Chapter 71
She’d had to call the police in the end—she hadn’t wanted to, but she didn’t have a choice.
She’d been scared at first—Stephen wasn’t at home tonight and the drunken yobs hammering on her door were bloody terrifying her—but when she found out what was really going on, she was sickened rather than scared.
She hadn’t seen Mark drunk for months. He’d cleaned himself up, she’d thought, got himself together.
But he was a sorry sight now. His clothes were stained, his hair unkempt, and he was slurring his words.
Pathetic invective spewed from his lips as he raged at his misfortune, telling the whole street how Christina couldn’t keep her legs together, that Stephen was brainless, a walking dildo.
His hammering was getting louder—he would surely wake Elsie up soon—so Christina had to do something.
She opened the door on the chain a little in an attempt to appease him.
She wanted to start a conversation, but this only enraged him more.
What right did she have to bar his entry?
he shouted. When all he wanted was to see his daughter.
The daughter she’d stolen from him. Christina tried to shove the door shut, but he maneuvered his arm inside, brushing her off, ripping the chain out of its holder.
She didn’t know what she’d find when she entered the room, and in many ways it was worse than she’d imagined.
Elsie was standing up on her bed. She was shaking with fear, crying soundlessly in shock and terror.
And Mark was slumped on the floor, his body convulsing with sobs.
What Christina had started Elsie had finished.
The look of horror on her face was enough to stop his heart.
The drink had beaten him at last, taken all that was good from him.
He was the very image of a broken man—with only a lifetime of self-pity and recrimination to look forward to. And for the first time in ages, Christina felt an emotion she’d always denied herself.
Guilt.