just about possible to pee in the dark and make her way back to bed without too many mishaps. She spent most of her time under the duvet, begging God to help her. God seemed otherwise engaged. Once, when she was about six, she’d asked God to bring her daddy back. Not because she didn’t like being on her own with her mother, but because most of the other kids at school had daddies. She just wanted to be normal. Have a big strong daddy to sweep her up in his arms and hoist her onto his shoulders.
    God hadn’t brought him back. Her daddy had gone to Australia. To start a new life, apparently. Why would he want a new life? She’d found Australia on the globe. It was right around the other side of the world. Why would he go that far away? Her mother said he was selfish. Why couldn’t he have just stayed at home and been selfish?
    Her selfish daddy still sent her a birthday card and a Christmas card each year, with a cheque inside for mummy to pay into the bank. Mummy said she was saving the money for when Hannah reached eighteen. Then she could spend it on whatever she liked. Hannah thought eighteen seemed like a lifetime away. 
    But God had granted her a new daddy. A different daddy. Vic. A funny name, like the vapour rub mummy put on her chest when she had a blocked nose. Vic looked funny, with his bald head and podgy tummy. Vic was nice. He was always happy to help her with her reading and writing. He also took her swimming with mummy every Sunday at the Splash swimming pool in Aldercot. Before long, Hannah stopped thinking about her real daddy; apart from when he sent her a card with a cheque inside.
    The baby kicked inside her. A reminder. Hey, I’m still here, mum. I still need you. Hannah reached beneath her sweatshirt and rubbed her stomach. The skin was stretched tight. She wanted to hold the tiny life growing inside her, reassure it that mummy would do everything in her power to make sure it had a happy life, but she couldn’t make promises any more. Promises were for all those lucky people in the outside world who had normal lives. 
    A teacher at secondary school had once told the class that everyone had a life-lesson to learn. As usual, no one had been interested in what he was saying. Everything seemed so short-term back then. Most kids were more concerned with who was dating whom. Now, as Hannah sat in the dark stinking basement with nothing but her thoughts for company, she believed that the teacher was right. And her lesson was loss. She’d lost her father. Her freedom. And now she was going to lose her baby.
    Her thoughts turned to Robert. She missed him so much. They’d been so happy together. Hannah couldn’t have wished for a better man to spend the rest of her life with. They were going to have three children. A nice semi-detached house. A garden for the kids to play in. Holidays abroad. One day Robert would take over his father’s business. A perfect landscape for a perfect life.
    Except there was no such thing as a perfect life, was there? Dreams were for fools. She tried to imagine what Robert was doing. Where he was. What he was thinking. One thing was for certain: she would never see him again. They would never have their perfect house, their perfect marriage, their perfect life.
    She closed her eyes and imagined his arms around her. Resting her head on his