I choose the night of the New Moon. I wait for the middle of the night when he will be fast asleep and, moving very carefully, slide out of bed. As I put my feet to the ground, I wait and listen.
When there is no reaction, I creep out of the area which serves as the bedroom and towards the door to the outside. It squeaks as it opens.
Has he heard me?
When there is no reaction, I put first one foot and then the other outside onto the step. Then I sneak round to the side of the cottage and retrieve the guitar and my bag from where I hid them last night.
Has he realised yet that I have gone?
When there is no reaction, I start walking to the nearest railway station. It’s a long way and takes several hours. By the time I arrive it is past dawn and a few people have begun to mill around.
Is he one of them?
When there’s no sign of him, I go to the kiosk. I’ve saved just enough money to buy a one way ticket to Paris. My spine begins to prickle as I walk onto the station platform. The train won’t arrive for twenty minutes.
Has he finally caught up with me?
It’s the longest twenty minutes of my life but at last the train pulls into the platform. Almost dropping my guitar in my haste to climb aboard, I sink into a seat that is nowhere near a window.
Is he about to pounce?
Slowly, the train starts to pull away.
I breathe again.
I am free.
Image by Antoine Beauvillain – Unsplash
