been thinking? Oh, that's right. I wasn't. Turning to stare out the window at the street, she watched as someone passed by.
He was still an Altenbury, no matter how different he was to his mother. His mother. She could still see the look of disgust on her face, as though Vicky were something she had trodden on, and it had hurt.
Because Vicky didn't understand why. She'd never done anything, didn't even know his mother. If just the thought of her wanting to rent a shop got that reaction, she could only imagine the hatred Mrs. Altenbury would have aimed at her if she found out he was sleeping with Vicky.
What happened between them was a one-off. They couldn't repeat it. This was her dream. This was what she'd spent so long working towards. She'd scrimped and saved to get her salon by her own two hands, and no one would take that away from her, least of all James's mother.
Resting her butt on the windowsill, she leaned against the window, surrounded by the empty, rundown shop. After the revelations before her weekend romp, she wondered if there was any point to carrying on getting the place ready. Would she even get the chance to open it?
Giving herself a shake, she told herself that Matt and Emma were still there. As were Rob and Jess. They'd lived through the attacks, had fought and survived it. If she had to, she would do the same.
Picking up a paintbrush, she dipped it in the paint. Spending her day off from Margaret's salon to get her own place ready was the only thing she should be doing.
Hours later, exhausted, she looked around the room and was pleased with the progress she'd made. Placing the remnants of her supper in the trash, she switched off the light and trudged up the stairs.
Teazle was already asleep on her bed and didn't stir as she headed for the bathroom. Gently climbing into bed, she pulled the covers over her shoulder. Her thoughts, without permission, turned to James as she drifted off.
The sounds of a musical instrument drifted towards her. It sounded like a harp but not as deep, and she could hear the plucking of strings as she turned to follow the melody.
It was coming from the man who was sitting on a tree stump. He had long, brown curly hair and full red lips that looked fake. The wooden instrument was resting against his thigh; it looked like a small harp.
A cheer rose from behind him, and the crowds parted to reveal a man striding through them. His head turned from side to side, saying something to them then nodding. A wreath wrapped around his head made him seem like royalty.
As he strode across the field, his clothes changed, his hair became shorter and darker. Reaching out as she realised it was James, she tried to call out to him, but he couldn't hear her.
The crowds vanished and James was standing outside Altenbury Hall. Crying out, she tried to run to him, but she couldn't move. Her legs were tied to a tree, the bindings snaking their way up until only her arms were free from them.
The river was rising, splashing against the walls of the hall, rising around James. But he didn't move, didn't seem to notice as the water crept higher. She screamed as it reached his shoulders, and then he disappeared beneath its depths.
She cried out again, clawing at the ropes holding her back. Pulling at them, she realised Teazle was licking her face. She was only tangled in the sheets, which were clinging to her skin and as soaking wet as she was.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim light of her bedroom, she pulled herself free from the covers as racking sobs tore from her throat.
James. Why hadn't he done something? He'd just… She covered her mouth with her hand, biting down on her lip. It was like he'd just accepted that he was going to die. That it was inevitable and pointless to try to fight.
Dragging herself from the bed, she switched on the shower, telling herself over and over through her chattering teeth that it wasn't real.
She let the pelt of the warm water
He was still an Altenbury, no matter how different he was to his mother. His mother. She could still see the look of disgust on her face, as though Vicky were something she had trodden on, and it had hurt.
Because Vicky didn't understand why. She'd never done anything, didn't even know his mother. If just the thought of her wanting to rent a shop got that reaction, she could only imagine the hatred Mrs. Altenbury would have aimed at her if she found out he was sleeping with Vicky.
What happened between them was a one-off. They couldn't repeat it. This was her dream. This was what she'd spent so long working towards. She'd scrimped and saved to get her salon by her own two hands, and no one would take that away from her, least of all James's mother.
Resting her butt on the windowsill, she leaned against the window, surrounded by the empty, rundown shop. After the revelations before her weekend romp, she wondered if there was any point to carrying on getting the place ready. Would she even get the chance to open it?
Giving herself a shake, she told herself that Matt and Emma were still there. As were Rob and Jess. They'd lived through the attacks, had fought and survived it. If she had to, she would do the same.
Picking up a paintbrush, she dipped it in the paint. Spending her day off from Margaret's salon to get her own place ready was the only thing she should be doing.
Hours later, exhausted, she looked around the room and was pleased with the progress she'd made. Placing the remnants of her supper in the trash, she switched off the light and trudged up the stairs.
Teazle was already asleep on her bed and didn't stir as she headed for the bathroom. Gently climbing into bed, she pulled the covers over her shoulder. Her thoughts, without permission, turned to James as she drifted off.
The sounds of a musical instrument drifted towards her. It sounded like a harp but not as deep, and she could hear the plucking of strings as she turned to follow the melody.
It was coming from the man who was sitting on a tree stump. He had long, brown curly hair and full red lips that looked fake. The wooden instrument was resting against his thigh; it looked like a small harp.
A cheer rose from behind him, and the crowds parted to reveal a man striding through them. His head turned from side to side, saying something to them then nodding. A wreath wrapped around his head made him seem like royalty.
As he strode across the field, his clothes changed, his hair became shorter and darker. Reaching out as she realised it was James, she tried to call out to him, but he couldn't hear her.
The crowds vanished and James was standing outside Altenbury Hall. Crying out, she tried to run to him, but she couldn't move. Her legs were tied to a tree, the bindings snaking their way up until only her arms were free from them.
The river was rising, splashing against the walls of the hall, rising around James. But he didn't move, didn't seem to notice as the water crept higher. She screamed as it reached his shoulders, and then he disappeared beneath its depths.
She cried out again, clawing at the ropes holding her back. Pulling at them, she realised Teazle was licking her face. She was only tangled in the sheets, which were clinging to her skin and as soaking wet as she was.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim light of her bedroom, she pulled herself free from the covers as racking sobs tore from her throat.
James. Why hadn't he done something? He'd just… She covered her mouth with her hand, biting down on her lip. It was like he'd just accepted that he was going to die. That it was inevitable and pointless to try to fight.
Dragging herself from the bed, she switched on the shower, telling herself over and over through her chattering teeth that it wasn't real.
She let the pelt of the warm water
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