Guilt Trip (18 page)

And as I stepped
out of Hell’s Mouth, I took a deep, clean breath of fresh air, feeling the
oxygen swelling my lungs. I felt invigorated. Alive.

I had
survived. Like one of those bees emerging from her queen cup, I’d killed off
any rivals to the throne. After all, there was only room for one queen bee in
any hive. And in my life, that was me.

And so it
was
my
turn to live.

Throwing
my hardhat back into its crate, I walked down the covered steps. Outside, the
rain had stopped, and there was even the odd break in the clouds. In the far
distance a shaft of sunlight bounced off something shiny. Metal. The bus was
coming. I’d better get a move on to the next stop before it got there.

As I
hurried on down the road, I planned what I’d do when I got back to the pub. First,
I’d pack up all my stuff ready for our journey home tonight. Then I’d meet Dad
in the bar for dinner. Poor Dad! It had been really tough for him lately. And
as Mum’s anniversary approached, it would only get worse.

But we’d
get by.

My
stomach growled fiercely - I hadn’t eaten since breakfast - and my mind
wandered to dinner. I wondered if they’d have any more of that sticky honey
pudding. I fancied something sweet.