Britton - Kill or Cure

Copyright 2019 Pixie Britton

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Matador

9 Priory Business Park,

Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

Tel: 0116 279 2299

Email: books@troubador.co.uk

Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 9781838598686

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

For Team Awesome

Rays of sunshine stream through the window, filling my entire bedroom with a curtain of gold. I stare mesmerised at the tiny specks of dust floating lazily in the sunlight, as I snuggle down further underneath a mass of blankets. The suns warmth soothes my aching muscles and the calmness of the morning fills me with peace. I reach out from underneath the blankets and twirl my fingers in the thick golden hue, watching as those tiny specks swirl and dance in response to my touch. I breathe out, sigh and relax, basking in the tranquillity of the moment.

In the distance, I can hear the clattering of pots and pans from the kitchen, and someone humming to themselves ruefully as they make breakfast. As I slowly pull back the covers and grab for my khakis, the smell of delicious buttery pancakes begins to waft underneath my door and fills my senses. We only ever have pancakes on special occasions, which can only mean one thing: today is my birthday.

Tommy bursts into my bedroom and hurls himself at me, wrestling me back onto the bed. He throws his arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly.

Happy birthday, you old fart! he says grinning from ear to ear.

I cant help but frown as I stare at his features. Theres something about him that makes him seem younger today. His eyes, so full of innocence stare at me expectantly, with no sign of pain or suffering. He seems happy and carefree, which instantly puts me on edge. Ignoring the sense of doubt gnawing in the pit of my stomach, I cant help but grin at his infectious smile and pin him to the bed playfully.

Who are you calling an old fart? I say accusingly.

He giggles gleefully and tries to wriggle away from me, which only makes me pin him harder. Grinning at him mischievously, I mess up his mop of brown hair until it resembles a wild birds nest.

You wanna rethink that statement, buddy?

Grabbing both of his wrists with one hand, I begin to tickle him ferociously with the other, making him squeal in response. Between snorts, tears streak down his face as he squirms in amongst the bed covers.

Okay, okay. Youre not an old fart, he finally relents.

Releasing him from my grip, I laugh heartily and jump up from the bed. He sighs with flushed cheeks and wipes away the happy tears in his eyes.

Respect your elders, otherwise next time I wont give up so easily.

Dodging my grasp, he rushes for the door and then pauses near the threshold.

Whatever you say GRANDMA!

Placing my hands on my hips, I narrow my focus and then point at him threateningly.

Right, thats it, you better run!

I race after Tommy and skid into the middle of the lounge to find Will sitting at the dining table. His green eyes glisten as he smiles at us fondly. His angular jaw is highlighted by a stream of light beaming through the window, and his sandy-coloured hair appears to be even blonder than usual.

Happy birthday, Ally, he says in a gravelly voice.

Standing up slowly, he paces towards me with a cotton pouch dangling from his index finger, and then towers over me in nervous anticipation. Placing the gift in the palm of my hand, he says,

I hope you like it. I worked hard on this one.

I tug impatiently at the drawstrings and speedily dig my slim fingers inside the pouch. Sucking in a sharp breath, my heart skips a beat at the sight of a handmade leather bracelet, with a tiny silver heart dangling from the side. The leather has been beautifully braided and the silver heart is simple yet perfect. Feeling lost for words, I throw my arms around Wills neck and whisper,

You made this yourself?

Pulling away from the hug, he looks down at me and then affectionately tucks my tangled bed hair behind my ear.

Of course. Seems Im not just a pretty face, huh?

Holding his hands up to me, he wiggles his fingers with his usual boyish charm.

Turns out these awesome hands can wield swords, and make jewellery. What can I say? Im a man of many talents.

Shoving him playfully in the chest, I give him a withering look.

Yeah whatever, Romeo. Those hands probably stole it from some poor unsuspecting girl.

Joe suddenly appears from around the corner with a stack of white fluffy pancakes in his hand, and a bowl of freshly-picked berries in the other. He leans against the wooden doorframe and presents his famous birthday pancakes in all their glory.

Happy birthday, kid, he says, with a glint in his eye.

A broad smile stretches across his clean-shaven face as he stares at us proudly. His short brown hair looks immaculately maintained, like the old days when he used to be a soldier, and his trusty check shirt is casually untucked from his scruffy jeans.

As he steps into the lounge with the pancakes in hand, my breath catches in my throat. A sickly, cold sensation begins to creep into my bones and I instinctually memorise every crease in his face. Mumbling under my breath, I say, Joe, I cant believe

My voice fades before I can finish the sentence. At the sight of my uncle, the father figure to Tommy and me, the penny finally drops. Ive been here in this moment before and I know how it ends. Like a drug addict desperate for the next fix, every night I always come back for more, even though the consequences are slowly destroying me. The harsh reality is, this is the only way that I can ever be with him.

Joe paces over to me, oblivious of my fear, and kisses the top of my head.

You cant believe what? That Im here? Of course Im here its your birthday. I wouldnt miss it for the world.

His words sting like sunburn because in my heart I know theyre not true. But the addict in me lets the scene play out and savours one of my favourite memories. He places the pancakes in the centre of the table, before sitting down.

What you waiting for, kiddo, take a seat.

Will predictably leans over, grabs a pancake from the top of the stack and then slaps it into the middle of his plate.

Snooze you lose, Ally. He says, between mouthfuls.

I cant help but wonder what will happen if I dont take a seat? Will the scene play out the same? Maybe if I run out of the front door now, the ending will change and I can just stay here forever with the ones I love. I curse myself for even considering this. My cruel brain wont allow that to happen. After all, it can only end one way. It always does.