Ann Johnson has a terrible secret.
Her new neighbours seemed friendly enough, but she’d been warned to stay on her toes. Country folk liked to know more about you than people who lived in London. You couldn’t call it nosiness; it was all part of living out in the country, the community spirit. It was what village life was all about. Nevertheless, she knew she had to be careful.
The house she bought was anonymous and unobtrusive, a plain cottage on the outskirts of the village. It was the start of her new life, she told herself as she unpacked her suitcases and put her clothes away in her new bedroom. No more looking over her shoulder. No more living in fear. She felt safe knowing that nobody here knew her. She could start again. As she unpacked she tossed aside the things that could do with a clean. There was still blood on her jacket . . .
Read more in next week's Woman's Weekly!