Page 3 of The Last Bench

‘We’ve read your articles,’ Anne replied. ‘I like that you don’t judge, just listen and write with empathy.’

Anne appreciated that Vega took the time to make eye contact with them both, before she replied, ‘Thank you for trusting me. I promise I’m not interested in sensationalism. My only interest is reporting the truth of any situation. You’re in safe hands.’

John’s jaw clenched, and he turned his back on them.

Anne could see how difficult this was for him. Talking about their lives before and after 1992 was going to dredge up emotions that both of them found challenging.

And, goodness knows, he had been a pillar of strength for them all far too often.

Her rock.

Anne was sure of one thing, though. If the truth came tumbling out, then she would step up. It was her turn to be courageous now.

Three

Anne

25 August 1998

Anne heard the car door slam. John was home. She looked down at her hands, which were still trembling.

‘Damn it.’ She cursed out loud at her body’s betrayal. If she had any chance at pulling this off, she couldn’t show any weakness to John.

Or to him.

She glanced at the back door, picked up her glass of whiskey, and drained the measure in one sharp gulp. Then she moved to the front door to greet her husband, checking that the electronic gates at the end of the driveway were closing behind him.

John took one look at her and asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

That was the problem with spending your entire life with one person – they knew you too well, despite your best efforts to mask your emotions.

‘I need you to stay calm, but there’s been a development.’

John’s jaw clenched, and he moved closer to Anne. ‘What kind of development?’

‘I don’t want you to worry.’

He ignored her. ‘What have you done, Anne?’

John seldom got cross with her. He was a gentle soul who devoted his life to making hers better. Whereas she was known for her impulsive tendencies. She hated the thought of being the cause of more distress for him. They had experienced more in their lifetime than most.

‘You’d better come with me.’ Anne led the way towards the kitchen, her husband’s footsteps echoing behind her. His worry and fear filled the air. She turned to him and whispered, ‘I promise you that I have a plan. Do you trust me?’

He nodded warily.

Anne understood. Until he saw what they were dealing with, she couldn’t expect him to behave any differently. She opened the back door and moved aside so he could see for himself.

‘What the f—’ John exploded, then took a step back, as if unable to comprehend what lay before him.

Half lying, half sitting, bound and gagged in their garden wheelbarrow, was Hinges.

A man who had destroyed their lives without thought or regret.

His eyes were wide, but not filled with any fear. He was angry. Despite his gag, he tried his best to cry out, letting out muffled moans as he struggled against his restraints.

‘I’ve double-knotted everything. He’s not getting out,’ Anne said reassuringly to her husband. She glanced at John again, trying to judge his mood.

He leaned against the back doorframe. And who could blame him?