Excerpt from Laura Blundy by Julie Myerson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Neither do I, I replied as lightly as I could.

I loved you, he said, accusing me.

I said nothing.

D'you hear me?

He was sweating. I could see a trickle coming from his sideburn. I tried not to think of it.

Oh, come on, he said. He was trying to smile but his eyes were choked and angry. Again he tried to take my hand but I pulled away smartly.

He cleared his throat.

You'll take nothing, he said, You'll go with nothing -

Fine, I said.

None of your clothes. How will you manage without your fine things?

As I managed before, I said.

Ewan smiled at me.

In the workhouse?

I won't go back in there, I said.

What sort of life will your sewer man provide for you?

I shook my head.

Love isn't like that, Ewan, I said.

Oh, he said, Love is it now? You silly girl, you sound like a bloody Essex kitchen-maid, a bubble-head, can't you hear yourself ?

I smiled again - I did not mean to but I could not help it. Thinking of Billy made my heart go hot.

I know you, Ewan said - but there was no trace of love in his voice, only possession and superiority - I know you like no one else -

No, Ewan, I said, but he ignored me. He reached for me, made as if to gather me in his hands as if I was a thing of his. And that's when I knew I would hurt him.

Shut up, I said sharply.

I know all the -

I don't want to hear it -

You go back to your crawlers and dossers if you want, but I'll find you easily and when I do, I won't hurt you -you know that, Laura, don't you, I would never hurt you, but by God I swear I'll hurt him -

Shut up, I said.

If he means so much to you, whoever he is, I'll hurt him so badly he won't want to know you, my darling - let alone (and Ewan laughed again) build a new bloody London -

No! I cried.

It won't be hard to do. Think of who I am and who he is. You think about it, he said.

On the mantel was a very heavy spaniel made of bronze and marble - or at least I think it was marble, a dull, mottled stone, pinkish in colour. It was a gun dog or a hunting dog. It had its ears pricked and something - a dead, fetched thing - was hanging out of its eager mouth. A patient had given it to Ewan as a mark of gratitude. It seemed very funny and unfortunate therefore that I now chose it as the thing to lob into his skull.

Two seconds - maybe three - as he realised. He just had time to shout: Laura, no!

But he certainly didn't have time to duck away before I crashed it into his head.

Laura, no!

It was a great weapon. It was so heavy that it wrenched your arms from their sockets just lifting it. I remember we'd laughed about it at the time, such a leaden, useless thing, in its shot silk presentation bag.

Ewan didn't like ornaments. Most of the unnecessary things in the house were mine. Peacock feathers with their blunt, unseeing eyes, swollen glass beads and trinkets bought at the market. But the dog, well, neither of us liked it much. So ugly, fit for nothing - but now for something.

At the first blow I felt a soft smashing, a caving-in of bone and brain. A slosh of blood came straight out, hit the wall beneath the dado which had just been done in a creamy colour. Jam and cream. I breathed in and the air filled my head and made me giddy.

I laughed or maybe I cried out.

Outside, the storm was going on and getting louder. Rain was falling very hard and heavy, hitting all the lead parapets and guttering. And every time the thunder crashed, the sky lit up.

Ewan was very brave, truly. Apart from that first attempt to discourage me, he did not scream at all.

Reprinted from Laura Blundy by Julie Myerson by permission of Riverhead Books, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright (c) 2000 by Julie Myerson. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.