Chapter 15
Pritchard’s body was found the next day in a dingy alley on the famously gang orientated Romford estate. Tyler wouldn’t speak to me. He stayed in his room and wouldn’t answer his phone. His mother told the press that he was mourning, but still I worried and confused as to why I hadn’t heard from. The deadline drew closer and closer and the thought of what the situation might come down to made me feel sick. I was disgusted with myself, but every night I checked and double checked my CCTV cameras, Lock my door with a pass code and slept with a loaded gun at my bedside. Yet still I knew, killing Tyler would take everything I had, if I could kill him at all that is.
I went to the funeral. I know I shouldn’t have but despite Tyler’s silence over the past week, I felt obligated. I sat at the back of St. Michael’s church in a black lace dress, while the minister gave the service and watched Tyler’s body wracked with silent sobs. He tried to speak but he was too choked up and he had to sit back down. And then it was over and they took his coffin back out of the church. As they passed me, Tyler caught my eye. After a slight look of surprise, his expression was hollow and I was even more confused than I was before. We exited the church and headed down the rock-strewn path to where the grave had been dug. The minister said a prayer as the coffin was lowered into the grave and then people began to disperse. Finally it was just me, Tyler and his mother left. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs Pritchard,” I said softly as I handed her a tissue. Tears streamed so heavily down her face that it was clear that she had run out. “Thank you, dear,” She sobbed. She touched Tyler’s shoulder and he asked her to give him a minute. She nodded and headed back in the direction of the church. And then it was just Tyler and I. The wind whipped around me, pulling at my hair and began to shiver uncontrollably. He stood there with hands in his pockets staring down at his father’s coffin. “I don’t Know what to do Ty,” I said my teeth chattering. The gun felt icy in my hand and my heart pounded in my chest. “This isn’t working, there’s nothing more we can do,” I said in a small voice. He wasn’t moving now and for a few moments we stood in silence, save the whistling of the wind. Then, very slowly, his hand slid out of his pocket and I saw that he too had a gun. Instinctively, I pulled out my own. He laughed sadly, “After all this after all we’ve been through, and you still don’t trust me, do you?” And with that he raised his gun.
