A Christmas Wish by Amanda Prowse

and one before the front door had even been opened, after hearing expletives bellowed from within.
    Poppy considered the major’s words and thought that she should cry. She tried pushing some tears out, but none came. For some reason this made her giggle; she pictured someone watching her and saying, ‘What are you doing, Poppy? Why are you sat there with your eyes screwed shut, digging your nails into your palms?’
    â€˜I’m trying to push some tears out. I thought it might make me feel better because I feel a little bit guilty that I haven’t cried yet, despite those two soldiers watching and expecting me to whilst secretly hoping that I wouldn’t, especially Major Tony Thingy. It’s as if I have read about this story in the paper or seen it on the news. It feels like someone else’s life, not mine, not real. Where are those darn tears when you need ’em?’
    She was sure that whoever she delivered this monologue to would probably shake their head in a kind of ‘she has finally lost the plot, just like her grandma’ way.

What Have I Done? — Preview
    Read on for the first chapter of

    The heart-wrenching story of one woman’s life after she kills the husband who abused her.

I will gather up all the little pieces that you have chipped away, hidden in drawers, swept under the carpet and shoved behind cushions and I will rebuild myself. I will become all of the things that I thought I might. All the dreams I considered before you broke me, I will chase them all.

Ten years ago
    Kathryn Brooker watched the life slip from him, convinced she saw the black spirit snake out of his body and disappear immediately through the floor, spiralling down and down. She sat back in her chair and breathed deeply. She had expected euphoria or at the very least relief. What she couldn’t have predicted was the numbness that now enveloped her. Picturing her children sleeping next door, she closed her eyes and wished for them a deep and peaceful rest, knowing it would be the last they would enjoy for some time. As ever, consideration of what was best for her son and daughter was only a thought away.
    The room felt quite empty despite the blood-soaked body lying centrally on the bed. The atmosphere was peaceful, the temperature just right.
    Kathryn registered the smallest flicker of disappointment; she had expected to feel more.
    Having changed into jeans and a jersey, she calmly stood by the side of the bed on which her husband’s pale corpse lay. With great deliberation and for the first time in her life, she dialled 999. It felt surreal to put into practice the one act that she had mentally rehearsed for as long as she could remember, although in her imagination the emergency had always been a child with a broken leg or a fire in a neighbouring empty building, nothing too dramatic.
    â€˜Emergency, which service do you require?’
    â€˜Oh, hello, yes, I’m not too sure which service I require.’
    â€˜You are not sure?’
    â€˜I think probably the police or ambulance, maybe both. Sorry. As I said, I’m not too sure…’
    â€˜Can I ask you what it is in connection with, madam?’
    â€˜Oh, right, yes, of course. I have just murdered my husband.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, you have what? This is a terrible line.’
    â€˜Oh, I know. I’m sorry, I’ll try and speak up a bit. It’s always a terrible connection from here, even if I’m phoning someone locally. It’s because I am up in the main bedroom and the reception is very bad. My son thinks it may be because of all the big trees around us; we did cut them right back one year, but I can’t remember if it made any difference. Plus we get interference from the computers in the next building; we’ve been meaning to get it looked at, but that’s by the by. Right, yes. I said, I have murdered my husband.’
    * * *
    Kathryn blinked at the humming strip light that