Present Darkness by Malla Nunn

plan. Car tyres crunched over loose stones in the driveway and the engine cut. The girl wedged the cot against the wall, her heartbeat drumming like a tiny fist in her chest.
    “You can’t keep her, for Christ’s sake.” The smaller man’s voice carried into the room, sharp with reproach. “He said to make an end to it. Finished and clear.”
    “I will.” The big man replied and the thud of his footsteps moved to the front of the house. “When I’m ready.”
    “You seriously think he won’t find out that you broke your promise to get rid of her? This is his farm, dumkopf.”
    “He won’t know if you don’t tell him,” came the calm reply. “Make one more phone call and things will be finished and clear for you. Understand?”
    The girl grabbed the pillow and threw it into place on the bed. Her breath caught in her throat at the icy tone in the big man’s voice. He was poison, that one: the snake from the story of Adam and Eve in the bible.
    “Hey, relax. I’m just saying you have to be careful.” The smaller man was cowed. The girl heard the surrender in his voice. He wouldn’t help her if she escaped. One word from the big man and he’d run her down. A door creaked opened and footsteps slapped the wooden stairs.
    “Don’t worry. I’ll be finished long before he gets here for the holidays.”
    Hinges creaked and the door to the box room swung inward. The girl threw herself onto the rough mattress and curled into a foetal position. Sweat trickled from her forehead onto the uncovered pillow.
    “Sleep well, sweetheart?” the big man asked.
    “Yes, thank you.” The girl forced a smile. It was important to be grateful and to speak gently. He’d taught her that last night. More lessons would soon follow this morning, each leaving a bruise.
    “Sit up,” he said. She did, careful to keep her chin raised, her back straight and her knees pressed together: last night’s etiquette lesson had taught her the correct posture and acceptable facial expressions. Sunbeams brightened the window glass and the shadow of a tree branch made leaf patterns on the floor.
    The big man clamped his hands onto her thighs and leaned in close. He was better looking in the daylight than in the light from the lantern the night before. Nature had lavished her gifts on him. Slick black hair, fair skin, sharp cheekbones and eyes the colour of the ocean. He’d win a beauty contest between them. The unfairness of it stung but the girl pushed that thought aside.
    A bird sang outside the window, calling her out of her hurting body and into the veldt.
    Soon, she promised herself. You will fly.

6.
    The Brewers’ house appeared shabbier in the daytime than at night. Tiny black birds nested in the tangle of shrubs in the garden and a rusted post box leaned at an angle. No thieves worth a damn would target this place. The prison sentence for committing three violent assaults was too high a price to pay for a four-door Mercedes Benz, however low the mileage.
    Cassie Brewer stood by the boot of a dirty Land Rover parked in the driveway next door with her white socks scrunched around her ankles and her ponytail askew. She held a cardboard box overflowing with clothing and books.
    She’s still a child, Emmanuel thought. But old enough to have her word hold up in court.
    A freckle-faced woman with a halo of frizzy red hair hurried down the front steps of the Brewers’ house. Dressed in a brown cotton dress, black lace-up shoes with no stockings and no hat, she walked with the urgent stride of a farmer’s wife who’d find her rest when she retired to an early grave. She loaded the cardboard boxes into the Land Rover’s boot. A few neighbours worked their front gardens; some weeding and deadheading roses, others instructing their garden boys to do the same. They, too, watched the home.
    Emmanuel moved quickly to Mrs Lauda’s driveway. Cassie saw him coming and drew in a sharp breath. She rubbed the front of her right shoe against the