Someone Else's Skin by Sarah Hilary Page A

She turned her face away. ‘I was the same. I thought I was safe there. I didn’t think anything bad could happen as long as I was there. It was . . . my home. You’re meant to be safe in your home.’
    ‘Yes, you are.’ Marnie got to her feet. ‘I’ll ask Simone if she’ll come. And I’ll bring your handbag.’ She paused. ‘There was a note, in your bag. Very nasty.’
    ‘What?’ Hope’s voice was dull, desensitised. She rubbed at the skin under her right breast: the tattooed heart.
    ‘A threatening letter,’ Marnie said gently. ‘In your handbag.’
    ‘Oh.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s not mine. I took it because it scared her so much. She was sure he didn’t know where to find her . . . It’s why I don’t know if she’ll come. She’s so frightened . . .’
    ‘The note was sent to Simone?’
    Hope nodded. ‘By Lowell.’
    ‘Lowell who?’ Marnie felt a new itch between her shoulder blades.
    ‘I don’t know. Just . . . Lowell. He did things to her . . .’ Hope shuddered. ‘At least Leo . . . He never hurt me, the way Lowell hurt her. He’s a monster. Simone says he’ll never give up, ever. Not until he’s got her back.’

12
     
    ‘What’re you doing in here?’ Hope’s friend with the braids, Simone Bissell, stood in the doorway to Hope’s room, challenging Noah with a stare.
    ‘I wanted to take an overnight bag,’ he invented, ‘to the hospital.’ He held up a plastic washbag. ‘This is all I could find.’
    Hope’s room was pin-neat. What possessions she had, she’d tidied away into the wardrobe and the cupboard by the bed. Noah had searched for samples of Proctor’s handwriting, but there was nothing of Leo’s in the room. The washbag was the kind sold in airports, pre-packed with deodorant, a toothbrush, shower gel.
    Simone’s eyes were huge on his face. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’ Her accent was tricky to place. North London, but posh, not street. ‘It’s her room. Private.’
    ‘It’s all right.’ He hunted for a phrase to reassure her. ‘I’m a detective. I was here earlier, with DI Rome? And I’ve been talking with Ayana . . .’
    ‘I know who you are.’ She lifted her chin. ‘You’re a stranger. Hope doesn’t know you. She’s done nothing wrong.’
    ‘She stabbed her husband.’
    ‘You didn’t see.’ Her mouth wrenched. ‘He’s dangerous. Hope saved our lives. She saved all our lives.’
    The bed had been made with military tightness. Noah had slipped his hand under the mattress on every side: nothing. The emptiness of the room mocked him.
    ‘Why is she being kept in the hospital overnight?’ Simone demanded.
    ‘Just so we can be sure she’s okay.’
    ‘I want to see her.’ Simone’s eyes went around the room, measuring its emptiness, or checking to see what Noah had touched. ‘She shouldn’t be alone.’
    ‘She’s not alone. DI Rome’s with her.’
    ‘She should have a friend.’ Simone’s stare flitted to the window; for the first time, he read fear in her face. She was afraid of what lay outside the front door. He wondered what shape her fear took. A husband or father? Brothers, like Ayana?
    ‘You’d do that for her?’ he asked. ‘Leave the refuge?’
    Simone raised her chin at him. The defiance transformed her, gave rosy hearts to her mahogany cheeks. At some point, her nose had been broken, but she was still beautiful. ‘She needs me.’ She looked him over. ‘You have someone, don’t you, who would go back for you?’ She nodded at the window, as if she was pointing out a wild animal enclosure, a place no sane person would stray. ‘Back out there. You have someone.’
    Yes, he had someone.
    ‘DI Rome will be back soon. From the hospital. I’ll ask her if you can visit Hope.’
    ‘You will?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Simone nodded. ‘She had to do it.’ Her big eyes came back to his face. ‘There wasn’t any choice.’
    ‘How did she get the knife?’ He spoke as quietly as he could, knowing the