Copyright Nicola Fulford 2010
‘Love can be murder…’
Amber took a steadying breath. She knew she didn’t have much time left, and what little time she had seemed to be filled with fear and hatred. And she could blame no one but herself, because it was she who had chosen this. Nothing could save her now, not even him, whose body lay pale and twisted on the ground beside her. But she was glad that it was nearly over; this world, this new, magical, terrifying world, was not one she wanted to be a part of.
As the blue Toyota Yaris drove slowly away from 31 Staneld Drive, Amber didn’t look back. She had already said her goodbyes. Not that there was much to say goodbye to; no friends to watch drift away out of the rear window, no memories to relive, and certainly no trees to carve names into. No one had come to see her off, and why should they? The Wells family had long since given up on socialising, because wherever they went, whispers followed them. It wasn’t her fault, or really the fault of anyone around her. Her father had died, a month or so ago, under what the coroner had ruled ‘suspicious circumstances’, and ever since the small village of Polegate in Sussex had found it to be one of the most interesting topics of discussion since the day the vicar’s daughter was arrested for shoplifting.