No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year

No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year Tracy Buchanan You’d kill to protect your child – wouldn’t you?FROM THE #1 BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF My Sister’s SecretWhen radio presenter Anna Graves and her baby are attacked on the beach by a crazed teenager, Anna reacts instinctively to protect her daughter.But her life falls apart when the schoolboy dies from his injuries. The police believe Anna’s story, until the autopsy results reveal something more sinister.A frenzied media attack sends Anna into a spiral of self-doubt. Her precarious mental state is further threatened when she receives a chilling message from someone claiming to be the ‘Ophelia Killer’, responsible for a series of murders twenty years ago.Is Anna as innocent as she claims? And is murder forgivable, if committed to save your child’s life…? Copyright (#u1a85ea4c-c549-58f0-9c40-1b962efa5b77) Published by Avon An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016 Copyright © Tracy Buchanan 2016 Cover Design © Lisa Horton 2016 Tracy Buchanan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008175139 Ebook Edition © July 2016 ISBN: 9780008175153 Version: 2018-05-09 Praise for Tracy Buchanan’s novels (#ulink_5b9250d6-f1d5-5e15-b948-fb229a4820a5) ‘A pacy read … A great book to take to the beach!’ Daily Mail ‘An emotionally charged new novel.’ Take a Break ‘Perfect for sisters everywhere, it’s both heartbreaking and uplifting.’ My Weekly ‘An addictive novel that gets under your skin.’ Gill Paul ‘A compelling, page-turning read about secrets in families and the unwitting consequences thereof. I was completely hooked on this story of love, sacrifice and the things people will do to keep the truth from coming out. A sad, powerful and absorbing story.’ Julia Williams ‘It’s such a compelling and emotional read that pulled me in from the very first page – full of intrigue and secrets, a riveting story that I know will stay with me for a very long time.’ Alexandra Brown ‘An ambitious and deeply poignant story that will take you into another world.’ Heat ‘I was left absolutely traumatised in a totally brilliant way … Beautiful, heartbreaking, uplifting … Really worth a read.’ Hello! ‘I could see it playing out like a movie as I was reading … I loved it.’ Novelkicks What readers say … ‘I was busy but found myself thinking about it when I was supposed to be working. Thank goodness I work for myself or else I would have been fired!’ ‘The twists in the book kept me engrossed. I couldn’t put it down. I am going to read the other books by this author.’ ‘Had great reviews before purchasing. They were completely correct. I just couldn’t put it away.’ ‘One of the best thrillers I have read this year.’ ‘What a page-turner this book is, I couldn’t put it down.’ ‘This is the first time I have read anything by Tracy Buchanan, it will not be the last.’ ‘I was totally hooked on the story from the start. I loved the twists and turns, thrills and mystery in this story.’ ‘All the lies and suspense kept me just wanting more, I was sorry when the book finished.’ Dedication (#u1a85ea4c-c549-58f0-9c40-1b962efa5b77) For my wonderful mum Contents Cover (#uea74535f-dabe-5880-b205-eb0fe568790a) Title Page (#ua4b5bd41-39b5-5150-b4e1-e0da7d8ab282) Copyright (#u940f95db-efdd-54aa-98f5-ffae0706620d) Praise for Tracy Buchanan’s novels (#uc8633700-fa10-5a73-8a72-f4f68bf0cb0d) Dedication (#ubfcf8f58-ab42-51f4-aa62-76502cf4bc27) Prologue (#ucf2b3320-3284-51d2-9480-a23f1831cd15) Chapter One (#u50cec2a7-8b3e-5bcb-a293-fcb0bd44fb98) Chapter Two (#u2edcef96-da4b-5164-95e7-471d84b78534) Chapter Three (#u8fea6d27-4889-598b-a87f-2d5d576276c4) Chapter Four (#uc6d6cd86-3e7b-5766-8b6d-26ad415765da) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo) Read on for an exclusive extract of THE LOST SISTER (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo) Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author By the Same Author: About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue (#u1a85ea4c-c549-58f0-9c40-1b962efa5b77) The First One I shift my legs so I can peer up at the light. It sends shivers of pain along the tendons in my neck, down my calves and along my shoulder. But it’s worth it, a brief respite from the darkness. The light is like nectar: soft yellow, swirling with dust particles. I open my mouth, imagine drinking it, almost feel it slipping down my parched throat and filling me with a luminosity that might heal my bruises. There’s a faint glow of light and a shadow moves above. I think about the moment I crossed paths with him. Oh God, is this really happening? I shake my head to somehow control my thoughts and my cheek scrapes against the brick, skin tearing, pain burning. The sound of my voice echoes up the narrow space, bouncing off the walls then back again, seeming to wrap tight around me, stifling me. Then there. The shadow again. A slight pause. He’s standing above, his dark form blocking some of the glow. My heart pounds, a bird trying to flutter its way out of a cage. I’m breathing fast and heavy, my bare shoulders scraping the brick with each movement. But I keep looking up, not caring about the pain. He hunches down, his pale fingers curling around the wooden slats above me. I hear his breath, deep and low. My own breath quickens in response, rasping, heart flapping flapping flapping. Then he lies on his belly to look through the slats. I crunch against the wall, curl myself inwards, my fringe falling over my forehead. One eye, blue and heavily lashed, blinks down at me. ‘I can see you!’ he says, voice echoing towards me. Panic flutters inside. ‘Can you hear me?’ he asks. I clamp my hand over my mouth. ‘Please,’ he says again, voice weaker with each word he utters. ‘I’m hurt, it’s really bad. Please help me.’ I quickly shove my hand down the slim gap at my side, fumbling for the door handle. The door clicks, air rushing in and I stride out, his cries echoing after me as I lock the door then double check it. I have to be careful, the boy might find a way to get down here, even escape. And that just won’t do, it won’t do at all. Chapter One (#u1a85ea4c-c549-58f0-9c40-1b962efa5b77) 1 July 2015 Coast to Coast. Your Say Question of the Day: Has the war on drugs failed? Caller A: ‘Yes, it bloody has! I was mugged last week by a druggie, the government’s too lenient.’ (Fiona, 47) Caller B: ‘No. I’m a recovering addict now working in rehabilitation. I’ve really noticed a change actually, especially over how drug addiction is now seen as a health issue.’ (Ryan, 27) Caller C: ‘It’s out of our control with all these immigrants flooding into the country!’ (Dawn, 37) The screen blurred in front of Anna’s eyes. She put her hands to her face briefly, the smell of her little girl still on her palms: the sweet scent of baby lotion and that indescribable Joni smell. It brought with it the sight of her baby’s smile, flowering first in her brown eyes before spreading to those cherub cheeks and pink lips. Anna felt her whole being ache to be with her. She was only two hours into her first day back at work after eight months of maternity leave and she was already desperate to be back with her daughter. ‘Thoughts, Anna?’ She looked up to see Heather, her new producer, giving her a stern look through the glass window dividing them. Anna quickly took a gulp of her coffee, caffeine’s magic taking effect. The memory of Joni’s smile faded away, her scent replaced by the tart smell of coffee beans. She leaned forward and pressed one of the buttons on her microphone. ‘Let’s take caller C out,’ she said. Heather frowned. ‘I’m not sure that’s wise. In the months you’ve been away we’ve found immigration calls go down well with the public, really puts fire into their bellies.’ ‘I’ve found in the past seven years I’ve been presenting the show, it’s best to keep the focus tight. This phone-in isn’t about immigration, it’s about the success or failure of the government’s fight against drug abuse.’ ‘I understand what you’re saying,’ Heather said, tucking a wisp of black hair behind her ear that had dared escape her trademark tight bun. ‘But I’d like to keep it in. I was a senior news reporter at Radio 4, remember, Anna? An investigation I did on this very subject won me an award. I have an instinct about these things.’ Anna suppressed her irritation. Every opportunity Heather could get, she’d bring up her investigative reporter days. The two women held each other’s gazes. Heather had been appointed as Anna’s new producer after the station’s much-loved producer had retired a few months before Anna went on maternity leave. From the moment she’d started, Heather had got people’s backs up, challenging everything Anna said, making it clear to everyone she wouldn’t pander to the presenters. Some of the admin girls had told Anna they thought it was because Heather believed that as a woman, she wouldn’t get the respect she deserved unless she played up her aggressive side. Anna wasn’t so sure. To her, Heather was simply what her gran called a ‘real-life dementer’, somebody who sucked the happiness and light out of any encounter. ‘Look, Heather,’ Anna said, unable to stop herself yawning. She’d never felt quite so exhausted. After a spate of sleeping well, Joni had chosen the night before Anna returned to work to wake every hour. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe she was just going through a bad patch. Either way, the timing couldn’t be worse. ‘Things might have been a certain way while I was on maternity leave. But there’s a reason Coast to Coast’s listening figures doubled after I joined.’ Anna cringed inside at the boastful remark. But she had to stand her ground, show Heather she too had made a success of things. She’d watched Coast to Coast grow from a barely known regional station covering just one small area while working out of a debilitated warehouse on the Docks, to a popular south-coast station attracting enough listeners and ad revenue to rent a glossy studio by the sea. Anna peered out of the large window lining the corridor outside. The studio occupied a sought-after spot next to the village’s seafront shops and cafes, its cocoon-shaped glass-fronted building reflecting the waves in its shiny windows. She’d played a role in securing enough money to pay for this building. She looked Heather in the eye. ‘The fact is, I’m back now so let’s find a way to get those listening figures back up again.’ Heather bristled. ‘I wouldn’t quite say you’re back, Anna.’ ‘What do you mean?’ Heather’s black eyes glistened with spite. ‘You know what I mean, you’re clearly not with it today. Having a baby can take its toll.’ Anna looked at her in shock. ‘What does having a baby have to do with all this?’ ‘What I’m trying to say is…well, look at you,’ Heather said, flinging her hand towards Anna. ‘You’re exhausted.’ ‘Everyone’s exhausted, Heather! We get here for five in the morning, for God’s sake.’ Anna tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. She didn’t want to give Heather the satisfaction of seeing she’d got to her. But the truth was, she was exhausted and she was worried it would affect her performance. Juggling work and looking after Joni plus everything else that had happened the past few weeks had been difficult. Her mobile phone buzzed. She took the chance to break Heather’s gaze and look down at her phone. She’d been like this since arriving that morning, any little beep from her phone making her wonder if it was the nursery calling. Even the fact her mother-in-law owned the nursery didn’t stop Anna worrying. To make matters worse, she’d have to turn the phone off when the show went on air. What if there was an emergency? Sure, the nursery had the main switchboard number but it didn’t feel the same. Anna spent an unhealthy amount of time thinking of emergencies when it came to Joni. Falls, cuts, choking, even accidental strangulation. Her friend Suzanne reassured her that everyone had them. But Anna couldn’t help but wonder if everyone imagined the horrors in quite as much detail as she did. Anna quickly clicked into her phone, relieved to see it was a text message from her gran. Knock them dead, darling, you can do it. And remember, drink lots of coffee…and ignore the dementer! x She smiled to herself, remembering the first time she’d got her gran a mobile phone, five Christmases ago. She’d looked at it in disgust, told Anna if she needed someone she’d walk to their house and talk to them. But now it never left her side and she seemed to have an uncanny knack of messaging Anna just when she needed her most. Anna quickly typed back a message: Two cups consumed already. See you later. x Anna looked back up at Heather. ‘I’ve just had a brilliant idea for our next phone-in.’ Heather raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’ ‘We can ask the question: do new mothers get discriminated against at work?’ Heather’s face flushed and the assistant producer behind Heather suppressed a smirk. ‘I’d take caller C out,’ a voice said from the doorway. Anna peered up to see her co-presenter Nathan. ‘We have a replacement for caller C, right?’ he asked Heather. Anna smiled to herself as she noticed the brief look of irritation on Heather’s face. ‘I’m not sure we need one, Nathan,’ Heather said. ‘We—’ ‘This is about drug legislation, remember, not immigration,’ Nathan said. ‘Keep the focus tight.’ Heather blinked rapidly as Anna’s smile deepened. Nathan gave Anna a quick wink and strode in. ‘Maybe we can replace it with this one?’ Anna said, tapping her keyboard until one of the rejected callers lit up on their screens. ‘Sanjeet talking about how the younger generation pop pills like they’re sweets?’ ‘Perfect,’ Nathan said, green eyes smiling as he sat down across from her. ‘Bloody new mums, full of good ideas.’ Anna did a faux eye roll. ‘Sexist bastard.’ Heather turned away from them both, crossing her arms. She didn’t argue with him. Nobody argued with housewives’ favourite, Nathan Wheeler. He’d once worked for a big national radio station but couldn’t bear the commute any more. So three years ago he joined Coast to Coast as it gained in popularity and his presence further cemented the station’s success. Anna and Nathan were the ideal co-presenters. He was dressed casually today in a white polo t-shirt and blue jeans, his fair hair sticking up at the back from the way he criss-crossed his hands behind his head while on air. He liked to lean back in his chair, long legs stretched out on the table, a look of concentration on his face as he listened to someone moaning about something or another. That was Nathan’s skill, the fact he really listened. That and his boyish good looks which helped when the station’s publicity team pushed him as the ‘poster boy’ of the station. As for Anna, she was the rough to his smooth with her gravelly voice and quick-witted responses to difficult, sometimes abusive, listeners and guests. She might not be pushed as the face of the station like Nathan was, but she’d grown a reputation for perfectly reflecting the public’s mood with her own opinions. It wasn’t intentional. She just had what her dad used to call the ‘crowd’s gut’: a natural instinct to know what the zeitgeist was at any given time. Nathan leaned towards Anna. ‘So good to have you back.’ She smiled. ‘Thanks, Nathan, it’s good to be back.’ And the fact was, despite missing Joni, the exhaustion and contending with Heather, it did feel good to be back doing what she knew best: radio. Nathan switched off the speaker system so only Anna could hear him. ‘So you accepted an offer on the house then?’ ‘Yep,’ Anna said, trying to hide the jolt of pain she felt when she thought of it. ‘We’ll be out in a month.’ ‘That’s it? It’s definitely over between you and Guy?’ Anna took a sip of coffee, clutching the handle of the mug tight to stop Nathan seeing the way her hand trembled. ‘I think selling the house is pretty final, don’t you?’ ‘I’m so sorry, Anna.’ ‘It’s fine,’ she said, shrugging, trying to pretend it really was fine when it was so far from that. ‘It’s for the best. I didn’t think that at the start but now I see it really is.’ ‘Still hurts like a bugger though, doesn’t it?’ She felt her sinuses sting at the threat of tears. She saw it all over again in her mind, Guy softly pressing his lips against Joni’s head three months before, whispering he’d see her very soon. Anna had begged him to stay then instantly felt foolish, desperate, weak. She hated appearing weak. But the fact was, Joni was too young to watch her father walk away, just five months old at the time. And Anna had never dreamed of being a single mother, a divorcee, it just wasn’t how she’d envisaged her life unfolding. Yes, their marriage had been having difficulties for a while. But why wouldn’t he fight for it like she was willing to? She surprised herself now as a sob escaped her. She quickly clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Come here,’ Nathan said, putting his arms out to her. She hesitated a moment, peering through the glass divider at the production studio. But Heather and the assistant producer had their backs to them, peering at the computer screens. So Anna sank into Nathan’s arms, taking comfort from the familiar musky smell of his aftershave. ‘Cry all you want,’ he said into her ear. ‘I might even have some mascara in my drawer from that photoshoot I did with the Ridgmont Waters Chronicle a while back.’ She laughed into his polo shirt. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all.’ ‘Are you sure you need to be here?’ he asked, looking down at her. ‘Might be better you get yourself home, pick up that gorgeous baby of yours and have a duvet day in your new home. I can do the show alone.’ Anna pulled away and shook her head, the ends of her long brown hair skimming her arms. ‘Absolutely not, I’ve only been back a couple of hours. I’m fine, really. Just first-day-back jitters, that’s all.’ Nathan tilted his head as he examined Anna’s face. ‘What?’ Anna frowned, putting her hand to her cheek. Were there still flakes on her face from the stale blueberry muffin she’d gulped down for breakfast that morning? ‘You’re a tough cookie, always have been,’ he said. Tough cookie. That’s what everyone said when they discovered what had happened to her when she was a kid. You go through all the stuff she had, you survive it and what are you left with? Comparisons to a biscuit. Thing is, she wasn’t feeling so tough at the moment. Did that mean she could crumble any minute? ‘I’m not the only working mother in the world, Nathan.’ ‘I know. But with everything going on at home too…’ ‘It’s hard,’ Anna said, making her voice strong. ‘But I’ll get through it. As long as Joni is okay, that’s all that matters.’ She looked at the photo she had of Joni. She’d taken it during one of their regular afternoon walks along the beach. She was sitting on the pebbles, her yellow sundress grubby, her dark hair a tangled mess around her red cheeks, brown eyes sparkling. Nathan followed Anna’s gaze. ‘She’s adorable.’ Anna’s face softened. ‘She’s everything.’ He nodded as he turned the speaker system back on. ‘Keep that strong in your mind, all right? That’s all that matters.’ Anna looked at the photo on Nathan’s desk of his twin boys: one fair like Nathan, the other dark like Val, his wife. ‘One minute to airtime,’ Heather’s uptight voice blurted into their ears. Nathan smiled. ‘Here we go.’ ‘Here we go.’ Anna took a long deep breath as Heather started counting down. ‘Five…four…three…’ The show’s intro tune pounded in Anna’s ears, giving her strength. ‘Two…one…’ Anna opened her eyes, a smile set on her face. ‘Morning, morning, morning!’ she said. ‘This is Anna Graves, welcome to “Your Say” on the south coast’s most popular regional radio show, Coast to Coast.’ ‘And this is Nathan Wheeler. It’s seven a.m. and everything is right with the world because we have our wonderful Anna Graves back this week.’ ‘Oh, isn’t he a charmer,’ Anna said into her microphone, smiling at Nathan. ‘Yes, I am back and I’d like to say I’m raring to go. But any of you exhausted parents out there will know that’s not a phrase we use at this time of the morning.’ She narrowed her eyes at Heather as Nathan tried to suppress a smile. ‘You have coffee though,’ he said. ‘Yes, plenty of coffee,’ Anna replied, lifting her mug to the webcam in the corner. ‘My saviour.’ ‘So what have we got in store for our listeners today, Anna?’ ‘In our “Your Say” phone-in this morning, we’re asking: has the war on drugs failed? We’re also sharing tips on how to keep cool in a month where we’re told temperatures may reach record highs.’ She fanned her face with an envelope as she raised her eyebrow at the webcam. ‘And twenty years from when the last victim of the Ophelia Killer was discovered,’ Nathan said, ‘we have a special report asking the question: will the families of those seven young boys murdered that summer ever get justice?’ Anna felt herself tense slightly at the mention of the Ophelia Killings, just as she had when she’d seen them on the running order that morning. But as Nathan reeled off the rest of the show’s itinerary, Anna felt the anxiety dissipate, replaced by that familiar thrill that came with doing her job. Soon, it was like she’d never been gone. Anna pushed Joni’s pushchair down the small path that lined the pebbly beach, pointing out the seagulls jutting their beaks at the remains of someone’s ice-cream cone. Ridgmont Waters, the seaside village where she’d grown up, spread out behind them, a thin strip of pretty houses, shops and cafes overlooking the sea. People stretched out on the beach, soaking up the sun’s rays, children screaming in delight as they ran in and out of the shallow waves. In the distance, the old lighthouse her family owned lorded over the sea, tall and white atop craggy grey rocks. Anna squinted up at the sun, letting out a contented sigh. It was good to finally be out of the studio and with her daughter, the more bearable warmth of the late afternoon sun on her skin, the smell of salt and seaweed blowing the cobwebs away. The small house she was currently renting in the town’s new estate might not be as pretty or as full of character as the Victorian terrace she’d renovated with Guy, but it was closer to the sea, just a two-minute walk. That was something, wasn’t it? ‘Love you, baby,’ Anna said, peering down at Joni’s soft brown hair. Joni peered up at her mother and smiled, making Anna’s heart swell. She looked just like Anna with her brown eyes and oval cheeks. ‘Mama,’ she gurgled. Anna paused. ‘Did you just say mama?’ Joni gave her a sweet smile and Anna leaned down in front of the pushchair. ‘You said mama. Oh darling, you said mama!’ ‘Mama!’ Joni said again, giggling in delight. Anna thought about how Guy would react when she told him later. Then she remembered: he was gone and soon the house they’d worked so hard to make their own would belong to someone else. She felt the tears come again and squeezed her face into Joni’s chubby neck. This wasn’t how she’d envisaged things panning out, a single mum living in a downsized property, ruled over by some upstart at work. But she was managing, wasn’t she? And Joni was happy. That was what was most important. ‘Right, we better go say goodnight to your granddad before you start wanting your dinner.’ She headed towards the small patch of beach that lay in the lighthouse’s shadow, leaving the chatter from the busier part of the beach behind. It was empty here, apart from the odd seagull or two, due to the lack of sunlight. She used the large wheels on Joni’s buggy to negotiate the pebbles before stopping right at the sea’s edge, the soft waves lapping at the pram’s wheels, making Joni giggle. Anna sat on one of the steps leading to the concrete platform where the lighthouse stood, the craggy rocks behind it. She could smell the new varnish from the lighthouse’s glossy red door at its front. Her gran must have got someone to repaint it. A crab skittered out of view at the sight of Anna, and a seagull landed on one of the lighthouse’s windows above. Joni clapped her hands as she looked up at the lighthouse. Anna smiled and quietly sang the song her gran said her father used to sing to Anna when he’d brought her here as a baby: Goodnight to the sea, goodnight goodnight Let it tickle our toes all mermaid-like, Goodnight to the sea, goodnight goodnight Seaweed and cockles to tuck us up tight ‘I did okay today, Dad,’ she whispered as she looked up at the lighthouse’s highest window. ‘It was tough going back, leaving your granddaughter behind. But I did it.’ She took a deep breath, trying not to look at the hint of the rocks behind the lighthouse. ‘Night night, Dad,’ she whispered. She’d been doing this ever since her father died when she was eleven, walking along the beach and wrapping his old blanket around her shoulders as she stared up at the lighthouse, yearning to turn back time. Her mother never asked where she’d been when she slipped back home after dark, just continued staring out into the distance, her brother barely looking up from his homework. A cloud crept across the sun, the air cooling slightly. For the first time, Anna noticed black clouds hovering out to sea. Looked like a storm was coming. Time to head home for a seafood pasta before wrapping herself up in Joni’s bedtime routine. It could be a chore sometimes, especially today, when she would be exhausted from work, desperate to put her feet up instead of being soaked by bath bubbles and protests when Joni didn’t want to get out of her bath. But ever since splitting up from Guy, her time with Joni felt even more precious. They tried to split the days they each had their daughter evenly, but Anna missed her desperately when she didn’t have her. She liked knowing Joni was upstairs asleep when the night drew in. That night, she’d have to do some prep work for the show the next day, feet curled under her on her Chesterfield sofa, maybe some Joni Mitchell, Joni’s namesake, playing from the old record player her dad had left her. If she had time, she could prepare dinner for the next day. She liked to cook the food she foraged from the sea: cockles and limpets, bladderwrack and sweetoar weed. She’d immerse herself in the routine of twisting and prying the meat from the shells, cleaning the seaweed then adding it all to stews or imbuing them in all sorts of delicious flavours. She’d become famous for her foraged meals among the village community, the regular dinner parties she threw with Guy were a popular feature among their friends. What now? Would she continue with those dinner parties, all alone? ‘Oh pull yourself together, Anna,’ she said to herself. She stood and went to push the buggy back up towards the path but noticed there were now three teenagers sitting on it cross-legged a few metres up, passing a cigarette between them. Or maybe it was a joint? Anna thought of the radio show that morning, and one particular caller who spoke about how her once mild-mannered son had turned into a violent thug after years of drug abuse. She paused a moment. The teenagers looked scruffy, different from the kids she usually saw around the village. They looked more like the kids who haunted the rundown dockyard area of Ridgmont Waters just beyond the lighthouse, known by locals as The Docks. She helped her gran with some community work there sometimes. Generally, the kids were decent enough, troubled backgrounds but just kids at the end of the day. But there had been some trouble lately with a particular gang of teenagers – robberies mainly, one or two that had even turned ugly. It had been all Anna’s friends had been able to talk about at their last get-together a couple of weeks before. Usually it was easy to forget about The Docks, which was separated from the village by the lighthouse and a large expanse of green. But the fact was, The Docks was just a five-minute walk from the heart of the village, the recent thefts ramming that home for villagers. One of the teenagers looked up, a kid of about sixteen or seventeen with lank black hair and an ill-fitting leather jacket on, despite the heat. His eyes fell to Joni, and Anna felt a quiver of fear. Before she’d had Joni, she’d think ‘screw them’ and bowl past. Not now though. ‘Let’s go another way,’ Anna said, pushing Joni’s buggy up the pebbles towards the field that divided the village and The Docks. There was a path that led from it right into the heart of the village and its cobbled streets. She could walk through the village then back down to her new estate. It might add another five minutes onto her journey but she didn’t want to risk it. The teenagers stood up and started heading towards her. Anna quickened her step towards the field, heart ricocheting against her chest. Joni squirmed to get out of her pushchair, something she’d taken to doing lately. Anna peered over her shoulder, saw the teenagers were getting closer. All the scenarios she’d imagined of Joni being hurt seemed to cram inside her mind. She started jogging, the pushchair juddering over the pebbles as she dashed towards the green. Suddenly, another teenager appeared over a brow in the green, this one dressed in a school uniform. He looked frantic, eyes wild…and he was running towards her. Anna stopped, glancing back at the teenagers. She was trapped between them. Was this some kind of set-up, a chance to rob her? She reached into her bag, wrapping her fingers around the sharp end of her red tail comb. The schoolboy drew closer, his pale face slick with sweat, his blue eyes confused. He slowed down and blinked as he looked at Anna, body swaying slightly as he shook his head. He was clearly out of it. ‘I won’t let you hurt me,’ he hissed. Then he started striding towards her again. Anna backed away, confused. ‘I don’t know you.’ ‘Hey, lady!’ one of the teenagers behind Anna shouted. She swivelled around, frantically looking between the three teenagers and the schoolboy. What were they going to do? When she turned back, the schoolboy was running at her, nearly within reach of Joni! Anna scrambled around in her bag for her purse and held it out to him. ‘Just take it!’ she said, shoving it into his chest. ‘Leave me alone!’ he screamed. He pulled out a small knife. Anna’s senses immediately heightened, honing in on the knife, the glint of its silver blade filling her sight; the screech of the nearby seagulls invading her ears like metal scraping against bone. She imagined she could smell the rusty stench of it, its acrid taste on the tip of her tongue. Anna pulled her comb out of her bag and yanked the pushchair so Joni was behind her, protected. ‘Get away!’ Anna screamed, jutting the end of the comb at the schoolboy, the handles of Joni’s pram digging into her back. The schoolboy lifted his arm, the knife poised in his hand. Adrenalin rushed through Anna. She lunged at him, trying to grab the knife off him. He swiped it towards her, and Anna felt a searing pain in her cheek as the blade sliced through her skin like butter. She put her fingers to her skin, felt warm blood spill over them. It shocked her into submission. She staggered backwards but he followed her, swiping the knife at her again. Joni screamed out and the pushchair toppled over. The schoolboy darted towards it. Horror filled Anna to the brim, made her head buzz, made her whole body tingle. She ran towards the schoolboy and raised the sharp end of the comb. He twisted around to look at her then suddenly lost his footing, falling against her. Against the comb. She felt blood slick against her hand, heard a gurgling sound. The schoolboy fell to the ground, knees thudding onto the pebbles as he clutched at the comb protruding from his neck. Anna stared at him, eyes blinking. Then she heard Joni cry. She ran to her daughter, yanking the pushchair up so she could release Joni from it with trembling fingers. Joni reached out for her mother and Anna could see she was fine, she was okay. ‘Oh man, he’s gonna die,’ the lank-haired teenager said, dropping a teddy from his hands – Joni’s favourite teddy, a tiny blue bear. Anna realised then she must have dropped it. That’s why the three teenagers had followed her, to return it. Anna turned back to the schoolboy. He was lying on the pebbles now, clawing at the comb in his neck. ‘No, no he won’t die,’ Anna said, running to him and kneeling beside him. The boy looked at her, eyes wide with fear. He looked so young. He suddenly yanked the comb out of his neck. Blood spurted over Anna’s face. ‘Oh God, oh Jesus,’ Anna said, using her free hand to press it against the blood. But it wouldn’t stop, it was going everywhere, the pebbles turning red with it, the warmth of it seeping under Anna’s nails. ‘Call an ambulance,’ she screamed at the teenage boys behind her, yanking off her thin yellow cardigan and pressing it against the wound as the boy choked on his own blood. The cardigan turned instantly red, everything was red, it was even getting into Anna’s eyes, Joni’s hair as it spurted out from the boy’s neck. ‘Oh God, don’t die, don’t die,’ she screamed. The boy suddenly went still. He looked up towards the gathering clouds, eyes softening. Then he was gone. Chapter Two (#u1a85ea4c-c549-58f0-9c40-1b962efa5b77) Anna woke with a gasp. She checked for Joni, felt her small warm body against her. Then she looked at her own hands in the darkness. Only moments before, they’d been covered with the boy’s blood. But that had just been a dream. The day before hadn’t been a dream though. The day before, it had been real. She knew because she could still smell his blood, the sickly metallic tang of it. Still see the way his eyes had looked into nothingness as he took his last shuddering breath. It wasn’t as bad as when she’d seen her father dead, his long body twisted on the rocks, the sea a violent thunder of grey behind. But it came close. The schoolboy was sprawled on the ground, blue eyes staring up, comb glistening with his blood as it lay by his side. Anna hardly remembered what happened after that, it came in a flash of images, sounds and tastes. Shrill sirens getting closer and closer. People appearing on the beach like ants from the village and The Docks, news already spreading so fast. Then police officers running along the pebbles from all directions, the whine of a distant helicopter. Anna’s own desperate screams when a female police officer tried to take Joni away. The feel of the handcuffs against her wrists, a police officer softly grasping her elbow. She found comfort in that, the gentle way he’d handled her. Did that mean they understood she had only been protecting herself, most of all her daughter? They weren’t so gentle when she was questioned in the stiflingly hot police station later, the storm that had been threatening earlier was now in full force outside, thunder and lightning making Anna jump. Anna could even hear the sea, the waves were so ferocious, despite the police station being one of the most inland buildings of the village. Detective Morgan, a middle-aged man with a bulbous red nose and piercing blue eyes, was assigned to her case. He sat with his arms crossed, eyes hard, skin glistening with sweat from the unbearable heat. Next to Anna was the only solicitor she knew, a small bald man called Jeremy from the firm of local solicitors in the village she’d been using for the house move. Did she know the boy, the detective asked? Did she carry the comb in self-defence? Had she intended to kill him? No, no, no, she answered before asking over and over when she could see her daughter. The detective had reassured her she was in the safe hands of Anna’s gran now, that she’d had a check-up and was fine. But that didn’t stop Anna needing to see Joni. Then she was left alone in the room with her solicitor for what seemed like an eternity. She remembered putting her hand to her own cheek, feeling the large gauze over it and not even remembering how the gauze had got there, how the stitches in her cheek had been etched into her skin either. After a while, the detective returned. ‘I’m sorry I was hard on you, Anna,’ he said, sitting across from her, face softer now, eyes kinder. ‘But you need to understand the position we’re in.’ ‘I just want to see my daughter,’ she said. ‘What’s the charge, Detective Morgan?’ her solicitor asked him, the only fan in the room lifting the few strands of hair he had. The detective looked Anna in the eye. ‘No charge. We’ll be releasing you pending further investigation, Anna.’ ‘But I was arrested.’ ‘Yes, but we have decided not to charge you. It was clear self-defence, Anna. You said yourself the boy fell against your comb and we have three witnesses to back that up.’ The relief had been immense. ‘So I can leave?’ she’d asked, incredulous. ‘Yes, everything you’ve said matches up with witness statements. But Anna,’ the detective said, looking her in the eye, ‘tensions are high out there. I recommend you leave via the back entrance.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘The boy’s family. Your name isn’t out there yet but people saw you at the scene, someone may recognise you and…’ His voice trailed off. ‘But I didn’t mean to kill him,’ Anna said. ‘We know that. But right now, his family will be wanting a target for their grief, especially the brother.’ The brother. ‘We understand,’ her solicitor, Jeremy, said, nodding. He turned to Anna. ‘Maybe you should stay at Florence’s this evening?’ he said, referring to Anna’s gran. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’ Panic fluttered inside Anna’s chest. ‘But no one knows where I live, do they?’ ‘Someone may have recognised you from your estate,’ the detective said. ‘You’re a radio presenter, after all.’ Anna shook her head. ‘Nathan’s the public face of the station, people only know my voice.’ ‘I still think Jeremy’s right. Your daughter’s with your grandmother anyway, it would certainly be worth you staying there tonight.’ A few moments later, Jeremy drove Anna away from the station to her gran’s house. As they passed the front, she looked out to see a group of people gathered on the marble steps. A thin dark-haired woman was being comforted by a red-haired man. A red-haired woman was leaning against a pillar, smoking as she scowled up at the station. Two other women, one with a child in a pushchair, were sobbing as they clutched onto each other. Standing apart from them all was a man with tattooed arms, looking out towards the sea, his back to Anna. Anna looked at the dark-haired woman again. Was that the boy’s mother? The large red-haired man next to her turned towards Anna, his blue eyes – blue eyes just like the boy’s – sinking into hers. They were filled with fury. She quickly looked away. She’d caused that grief, that anger. ‘Oh Christ,’ Anna said, the memories crashing over her now. The floorboards creaked and her gran Florence appeared at the door. ‘You look predictably exhausted, poppet,’ Florence said, wrapping her soft fleece dressing gown around her plump frame as she sat on the bed, the early morning sun highlighting the creases around her blue eyes. Anna blinked in disbelief. ‘It really happened, didn’t it?’ ‘I’m afraid it did, Anna.’ Anna peered out at the sea through a gap in the curtains. A fisherman wandered down the shore, his nets trailing out behind him, a boat bobbing up and down nearby. Seagulls squawked, a child shrieking in happiness as his mother chased him in and out of the tide, probably one of the many tourists that visited at this time of year. The pebbles were still wet from the storm the day before but the sky was bright blue, promising yet another blisteringly hot day. Florence followed Anna’s gaze as she watched the mother and son outside. ‘You did what any mother would do,’ she said gently. Anna looked down at Joni. ‘Like the boy’s mother? Does she want to kill me like I killed her son?’ ‘Don’t let guilt eat you up. If you hadn’t done what you did…’ Florence shuddered. ‘I can’t even contemplate it.’ Joni stirred, stretching her tiny arms above her head and yawning. Anna gently lifted Joni, placing her against her shoulder. Anna didn’t usually let Joni sleep in bed with her unless she was ill, she’d not wanted to get into the habit. But she hadn’t been able to bear having Joni out of sight the night before. She wondered if she’d ever let Joni sleep alone after what happened. Then she thought of the boy again. He’d been a baby once. Had his mother slept with him beside her when he was ill, stroked his head and dreamed of his future like Anna did with Joni? Anna felt nausea work its way up her body. She quickly handed Joni over to Florence and ran to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. ‘Anna?’ she heard Florence say. ‘I’m fine,’ she choked back. She pulled the toilet lid down and leaned on it, trying to compose herself as she looked at the montage of family photos hanging on the wall: Anna and Joni by the beach a few months ago; an old one of her father smoking a cigarette as he looked out to sea from the lighthouse; another of her mother, her long dark hair clouding around her head as she drew on her easel. Anna and Florence had agreed not to disturb Anna’s mother. No news had been leaked yet linking Anna to the murder, and the last thing Anna needed right now was to be worrying about her mother’s fragile state. So they’d agreed they’d go over later to tell her face-to-face then Florence would call Anna’s brother, Leo, to tell him. She knew how her brother would react and didn’t need it that day. As for Guy, luckily he was on a business trip in New York, one of the many places his job as an architect took him. She’d called him not long after arriving at her gran’s the night before. They’d barely spoken on the phone since he’d left, mainly communicating over text to arrange drop-offs and pick-ups for Joni. So it had been strange to hear his voice over the phone line. After the initial relief that Joni was safe, Guy couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact the schoolboy had died…and Anna had killed him. It had made her feel even worse. And that was just Guy’s reaction. She dreaded to think about how her mother would react. She stared at the photo of her father and imagined him peering up from the Dictaphone he used for all his news interviews, a sad smile on his handsome face. ‘You did what you had to do, my beautiful girl,’ she imagined him saying. She had, hadn’t she? It was like Florence had said to her the night before, it was an instinctive reaction, a reflex, like the way a leg flings up when knocked on the knee. And anyway, what was the alternative? Anna dead right now? Or worse, Anna lying in an empty bed, grieving the loss of her precious child? She wrapped her arms around herself. The fact was, no matter how much she tried to dress things up, she had taken a life. She was a killer. Anna moved the rake through the sand, slowly surely, until she heard the clink of metal on shell. She knelt down, wet sand on her knees, and plucked the cockle from the sand, rubbing the grains off its ribbed back with her thumb. It was clamped shut, its fleshy insides protected by the white-brown shell. Anna imagined herself curled up in that shell, Joni against her belly, safe. She reached up to the gauze on her cheek and suddenly saw the boy’s eyes again, felt his blood on her hands. She grabbed her rake and stood again, searching the sand for the tell-tale circular impressions the cockles left. Above her, the sun shone bright. The sea was calm after its outburst the night before. Anna noticed Florence watching from her garden, Joni napping on a blanket beside her in the shade. She lifted her gloved hand to wave at Anna, and Anna smiled, waving back. She was grateful to be here, at her gran’s, on a secluded part of the sandiest bit of Ridgmont Waters’ beach. She’d always loved this place. It was one of three houses built by a local architect in the twenties to replicate an American-style white beach hut with solid enough materials to withstand the regular battering of the British sea. Anna still remembered the first time she visited it when she was a child. They rarely visited their gran’s house despite the fact Florence was desperate to see her grandchildren. Anna’s mother had always had a strained relationship with her mother and if they did meet up, it would usually be for a quick tense coffee in town or during brief visits from Florence for birthdays and at Christmas. Anna quickly gave up asking why they couldn’t see her gran more when her mother always replied with a terse ‘you wouldn’t understand’ each time. The spring just before Anna’s father died, her mother had surprised her by taking her and her brother to visit their gran. Florence had met someone new after spending years alone since Anna’s grandfather had passed away, and she’d invited them all over for lunch to meet him. It was the first time Anna had visited her gran’s house. Anna remembered feeling completely at home as soon as she’d got there, its big comfy sofas and thick woollen rugs, reclaimed wooden shelves littered with family photos, the smell of baking bread and lavender making Anna yearn for that in her own home. The apartment she’d grown up in with her parents wasn’t small; it adorned the top floor of a block of apartments and overlooked the sea. But it had never felt homely with its dark walls and modern furniture. Florence’s house felt like a proper home with two large windows looking right out onto a wooden veranda leading down to the sea. Her gran had seemed so happy, her new partner a tall, handsome older man called Alistair with sparking green eyes who made Anna giggle by pretending to pull magic shells from behind her ears. Her parents had sat tense and quiet throughout the lunch, and had made excuses to leave not long after, despite protests from their children. Anna still remembered how sad Florence had looked as she’d watched them all walk from the house and Anna had promised herself she’d see more of her gran, even if it meant sneaking out of the apartment to see her. It wasn’t until Anna’s father died a few months later that she did just that, finding herself walking towards Florence’s house one day. Her gran hadn’t been there, so Anna had curled up on her veranda and fallen asleep. She’d woken to the sound of Florence’s gasp and seen her and Alistair looking down at her. ‘Oh, poppet,’ Florence had said. ‘Come in before you catch your death.’ Anna was there every day from then on, her mother barely noticing, so wrapped up in her grief and depression. Anna grew close to her gran, and Alistair too. He’d never had children and Anna found herself becoming something of a surrogate daughter for him. She was devastated when he too passed away a few months later after a short battle with cancer. It made Anna and Florence even closer, joined in their grief over his death. Florence had been a godsend for Anna, bringing her out of her shell, even funding her journalism course. There had been no turning back after that. Anna blossomed from an introverted quiet girl into a talented student with an army of local friends she still met with almost every week. And it had all started in this house. Anna ought to feel a sense of comfort there now, especially as she searched for cockles, something that usually brought her a measure of calm. But as she dragged her rake back and forth through the sand, she felt anything but comforted. Joni let out a cry. Anna looked up, heart pounding. But she was fine, Florence was lifting her from her blanket, rocking her. Anna picked the bucket up and put the rake over her shoulder, carrying her findings towards her gran. ‘I think she’s getting too hot,’ Florence said when Anna got to them. ‘Not known morning heat like this for a long time. Good haul?’ she asked Anna, looking at the bucket. ‘Not bad,’ Anna said as Florence took her rake from her. ‘Enough to go with the sole you got. I’ll put some aside for Mum too. I’ll prepare them while Joni naps.’ ‘Lovely. I’ll just finish here then come help you,’ she said, gesturing to the garden. ‘Got to get my daily exercise.’ Anna picked Joni up and walked into the house, the sound of the waves disappearing as she closed the door. She placed Joni on Florence’s comfy blue sofa, bunched up by several colourful scatter cushions so she didn’t fall off, her blue teddy clutched close to her. The sun peeked through the vast windows making light bounce off her gran’s TV screen. Anna had purposely avoided the News. She knew her name hadn’t got out yet, otherwise she’d be getting calls. It would happen eventually though, she ought to ready herself. That’s what Florence had told her over breakfast that morning. ‘Game face,’ she’d said. ‘Better get it ready.’ What would the headlines be when her name was leaked? Radio presenter kills schoolboy Schoolboy tries to murder radio presenter’s baby daughter Before she knew what she was doing, she was reaching for the remote controls and switching on the TV. She’d usually go for the radio first, but she needed to see the boy again. She switched the channel from CBeebies, which Joni had been watching that morning, to BBC News 24, and there the boy was right away, eyes staring out at Anna from the screen. Her legs seemed to crumble beneath her and she sank onto the sofa. He looked so young. That neat dark hair of his, rosy cheeks, distinctive blue eyes. And in his school uniform too. She caught sight of the words racing along the bottom of the screen. ‘…notorious family.’ ‘…deprived docklands area…’ ‘…known to police…’ ‘…mother released with no charge…’ So it was ‘Schoolboy tries to murder mother and baby’. Not just schoolboy but poor schoolboy, criminal schoolboy, schoolboy from troubled family. And then there, his name: Elliot Nunn. Elliot. A child’s name. An innocent name. The screen cut to a live feed, a young male reporter standing in front of a line of tired-looking flowers. Anna turned the sound up. ‘…from the estate reserved for dock workers at the once-famous Ridgmont HM Dockyards. Here we are before the building Elliot Nunn lived in with his mother, father and two of his sisters. Mourners have been leaving flowers outside all day.’ The camera zoomed out to reveal a graffitied brick wall lined with flowers and teddies, and beyond, an untidy garden littered by rubbish. The faded flowery curtains of the family’s flat were closed, a small child’s bike discarded at the doorstep. Behind it all was the debilitated dockyard, hints of the skeletal remains of ships long abandoned since The Docks closed in the eighties. It had swallowed up a huge 300-acre site in its heyday, churning out hundreds of navy ships and employing thousands of people. When it closed, most of it was taken over by private investors and eventually turned into a smart new estate where Anna was now living. But the former housing put aside for dock workers remained – now known as The Docks – two rusting cranes and the huge tower block Elliot Nunn had lived in standing garish and tall over them. Either side of them were crumbling brick buildings, graffitied and vandalised. There had been promises to demolish the site, but that would cost money, money the local council would rather plough into the new builds dotting up around the area. In the middle of it was a school, an ugly sixties building with a faded brick exterior. Elliot must have been a pupil there. Had he walked straight from school to the beachfront where Anna was walking with Joni, one goal in mind: to kill someone? I won’t let you hurt me. Why had he said that? ‘I’m joined by Dawn Williams,’ the reporter said now, interrupting Anna’s thoughts. ‘Dawn, you’re Elliot Nunn’s aunt.’ Anna felt her heart gallop and she moved closer to the TV. She ought to turn it off, but she just couldn’t. The camera focused on a large woman with frizzy red hair to her shoulders, the same woman who’d been outside the police station smoking. The woman’s blue eyes looked like steel but her bottom lip quivered slightly, her smudged eyeliner hinting at a sleepless night and many tears. Anna put her hand to her mouth. ‘Thank you for joining us,’ the news reporter said softly. ‘We understand what a difficult time this must be for you and your family.’ The woman nodded, jaw clenching. ‘They asked me to represent.’ ‘Of course. How are Elliot’s parents coping?’ ‘Gutted. Absolutely gutted. He was a gorgeous boy, so kind and gentle, wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ She wiped her nose and looked into the distance. Kind and gentle? Anna saw Elliot’s hand raising, the glint of silver. She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. How could a kind and gentle boy do such a thing? ‘It must be a comfort to see so many well-wishers?’ the reporter asked, gesturing towards the flowers. ‘Yeah, my brother and sister-in-law want to say thanks.’ Two young boys pedalled past on their bikes, waving at the camera. In the distance, a seagull landed on a bin overspilling with rubbish, making it shudder. Anna looked at the floral tributes. It was as though a child had been killed by a heartless killer. Maybe Anna was a heartless killer. She’d raised the comb in the air. What had she been planning to do before he fell against it? Would she have jutted it into his skin anyway to protect Joni? Anna wrapped her arms around her belly, feeling like she might get sick again. She looked at Joni. She was alive. Safe. Wasn’t that all that mattered? The reporter tilted his head. ‘You say your nephew wouldn’t hurt a fly but he did hurt a mother, attempt to harm her child too. What were your—’ ‘Piss off!’ a man’s voice shouted off camera. The camera wobbled as a hand covered it. There was the sound of a scuffle then the hand was removed and the reporter appeared on camera again, rearranging his tie, a look of panic in his eyes. Behind him, the aunt was being marched away by a man with short fair hair, muscular arms. The reporter seemed to compose himself and followed them down the drive, shiny grey trousers catching in the light. ‘Jamie? Are you Jamie Nunn?’ The reporter looked over his shoulder at the camera, eyes sparking with excitement. ‘Elliot Nunn’s older brother,’ he explained to viewers. Anna thought of what Detective Morgan had said about Elliot’s brother. ‘Leave us alone,’ Elliot’s brother hissed without turning. ‘My little brother’s dead, just leave us the fuck alone or you’ll end up like him.’ He continued with his aunt down the path, the grief and anger throbbing off them both. Anna put her head in her hands. She’d caused that grief. ‘Oh, Anna.’ She looked up to see Nathan standing in the doorway, Florence behind him. ‘He guessed you’d come here,’ she said apologetically. ‘He knows.’ ‘How?’ Anna asked Nathan. He sighed. ‘Sources.’ ‘So my name will be out soon?’ ‘Eventually. I wish you’d just told me the truth instead of calling in sick.’ ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Florence said softly, putting her hand on Nathan’s shoulder. ‘Good to see you again, Nathan.’ When Florence walked out, Nathan peered towards Joni. ‘She’s okay?’ ‘Yes, physically, anyway,’ Anna said, trying to keep her voice strong. ‘But she witnessed what happened which can’t be good for her…’ Her voice trailed off and she turned away, trying desperately not to cry. Game face. Nathan walked across the room and pulled her into a hug. ‘I’m so sorry, Anna. Of all the people for this to happen to.’ She looked up at him. ‘I killed a boy, Nathan.’ ‘You had to and I’m not the only one who thinks it,’ he said fiercely. ‘The Coast to Coast “Your Say” lines were jammed this morning with—’ She pulled away from him. ‘You did a phone-in on it?’ ‘Before we knew it was you, Anna! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have?’ She sighed. ‘I suppose not.’ ‘Everyone’s on your side, bar the usual devil’s advocate, of course. You have nothing to worry about.’ ‘I still killed him.’ Nathan shook his head. ‘Self-defence. You weren’t charged, were you? It’ll be fine. You’re a bloody hero.’ ‘It doesn’t feel like it.’ She sank onto a sofa, raking her hands through her long hair. She’d washed it, over and over, when she’d got in the night before. But she could swear she could still feel and smell the boy’s blood in it. Nathan sat next to her and they both watched the TV. The newsreader was now discussing whether it was right that Anna – or the ‘unnamed mother’ as they referred to her – hadn’t been charged. It was clear the newsreader thought it was right. And then there it was again, that photo of Elliot stretched across the news studio behind them. ‘I don’t understand why he did it,’ Anna said. ‘We have our fair share of nutters and stalkers.’ ‘No, he wasn’t a stalker. He seemed to recognise me but he was surprised to see me. If he’d been stalking me, surely he’d know I’d be there? I do that walk every evening.’ She thought of the look in Elliot’s eyes before he ran at her. ‘He seemed scared of me too.’ ‘Scared? Why on earth would he be scared of you?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Anna said with a sigh. ‘But something’s not adding up, I can feel it.’ ‘Feel?’ Nathan said with a raised eyebrow. ‘So your gut’s telling you that, is it? We’ll make an investigative reporter out of you yet, Anna Graves. Just like your father.’ Anna shook her head vehemently. ‘I’ll never be an investigative reporter, not after what it did to him. Does everyone at work know?’ Anna thought of Heather’s smug face. I always knew there was something a bit odd about Anna Graves, she’d probably say. ‘Just a couple of the senior reporters,’ Nathan said. ‘I’ve bribed them to keep quiet for now, amazing the blackmail material you get at Christmas dos.’ He smiled but Anna didn’t smile back. Instead, she scratched at her arms. What would it be like when her name got out? Another photo of Elliot appeared again on TV, this time with his parents at a wedding, according to the caption. The mother’s black greasy hair piled on top of her head, a pink dress hanging off her thin frame. The father looked angry, his russet hair long and messy, eyes hard as he looked into the camera. Elliot stood between them, his hands thrust into the pockets of black trousers that were too short for him, dark hair smartly combed. He looked sullen, eyes away from the camera. Anna looked at his mother again. Her life was etched into the lines in her face, the dark circles under her eyes. She’d be crippled with grief right now. But then so might Anna if she hadn’t protected herself and Joni like she did. She put her face in her hands and let the tears come, praying she’d wake up from this horrible nightmare. Anna walked down the path towards her mother’s bungalow. The grass was overgrown, the roses Florence had so carefully planted the month before already neglected and dying. Anna remembered how she’d felt the first time she saw the bungalow, two months after her father had died, one in a row of many. It had seemed so tiny, so claustrophobic compared to the large apartment that had been their family home. It was too far away from the cobbled touristy centre of the village where their apartment had been…and where Anna had lived with Guy until recently. ‘I think Daddy would have liked this,’ she remembered saying to her mother, lying to make her feel better. The truth was, the bungalow was too far away from the sea for Anna’s liking. Still just a ten-minute walk, but that was enough to make Anna feel land-locked and trapped. ‘Rubbish,’ her brother Leo had hissed. ‘He hated the bungalows here, said they smelled of decay, didn’t he, Mother?’ But their mother had just stared into the distance, eyes blank, already lost to the anti-anxiety pills her doctor had prescribed her. ‘The curtains are closed,’ Florence said now as she peered at the bungalow. Anna sighed. That was usually a sign her mother was going through one of her more reclusive periods. The last time Anna had seen her was two weeks ago. Her mother had been okay then; even sat on the floor and played with Joni. Anna had tried to enjoy the brief respite from her usual indifference. But she couldn’t help but think it meant her mother was due a down episode. That’s the way it was with her mother, a rollercoaster of ups and downs since she’d lost her husband. Anna walked up the concrete path, Joni sucking her thumb as she looked around her. She always seemed nervous when they visited her ‘nanny’s’, sensing Anna’s nerves no doubt. Florence put a protective arm around them both. As they approached the bungalow, the curtains were flung open and Anna’s brother, Leo, appeared at the window, his dark hair slicked back, his brown suit too small. His nostrils flared as he saw his sister and gran approaching. One less opportunity to gloat to Anna about being the ‘only person to see Mother this weekend’. He enjoyed putting guilt trips on Anna, mostly about her needing to spend more time with their mother, or more recently about the fact she’d returned to work after having Joni, something his timid wife Trudy ‘wouldn’t dream of doing’ after having their twins. ‘Great,’ Anna muttered. ‘Leo’s here. I was hoping I could get away with a phone call to tell him.’ ‘At least you can kill two birds with one stone.’ Anna flinched and Florence sighed. ‘Sorry, poppet, wrong choice of words.’ ‘What a surprise,’ her brother said as he opened the door. His eyes paused on the gauze over Anna’s cheek. ‘What happened to you?’ Anna put her hand to her cheek. ‘Hello, Leo,’ Florence said, stepping inside and giving him a kiss on his pale cheek. ‘Trudy not here with the kids?’ Anna admired how her gran could still show Leo affection, despite how cold he was with her. Anna tried, but gave up most of the time when it came to her brother. ‘Trudy’s taken them swimming,’ Leo replied. ‘Thought I’d take the chance to see Mother without the children, you know how she can get with the noise they make,’ he added, looking pointedly at Joni. Anna repressed her anger. This wasn’t the time to argue with her brother. ‘How is Mum today?’ she asked instead. ‘Talkative.’ Anna and Florence exchanged a look. Maybe she wasn’t having one of her down days then. But the ‘up’ manic days weren’t so great either. Her mother generally had two moods: quiet and detached, or talkative and angry. Anna wasn’t sure which one she preferred. They walked through to the small living room with its faded red sofas and patterned carpet. The shelves either side of the small fireplace were cluttered with books and ornaments, no family photos like at Florence’s. Anna’s mother was leaning over, tickling the chin of her black and white cat, Korky, her long grey hair grazing her plump knees. She peered up, a look of surprise on her face when she saw Anna and Florence walk in. ‘Hello, Beatrice,’ Florence said, sweeping into the room and leaning down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. Anna’s mother flinched. She didn’t like affection. ‘How are you, Mum?’ Anna asked. ‘Too hot. And tired,’ her mother replied. ‘The sirens kept me awake.’ Anna avoided her gaze, focusing on placing Joni on the floor with the toys she’d brought with her. Her mother scrutinised Anna’s face. ‘What happened to your face?’ Leo frowned. ‘Anna’s just visiting, Mother. I know it’s a rare occurrence but—’ ‘Honestly, Leo, Anna comes every week, that’s hardly rare,’ Florence snapped. Leo bristled. Florence may be the most loving person Anna knew, but she also knew when to put people in their place. ‘Anna?’ her mother pushed. ‘I have something to tell you, Mum,’ Anna said, looking her mother in the eye. Her brother frowned. The last time they’d had a conversation like this was when Anna told them her and Guy were splitting up. It had triggered one of her mother’s episodes, meaning she’d refused to see anyone for two weeks. ‘Someone tried to hurt me and Joni yesterday,’ Anna said, trying to keep her voice calm. Her mother’s eyes widened. ‘As you can see, we’re fine, I just got a bit of a cut to my cheek,’ Anna added quickly as Joni tried to reach for the cat. ‘But I had to—’ Anna swallowed. ‘I had to protect Joni and – and I…’ ‘Spit it out, Anna,’ her brother snapped. She couldn’t say the words, which was totally unlike her. She looked at her gran beseechingly. Florence put her hand on Beatrice’s arm. ‘Anna and Joni were attacked on the beach yesterday, Beatrice. Anna had to defend herself, defend Joni. The boy died.’ ‘Died?’ Beatrice asked incredulously. ‘My God,’ Leo said as he stared at Anna. ‘You’re the one they’re talking about on the news, the mother who killed the boy from The Docks?’ ‘She had to protect Joni,’ Florence said. ‘By killing a schoolboy?’ Leo asked. Anna ignored him, looking at her mother who started scratching her arms, something she did when she was nervous. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Anna said to Beatrice. ‘It was an accident. I had a comb, a sharp tail one. It was the only thing I could grab, the boy had a knife, and – and the comb went into his neck…’ ‘How old was the boy?’ Beatrice asked Anna. Anna swallowed, tears brimming at her eyes. ‘Fourteen.’ ‘Just a boy,’ Beatrice said. She turned away to look out of the window, face drawn. ‘Couldn’t you have bloody stabbed him in the leg or something?’ Leo said. Anna closed her eyes, saw the comb’s end slipping into the soft skin of the boy’s neck, smelt his blood, felt it on her hands again. ‘I didn’t…he – he struck out with his knife, and I had – had to do something. Then he fell…’ ‘You’d do the same to protect one of the twins,’ Florence said gently. ‘I wouldn’t be that bloody stupid,’ Leo retorted. ‘There are ways of protecting one’s children without resorting to murder.’ Anna kept her eyes on her mother. All she wanted, all she’d ever wanted, was for Beatrice to look at her, really look at her and hold her and tell her it was okay. Like the time her father died, the ambulance sirens disappearing into the distance, leaving her with her mother and her brother. She’d grasped at Beatrice’s cold hand, desperate for comfort. But Beatrice had just walked away, disappearing into her own private grief, not offering any word of comfort to her children. It was no different now, Anna needed her mother. But instead, all she got was a cold gaze. ‘Leo’s right,’ Beatrice said. ‘You shouldn’t have gone for his neck.’ Leo stood next to his mother, putting his hand on her shoulder. They both stared at Anna and Anna felt as she always had with them: ostracised, alone, judged. A sob escaped her mouth. ‘Right then,’ Florence said, scooping Joni and her toys up as she tried to contain her anger. ‘We’ve done what we came to do, Anna. Shall we go?’ Anna nodded, suppressing her disappointment. ‘Let’s go.’ That evening, Anna tried to drive thoughts of her encounter with her mother and brother away. She ought to be used to it. She’d felt increasingly isolated from them after her father died. They’d sit quietly in the bungalow, reading and wallowing, refusing to talk about Anna’s father. Anna had wanted to talk about him, think about him, remember him. She didn’t want him to fade away. So she’d retreat to the lighthouse or to visit her gran, the only person she felt able to share memories of her father with. It was no different now. No, she mustn’t dwell on the past. She had to focus on the now, on Joni. Guy would be looking after her that weekend, he was coming to collect her straight from the airport. As much as it pained Anna to be apart from Joni, she had to stick to their agreement, especially seeing as social services would be visiting, ‘just standard procedure after an incident like this,’ according to her solicitor. She couldn’t be seen to be breaking her agreement with Guy. And anyway, despite the problems between her and Guy, she knew he would keep Joni safe. Anna focused on playing with Joni that evening, bathing her and forcing herself to remember over and over, ‘Look, you saved your daughter’s life. She’s here!’ But she still saw Elliot’s face, the awkward angle of the comb jutting from his neck, the blood and the gurgles, guilt piled upon guilt thanks to her mother and brother’s reactions. As she read Joni’s bedtime story to her, she wondered if Elliot’s mother used to do the same for him. Did she brush her nose against his soft hair like Anna did with Joni? Hold his warmth close, marvel at how lucky she was to have him? ‘Mama.’ Anna looked up to see Joni peering at her, her little brow creased. Anna forced a smile, kissing her forehead. ‘Okay, darling, bedtime.’ She lifted her into the travel cot that Florence had bought so Joni could stay there every now and again when Anna and Guy needed a break. Anna was still staying with her gran, not quite ready to return home yet. And Joni was still in with Anna, Anna not quite ready for her to be in a separate room. She flicked on her video monitor then stepped out of the room. Joni cried, lifting her arms out to her. She did this sometimes. Just when Anna thought she’d slipped into a good sleeping phase, Joni would throw a curveball and refuse to sleep. Anna hoped this was just one of her fussy sleeping phases, not a result of what she’d witnessed. Anna stroked her head, shushed her, watching as her eyes grew heavy again. Then she tiptoed downstairs. ‘Joni okay?’ Florence asked, delicious smells wafting in from her kitchen as she cooked the cockles Anna had collected that morning. Anna had learnt all she knew about cooking seafood from Florence, a skill passed down the generations. ‘Just a bit unsettled,’ Anna said. Florence tilted her head, examining her granddaughter’s face. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘I keep thinking about something Elliot Nunn said before he tried to hurt us.’ ‘What was that?’ ‘“I won’t let you hurt me”. He was scared of me.’ ‘Maybe you misheard him? Anna shook her head. ‘No. He definitely said it and it’s important, I just don’t know how. I can feel it in my gut.’ Florence raised an eyebrow. ‘Your father used to say that when he was doing one of his investigations. Let the police do their job, darling, you’ve been through enough.’ Florence gestured towards the living room. ‘There’s a glass of wine waiting for you. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.’ Anna squeezed her gran’s hand. ‘I’m so lucky to have you.’ Florence’s face softened. ‘I’m always here for you, you know that.’ She gave Anna a big hug then went into the kitchen. Anna walked into the living room and sank onto the sofa, directing the fan towards her face as she stared out to sea. The sofa was positioned right next to the large folding doors that opened onto the veranda, offering a perfect view of the setting sun. The storm had held off and now the evening was warm, the sun a bright orange glow, reflected like fire in the sea. A couple strolled by hand in hand and Anna thought of how she used to walk along the beach with Guy on summer evenings. They even had picnics out there, Anna giddy from wine as she lay back, not caring about the sand in her hair as she stared up at the orange sky. As she thought that, an image of Elliot Nunn suddenly came to her, his dark hair filthy with sand, his eyes wide open as he stared oblivious towards a sky he’d never see again. Anna turned away from the sea and pulled her laptop out, resisting the temptation to open a browser and google herself. She’d know if her name was out by the calls and texts. She quickly clicked into her emails, saw one from the station’s PR manager about an interview request with the local newspaper. The radio station was going to try to push the ‘working mother’ angle to the media to raise Anna’s profile now she was back from maternity leave. Anna hadn’t been so keen. Her father had started to get a little publicity before he died because of his news reports and look what that had done to him. Better to just get on with the job, head down. That would all change once her name got out though. The station would be inundated with a new angle: child-killing local radio presenter. Anna looked at the name of the journalist who was requesting the interview. Yvonne Fry, a woman Anna had gone to school with, even been friends with until Yvonne had left to work for the local paper at just sixteen and they lost contact. Imagine what she would think when she found out Anna was the mother all over the news? Anna sighed and clicked into her emails. There was one from her friend Maxine inviting her and some other friends over for dinner the week after to discuss their plans for the village’s annual fireworks display in November. It seemed a long way off but Maxine liked to be organised. Anna stared at the email. It was so jolly, so innocent, talk of ‘wine on tap’ and ‘chocolate cake and chatter…unless the kids wake up, of course!’ Usually Anna would smile and reply with an instant ‘yes’. But what would life hold for her when her name got out? Could her friends forgive her for killing a local schoolboy? She ignored Maxine’s email, going to another one. The production assistant had forwarded on some listeners’ emails from the day before. They were all good, praising Anna for her return. There was even one from another mother who’d just returned from maternity leave herself and had found courage listening to Anna on the way into work. Anna felt a sense of grief for her life before all this. If this were a normal day, this email would have given her strength, made her feel it was all worth it. But now all it did was make her realise just how much everything would change. Could she still be an inspiration to women like this one with the death of a boy over her head? She clicked out of the email then she froze. There was an email in her inbox with the subject line ‘Elliot Nunn’. Impossible! Her name hadn’t been publicly connected to the case yet. Then she noticed the ‘from’ field: Ophelia Killer. A shudder of fear ran through her body. She quickly opened the email, fingers trembling. From: The Ophelia Killer To: Anna Graves Subject: Elliot Nunn Yes, I thought the subject line would catch your eye, Anna. Tell me, did he look beautiful when he died? Those blue eyes staring up into sheer nothingness, the pallor of his skin, that special silver veil that only comes with death. The blood, I wouldn’t have liked the blood. But still, one can’t be fussy. Maybe you took a photo? If so, please do send! I’m finding myself rather fascinated with this one, the boy’s potential for murder was rather appealing, wasn’t it? He was a bit naughty for targeting you while you had that pretty daughter of yours with you though… Take care now. TOK Anna barely breathed for a few seconds as she stared at the email. The Ophelia Killer had terrorised The Docks over one hot summer, killing seven teenage boys. But then the killings had abruptly stopped. Her father had investigated the murders, spending every spare minute he could looking into them. Then he’d killed himself, throwing himself from the lighthouse. Anna had always blamed his obsession with the killings for that. Was someone pretending to be the notorious Ophelia Killer? It couldn’t be the real one, surely. Whoever it was, how did they know about Elliot? Was Anna’s name out? She quickly googled her name with trembling fingers. But the same old results came up: her website, her profile page on the Coast to Coast website, her Twitter profile, various articles. Nothing connecting her to Elliot Nunn’s death. Her eyes slipped to the last line of the email. …that pretty daughter of yours… She shoved the laptop off her knees and ran upstairs, relieved to see Joni sleeping soundly. ‘You okay, Anna?’ Florence called up to her. ‘Not really.’ Anna went back downstairs and showed Florence the email. A frown creased Florence’s head. ‘The Ophelia Killer? I don’t understand.’ ‘Me neither. I ought to call the police.’ Anna called the number Detective Morgan had given her. He answered on the first ring. ‘Your name must be getting out,’ he said straight after she told him about the email. ‘It’ll be a nutter.’ ‘No, I googled myself, no one’s connecting me to the death yet.’ ‘Forward the email to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll get someone to look at it.’ ‘Is there any chance we can we get some protection, maybe one officer? When I send the email, you’ll notice the last line mentions Joni, it made me feel uncomfortable.’ ‘Of course, we’ll get a car to sit outside. You’re still at your grandmother’s?’ ‘Yes. Thank you so much, Detective Morgan.’ ‘No problem, Anna. Anything else I can help you with?’ She peered out towards the angry sea. ‘Do you know yet why Elliot might have tried to hurt me and Joni?’ ‘All we have at the moment is maybe he heard you on the radio and grew obsessed with you.’ Anna shook her head. ‘No, that just doesn’t add up. I just can’t shake the feeling it was more than that.’ He was quiet and Anna sensed something in the silence. Was he thinking the same as her? ‘Detective Morgan?’ she asked. ‘Try not to worry about it, Anna. We’ll do everything we can to find out why Elliot Nunn did what he did. Do send me that email, won’t you?’ Then he was gone. Anna sank back in her chair, peering up at the ceiling. Even if it was someone trying to get her attention, as Detective Morgan suggested, is this how it was going to be from now on, emails from people pretending to be serial killers? Would she ever be able to feel secure in Joni’s safety again? ‘Are they sending someone over?’ Florence asked, wrapping her arms around herself as she peered out into the darkness. Anna felt a stab of guilt. Florence was nearly seventy. Despite how robust she was, she didn’t need to be feeling scared in her own home. She put her hand on her gran’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Gran, this is your house. I don’t want you to be scared here.’ ‘Oh, poppet, we’ll be fine,’ Florence said, squeezing her granddaughter’s hand. ‘This place is like Fort Knox the amount of locks that double glazing man put in, we’ll be safe here.’ She sighed. ‘I hate you having to go through this though.’ ‘Me too.’ They both looked out to sea, watching as the waves clashed into each other beneath darkening skies. The next evening, Anna saw Guy for the first time since Elliot’s death. He stood on the doorstep of Florence’s house wearing crisp jeans and a casual white shirt, his dark hair and beard longer than they had been the last time she’d seen him, the week before. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. She missed him so much, especially now. How could everything have fallen to pieces in just a matter of weeks? His brown eyes held Anna’s for a moment then he noticed Joni crawling down the hallway towards him. He grabbed her into a hug and swirled her around as she giggled. ‘My gorgeous little girl,’ he said as he cuddled her. Then he held her out in front of him, examining her all over with his eyes. ‘She’s fine,’ Anna said. He looked at Anna. ‘How are you?’ ‘Still trying to wrap my head around what happened.’ ‘Yeah, me too,’ he said, jaw flexing. ‘It’s all over the news.’ ‘My name isn’t though.’ ‘Not yet. I just can’t—’ He stopped talking. ‘What?’ ‘I didn’t think you’d be capable of killing someone.’ ‘Wouldn’t you, for Joni?’ He thought about it. ‘Before all this, I’d have said hell yeah. But now the reality is in front of me, I don’t know.’ Anna crossed her arms, tears brimming. ‘Well I did and your daughter is alive in your arms right now because of that.’ His face softened. ‘I know, Anna, I’m sorry. It’s just a lot to take in. Do they know why the kid tried to hurt you both?’ ‘I have no idea.’ Guy frowned as Joni played with his necklace. ‘Could he have been a stalker? What if there are others out there like him?’ ‘No, he wasn’t a stalker, Guy. This is a one-off freak occurrence.’ ‘Maybe I should take Joni for a few weeks, until this settles down?’ Panic flooded Anna’s chest. ‘No! She’ll be safe with me, I promise.’ ‘Then why are you here at your gran’s?’ he said, looking around him. ‘It’s just a precaution.’ ‘I’m not very comfortable with all this.’ ‘Guy, please don’t do this. You know I’d never risk Joni’s safety.’ He held her gaze. ‘Really? She nearly got stabbed, Anna.’ ‘For God’s sake! I was walking along the beach just like I do every day with her, with you too when we were together. I’m already struggling enough with the guilt.’ He sighed. ‘I know, sorry. I’m tired, I’ve been cooped up in a plane then a car the past few hours and it’s bloody hot out there. And I’m worried, that’s all.’ She tried to calm herself down. ‘I understand. But our daughter is safe, okay? I promise.’ As she said that, she thought of the email she’d got from the person claiming to be the Ophelia Killer. A trickle of fear ran through her. She handed Joni’s changing bag to Guy. ‘Remember she’s dropped her midday feed like we discussed.’ ‘Yep. Say goodbye to Mummy,’ he said, handing Joni over to Anna. She kissed her daughter’s cheek. ‘Be a good girl for Daddy, darling,’ she said, breathing in her scent. ‘You’ll see Mummy in three days. I love you so much.’ Joni wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and pressed her nose against her cheek. ‘Mama.’ ‘Mama?’ Guy asked, tilting his head. ‘Yes, she said it for the first time the other day.’ She didn’t want to say what day. ‘What a clever girl!’ ‘I know, isn’t she?’ They smiled at each other and her heart ached for all that was lost between them. Then Guy broke her gaze. She handed Joni back to him, trying to stop herself crying. This was unbearable, she didn’t want to lose sight of her daughter for one moment and yet here she was, handing her over for three whole days. It’s for the best, she reasoned with herself. Joni will be safe with her father. ‘We have lots of plans, little girl,’ he said to Joni. ‘Your Uncle James and Auntie Liz are coming over with Isobel and Anya tomorrow.’ Joni smiled, recognising her little cousins’ names. ‘Then I’m thinking a day at the beach is in order if it’s not too hot.’ ‘Sounds fun,’ Anna said, forcing a smile for the sake of her daughter. Guy looked at Anna. ‘It’ll all work out, Anna.’ Joni reached her chubby hand out for her mother. Anna grasped it. It had to work out. The rest of the evening, Anna tried to relax, picking up one of Florence’s magazines and flicking through it. Then she paused. There was an article about the community centre in The Docks that her gran sometimes helped out at, Anna too, on occasion. Could she have met Elliot Nunn at one of those events? She remembered meeting a few of the kids at some event a few months ago. But there had been so many of them, their faces blurring into one. Except one kid, Ben Miller. His father worked as a caretaker for the building where Guy’s architect company was based. His mother had died when he was just eleven, just as Anna’s father had died when she was eleven. He worked at the newsagents down the road. Before she knew what she was doing, she jumped up, grabbing her cardigan and pulling its hood over her head, putting some sunglasses on. ‘Just popping out,’ she shouted up to Florence. Florence appeared at the landing, a look of alarm on her face. ‘Out? Anna, is that a good idea?’ ‘Look at me,’ she said, gesturing to her sunglasses. ‘If I see someone who saw me that day, they won’t recognise me.’ ‘I don’t know, poppet…’ ‘I need the fresh air. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.’ She blew her gran a kiss then let herself out. As the door shut behind her, she paused a few moments, blinking up at the setting sun. She hadn’t walked outside alone since what happened and her heart hammered at the thought. She put her hand back on the door handle. Maybe Florence was right? Anyway, what exactly did she think she’d achieve going to see Ben Miller? But then her fingers slipped from the handle and she found herself walking to the newsagents. It was just a couple of minutes away, right next to the greengrocers and facing the sea. She saw the headline scream out at her from the placard outside: ‘Dead boy’s father is known criminal.’ Anna shuddered and lowered her head, quickly walking into the newsagents. She was relieved to see it was empty inside apart from Ben Miller who was bopping along to some music as he filled up the shelves, his dark fringe bouncing in his eyes, the smart red shirt he wore for work creased. A fan behind him lifted the edges of the newspapers nearby, Elliot’s face on every one of them. Anna took her sunglasses off. ‘Hi, Ben,’ she said, trying to keep her voice normal. He peered up and smiled. ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Graves. How’s Joni?’ She smiled. ‘Joni’s good.’ He’d always been so polite, so sweet. His father was a good man, trying his best for his two sons by working hard. His eldest son had been in trouble with the police. But Ben had kept on the straight and narrow, working at the shop, keeping his head down with his studies, even helping the community centre out every now and again. He’d once confided in Anna during one of those events that he wanted to leave Ridgmont Waters. That was the way it was with the kids who lived on the coast. While ‘inlanders’, as the villagers referred to people inland, were desperate to flock to the sea in the summer, if you’d lived there all your life, you were desperate to get away. All you saw was the way the salt air rotted the houses, how the harsh winters gobbled up any free time, how if the wind was in the wrong direction, the village could stink of dead fish and seaweed. Anna hadn’t been like most kids though. Her father used to say the sea ran through her veins. She loved it there and couldn’t imagine leaving. Until now. Maybe she’d have no choice when her name got out? ‘How are you?’ Anna asked Ben now, grabbing some milk. His face flickered with sadness. ‘All right, I suppose,’ he said as he walked around the counter ‘Did you know Elliot Nunn?’ she asked softly, her heart thudding in her ears. She knew how strange and maybe wrong this conversation would seem to Ben once news of Anna got out. But this might be her only chance to talk to him. Ben flinched. ‘Yeah, he was my mate.’ ‘I’m really sorry, Ben.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s okay.’ ‘Do you think Elliot meant to hurt the woman and her baby?’ Anna asked, trying to be casual as she dug around in her purse for some money. Ben frowned. ‘No, Elliot wasn’t like that.’ She peered up at Ben. ‘Not violent?’ ‘No way! Not until the other day anyway. I mean his family…’ He peered over Anna’s shoulder then lowered his voice. ‘They’re a bit dodgy, everyone’s scared of his brother. But not Elliot.’ ‘That event I went to in the spring, the Easter digathon? Was Elliot there?’ ‘Yeah, I think he was actually.’ Anna handed her money over. ‘So he did go to some of the community centre events then?’ ‘Sometimes, if his dad let him.’ ‘Why wouldn’t his dad let him?’ ‘Says it’s for Nancy boys.’ Anna couldn’t help rolling her eyes. ‘That’s silly.’ ‘Yeah, he’s an idiot, Mr Nunn is.’ His eyes widened, fear filling them. ‘But don’t tell him I said that!’ ‘I won’t, don’t worry. Thanks, Ben. Take care, okay?’ She looked him in the eyes and smiled, trying to somehow show him she was a good person, that she didn’t mean to kill his friend even though he didn’t yet know she had. Then she left the newsagents, the door swinging shut behind her. ‘You got milk?’ Florence asked with a frown when Anna stepped inside a couple of minutes later. ‘Yes.’ ‘We don’t need milk.’ Anna popped it in the fridge. ‘You can never have too much milk.’ Florence crossed her arms. ‘Anna, what’s going on?’ Anna sighed. Her gran knew her so well. ‘I went to talk to Ben Miller.’ Florence’s eyes widened. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’ ‘I just don’t think Elliot trying to hurt me and Joni was random.’ ‘Well no, poppet, he was probably stalking you like Inspector Morgan said.’ ‘He wasn’t, I just know he wasn’t. But I think I know why he recognised me. He went to some of the community centre events, he must have seen me there.’ Florence shook her head. ‘Do you realise how risky it was to talk to Ben Miller like that?’ ‘Why? He doesn’t know it’s me.’ ‘But he might put two and two together, tell someone you’re staying here.’ ‘He won’t, trust me.’ Anna walked up to Florence, holding her hands. ‘I’m fine, Gran. It was just a quick chat.’ Florence sighed. ‘I’m just so worried.’ Anna looked into her eyes. She hadn’t considered the strain this would put her gran under too. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t like worrying you.’ Florence stroked her cheek. ‘Please let the police do their job, poppet. I don’t want any more harm coming to my two girls.’ ‘Okay,’ Anna said. ‘I promise.’ But as she did the washing up later, staring out towards the dark sea while Florence put the rubbish out, she felt a stirring in her tummy. Is this how her father had felt before he started investigating the Ophelia Killings? Anna thought back to that summer. It had been hot just like this one. Anna remembered how excited she and Leo had been when their parents had dragged a blow-up pool into the apartment-block gardens for them to cool down in. They’d spent days splashing about and giggling. But then suddenly it all stopped, they weren’t allowed outside. As the summer wore on and police sirens became a familiar background noise to her life, Anna began to understand why. She started to glean more about what was going on in her town: teenage boys from The Docks were being killed, all found drowned in their garden ponds surrounded by beautiful flowers, just like Ophelia from Hamlet. When Leo grew scared, Anna played the adult despite being two years younger than him, telling him they’d be safe, that the killer wouldn’t get them because they lived in the ‘good bit of town’. He would have nightmares about the murders though, waking in the night screaming. But Anna grew fascinated, following her father around whenever he was home, asking questions about the case, which he refused to answer. ‘You’re too young, darling,’ he’d say, brushing her cheek with his finger as he smiled at her. ‘Now go play with your Barbies, isn’t that what little girls like you are supposed to do?’ But that wasn’t what Anna wanted at all. She wanted to be like her father. So one night, four months after the first victim was found, as summer began to fade, Anna got into her father’s study while he slept and found a photo of one of the victims on his desk, an image that still haunted her: a boy with pale skin lying in a pond, blank blue eyes wide open, dirty ripples of water below him, hints of bright soaked flowers around his head. And then, dotted over his torso, five round bloody marks, skin removed by the Ophelia Killer as trophies, as Anna later learnt. That was the penultimate victim. A couple of weeks later, her father killed himself on the same day the last victim was found, jumping from the top floor of the lighthouse to the rocks below, the horror of the case finally getting to him. Anna felt tears spring to her eyes and scrubbed at a plate to force the memories away. Florence was right, she’d been silly to question Ben Miller like that. She needed to leave the investigations to the police. If her dad had, maybe he’d still be alive, not driven to depression by the horror and stress of it all. She removed the plug, watching as the bubbles spun down the sink. Then the sound of something smashing outside pierced the silence. Florence was out there! She quickly dried her hands and ran out of the open back door, calling her gran’s name. Then she froze. Standing on the beach outside was a crowd of people, candles flickering in the darkness. ‘Child killer,’ someone hissed. It was Elliot’s father, his blue eyes fierce with anger. Chapter Three (#ulink_5b9250d6-f1d5-5e15-b948-fb229a4820a5) The Second One You’re staring out towards the dockyards, brow creased. You will not look at me. I want you to look at me. ‘Look,’ I say, pointing out of the other window facing towards the beach. ‘It’s starting.’ You turn and narrow your eyes. ‘There, see,’ I say, pointing towards the family spilling out of a car, their bright towels flapping in the wind. There’s a mum and dad, a boy and two girls. The pebbles of the beach shine under the sun, small boats shimmying over the waves in the distance. They’re from The Docks, I can tell from their decrepit old car. Something changes in you as you look out of the window, eyes alighting on the sullen boy who helps his father get out a tatty-looking picnic hamper. At least this family are trying, taking their kids out for a Sunday afternoon on the beach. ‘Shall we go to the beach?’ you say, smiling now. ‘Really?’ ‘Why not? We can get lunch at the cafe.’ ‘Oh!’ You laugh. ‘Come on.’ As we walk to the beach together, I feel free like that seagull over there, soaring above the lighthouse and craggy rocks. It doesn’t matter that the sandwiches are a bit dry when we get to the cafe, the fizzy drink too warm. I start to feel like this is the best day of my life, being here with you. I watch you bite into your sandwich. Your eyes are on the boy again. He’s fourteen or fifteen. He has headphones on, head hunched over a comic book. His dark hair is too long, and he’s wearing cut-off jeans and a grey t-shirt with a growling dog on the front. The boy looks up, catches me watching him. I turn away. ‘Don’t be shy,’ you say in a quiet voice. ‘You should go talk to the boy. That way he won’t bat an eyelid when you see him next. He’ll be relaxed.’ I think of the last boy, the first one, and a tremor of fear rushes through me. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Look, this is the perfect opportunity.’ The mum gets up and takes the girls to the water’s edge as the dad strolls to the cafe. The boy’s alone now. You jog your arm into mine. ‘Go. Practise on him.’ You stand up, stretching. ‘I’m getting another drink.’ You give me a look – the look – then stride off. I stay where I am for a few moments, fear battling curiosity. Can I really do this? Do I want to do this? You think I can but I’m not so sure. I take a deep breath then walk along the beach to the boy, weaving between all the people who are cluttering the beach now. The boy doesn’t notice me for a bit as I stand over him. Then he looks up, scowling. ‘Looks interesting,’ I say, gesturing to the comic book. The boy takes his headphones off. ‘What?’ He looks angry. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk to me. I think about heading back, then peer at the cafe. You nod at me, encouraging. I don’t want to disappoint you. I kneel down beside the boy. ‘I’ve met the man who illustrates those,’ I lie. ‘Oh yeah?’ the boy says, feigning disinterest but I see his eyes light up. ‘Yep. My friend’s brother knew him.’ He looks me up and down. ‘I’ve seen you at school.’ ‘That’s right. You like it there?’ He laughs. ‘Does anyone?’ I laugh back and we start to talk. After a while, I sneak a peek back at the cafe to see you watching us, this strange intense look in your eyes. I look back at the boy and know things aren’t going to end well for him. Chapter Four (#ulink_5b9250d6-f1d5-5e15-b948-fb229a4820a5) ‘Get back inside,’ Anna’s gran called over her shoulder. ‘Lock the door, call the police.’ ‘No,’ Anna said, striding down the path towards Florence as the angry-looking crowd throbbed in front of them. ‘You’re Anna Graves?’ Elliot’s father shouted at her, his red hair like blood under the moonlight. ‘No, she isn’t,’ Florence said, shaking her head. ‘You’ve got the wrong person.’ ‘Liar,’ Elliot’s father hissed at her. He strode towards Anna. Florence tried to get in the way but he pushed her aside. ‘Gran!’ Anna went to help her but Elliot’s father grabbed her with one hand, using his free one to look at his phone as Anna struggled against him. She caught sight of the screen. It was a tweet featuring the publicity shot the station always used of her – one eyebrow wryly raised, arms crossed, long brown hair smooth and shiny. Below it were the words: ‘BREAKING NEWS: Mother who killed Elliot Nunn is named as local radio presenter, Anna Graves.’ She looked out at the crowd. There were about twenty people on the beach, jeering at her, glaring at her, hatred in their eyes. She saw her gran try to pull herself up, wincing slightly. Anna fumbled in the pocket of her cardigan, finding the door keys. She pulled them out, jutting one between her two fingers and pointing it at Elliot’s father’s face. ‘Let go of me,’ she hissed. ‘What you going to do, knife me?’ the man spat. ‘Not young enough though, am I? You only kill innocent school kids, right?’ He dragged her towards the crowd, her bare feet scraping against the pebbles. ‘Elliot’s murdering bitch is here!’ he shouted to everyone. More people started jogging over from the direction of The Docks. Anna stumbled backwards but the man grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully. ‘You’re not going anywhere, child killer.’ ‘Please, I didn’t mean it, please,’ she said, the reality dawning on her that she might get hurt, that her gran already was. People drew closer, gathering around her. Someone flicked her face, another kicking the back of her legs and making her buckle. One man with tattoos on his folded arms watched with hatred in his eyes. She heard Florence cry out her name and Anna struggled desperately to get to her but couldn’t match Elliot’s father’s strength. ‘Wait!’ a woman shouted. Anna looked up to see a woman walking through the crowds towards her. Elliot’s mother. Part of Anna felt relief. Was his mother going to stop them? But then Anna saw the look in her eyes. ‘Is it true?’ Elliot’s mother said, grabbing Anna’s chin and looking her in the eye, her breath stinking of cigarettes. ‘He tried to kill my baby,’ Anna said. ‘I had no choice.’ ‘You killed my baby,’ she said. ‘So now I don’t have any choice, do I?’ People laughed, even cheered. The man with the tattoos just continued glaring at her. It was even more chilling than the laughter. The two mothers stared at each other. Beneath the rage, Anna saw the gaping hole of loss and desperation in the woman’s eyes. She wanted to hold her, so foolish, she knew. But maybe, more than anyone here, Anna had got the closest to experiencing how she felt, the hint of that acidic loss she’d have felt if Joni had been killed. It occurred to her in that moment how ironic that was, to be the one who might understand…and yet to also be the one to have taken her son from her. ‘Please,’ Anna pleaded. ‘You must understand why I had to try to protect myself.’ His mother’s face softened for a moment. Then her husband whispered something in her ear. She looked down and Anna followed her gaze. Elliot’s father had slipped a small knife into his wife’s hand. Anna closed her eyes, thought of Joni. If this was the sacrifice she needed to make to have saved Joni, so be it. ‘Open your eyes,’ Elliot’s father shouted in her face. But Anna kept her eyes squeezed shut, felt the crowd close in. Someone yanked off the gauze on her cheek and she felt the cool breeze slice over her wound. Then her foot was swiped from beneath her and she fell to the ground, darkness descending. A man pulled her up, the man with tattooed arms. He was in his late twenties, fair hair, stubbled cheeks, fierce blue eyes blinking down at her in the semi-darkness. His fingers sank painfully into her arm. ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ she whispered. His eyes ran over her scar, brow creasing. ‘Go!’ he suddenly hissed, shoving her away. ‘Get inside, lock the doors, both of you.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ Elliot’s father shouted at him. ‘The child killer’s staying and she’s getting what she deserves.’ Elliot’s father tried to shove Anna’s rescuer out of the way but the young man stayed rock still. ‘Just. Fucking. Go. Run!’ he shouted into Anna’s face. Anna looked into his blue eyes for a moment then she grabbed her gran and stumbled into the house. Anna sat in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea as Florence talked to a police officer. Her gran was fine, just a bruised leg. She’d been more intent on tending to Anna’s wounded cheek when they got in, placing a new gauze over it. Anna’s phone rang and rang, no doubt friends and colleagues discovering she was the mother who killed Elliot Nunn. But she ignored it, instead focusing on the sound of the waves sloshing against the pebbles outside, her eyes straying towards the lighthouse in the distance and the pile of rocks…the same rocks her father had died on. She thought of the rage in Elliot’s father’s eyes, the grief in his mother’s. She thought of the man who’d helped her, felt his fingertips on her wrists still. He’d been among the crowd. Why had he decided to help her? What would have happened if he hadn’t? She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Right, I think that’s everything,’ the police officer said, closing his notepad. ‘Can you stay anywhere else, Mrs Graves? Maybe somewhere a bit more out of the way? What about your mother’s house, isn’t that on the edge of town?’ Anna exchanged a look with Florence. ‘I can’t,’ Anna said. ‘Maybe you should?’ Florence said. ‘I know it’s not ideal. But your safety is important.’ Anna looked into her gran’s eyes. She felt as though she were going back in time, being forced to live at that bungalow after a terrible tragedy. But what choice did she have? ‘What about you?’ she asked Florence. ‘Will you be safe here?’ ‘They’re not interested in your grandmother,’ the police officer said. ‘Fine,’ Anna said with a sigh. ‘Any idea how they knew I was here?’ she asked the police officer. ‘No, ’fraid not.’ After he left, Florence helped her pack. ‘Do you think Ben Miller said something? He could have easily seen you walk to the house from the newsagents.’ Anna shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t, he’s a good kid.’ Her gran shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ Anna sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right, maybe Ben did tell people. And if so, it’s all my fault everyone found me here. I shouldn’t have talked to him. I put myself in danger, I put Joni in danger. Jesus.’ Anna slumped down on the bed. ‘Is this what it’s going to be like from now on, baying crowds on my doorstep?’ Florence sat next to her, placing her plump arm around her shoulders. ‘The police won’t let it get to that.’ ‘I hope not. I really do.’ They both sat quietly for a few moments then Florence clapped her hands. ‘Right, let’s get this finished then get you to your mother’s. Who knows, maybe it will be good for you both to live together for a few days?’ Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ Florence sighed. ‘I can but dream.’ When Anna got to the bungalow half an hour later, her mother disappeared into the kitchen mumbling something about the washing up. So Anna took her bags to her old room. The light from the hallway streamed into the gloom, picking out the shiny red radio taking pride of place on a shelf filled with books and collected shells; the tape recorder still home to the mock news reports she used to make; the photo of her dad taken at the beach, caught by surprise, a smile on his face, his dark hair lifting in the wind. All those smiles disappeared when he was investigating the Ophelia Killer. He’d been so caught up in it all, he hadn’t seen the depression sneaking up on him. It was like Anna earlier, questioning Ben Miller, putting everything at risk to get a few pointless answers. All she’d done was put her and Joni in danger. Her gran too. ‘I made you tea.’ She turned to see her mother standing in the hallway, a flowery cracked mug in her hand. She walked over and took it. ‘Thanks, Mum. And thanks for letting me stay.’ ‘Why wouldn’t I? You’re my daughter.’ Beatrice peered towards the window. ‘There’s a woman hanging around outside, that little blonde friend you used to have at school.’ Anna frowned. ‘You mean Yvonne Fry?’ Her mother nodded. ‘Great, the press are already on to me. Don’t answer if she knocks.’ ‘I won’t.’ Anna looked around her. ‘I thought you would have cleared all this out by now.’ ‘I keep meaning to.’ Anna passed her fingers over the tape recorder. ‘I used to love this thing.’ ‘Your father made me buy it for your birthday. I didn’t like it.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I knew what it would start.’ ‘Start what?’ ‘You following him into journalism.’ Her mother had never been keen about Anna following in her father’s footsteps considering what it had done to his stress levels. ‘I’ve been proved right,’ her mother continued. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Your name all over the papers, people targeting you, like earlier.’ ‘That has nothing to do with what I do. Even if I wasn’t a radio presenter, I’d still be targeted for what I did.’ ‘To this extent? I think not, Anna. It gives you a sense of godliness, doesn’t it?’ Anna shook her head in confusion. ‘Excuse me?’ Her mother clenched and unclenched her fists. ‘I’m not sure you would have killed the boy if it weren’t for the confidence your job and status gives you. The knowledge that every decision you make is the right one.’ ‘I had no choice! I didn’t decide to kill him. The only decision I made was to protect my child.’ ‘Do you really believe that, Anna? I can see the doubt in your eyes, the guilt. Was it really a natural instinct to protect?’ Anna grabbed her bags. ‘It was a mistake coming here.’ Beatrice strode towards her, putting her hand on her arm, her eyes pleading with hers. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t go.’ Anna looked into her mother’s eyes. Why couldn’t they just have a normal relationship? ‘Please, Anna.’ Beatrice’s hand slipped away from Anna’s and she twisted her fingers around each other, biting her lip as she looked outside. ‘You know how I get, the stress, it makes me – me—’ She shook her head. ‘It’s very difficult for me, Anna, very difficult.’ Then she left the room. Anna sank down onto her bed. How long would she be able to stand staying here with her mother? Anna peered down at Joni as she strode along one of Ridgmont Waters’ cobbled back streets. Joni was sitting in her new pushchair, the seat now angled so she was facing Anna. Joni smiled up at her and Anna felt herself relax. People she knew greeted her, some stopping her to praise her for how she’d protected herself. It was over two weeks since her name had got out, and the reaction from the public and the press had been overwhelmingly positive. Newspaper columnists were talking about Anna’s ‘bravery and compassion’, the Daily Mail even calling her ‘lioness mother protecting her cub’. Her old school friend Yvonne had tried to grab her for an interview one day when she walked out of her mother’s house to put some rubbish out. But she’d made it clear she wouldn’t be giving interviews. Yvonne had surprised her by being quite aggressive about it, following her up the path. In the end, she’d written a positive story too, if a little more lukewarm than the others. Twitter notifications had been filled with messages of support as well, mainly people praising her for ‘taking a stand against the scum’. And all her friends and colleagues had emailed or texted with praise and admiration. Anna sighed. Was Elliot Nunn really ‘scum’? Even if he had tried to kill Joni, he was still a kid himself. What exactly had driven him to that point, what sort of life must he have led? The more Anna found out about his family, the more she despaired. His father clearly had anger issues, and his mother seemed very fragile. She’d been too scared to leave the bungalow until now, remembering the look of rage on Elliot’s father’s face. But it wasn’t fair on Joni to stay cooped up inside. More importantly, she had to get away from her mother. Two weeks inside the bungalow brought back too many memories, memories now turned into her day-to-day reality as she struggled to cope with her mother’s up and down moods, one minute distant and brooding, the next non-stop chatter about pointless things like the birds in the trees and the colour of the sky, anything but what Anna was going through. And anyway, people from The Docks didn’t tend to venture into the village due to the huge shopping centre on their doorstep catering to their needs. This more upmarket part of Ridgmont Waters was quiet, people letting others get on with their lives. They were used to seeing the occasional famous face here, the large holiday homes overlooking the beach nearby attracting the rich and famous over the summer holidays. Anna walked into a small seaside cafe. It had recently attracted new owners, the once dry sandwiches and warm lemonades replaced by sharing platters and unusually flavoured ice creams. She walked through towards the small veranda at the back which overlooked the beach. Nathan was already out there on one of the white iron tables, signing a woman’s napkin. Anna frowned. So much for villagers not intruding. Nathan noticed Anna walk outside and jumped up, manoeuvring a chair so Anna could get the pushchair in. People glanced up as she passed, recognition flickering in their eyes. But they quickly returned to their Sunday papers and Anna took a breath of relief. ‘Look at you,’ Nathan said, taking his sunglasses off and smiling at Joni. She giggled and grabbed his hand. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’ ‘She is,’ Anna said, finding a highchair in the corner and lifting Joni into it, safe and snug. ‘My gorgeous perfect little girl, aren’t you?’ ‘Mama!’ Joni exclaimed. Nathan laughed. ‘She seems well. How did the visit from social services go last week?’ ‘Short and sweet. It was clear they were just there to tick some boxes.’ ‘Good,’ he said. ‘And how are you? You look tired.’ Anna thought of the restless nights, dreams filled with blood and Elliot’s dying blue eyes. ‘Not sleeping great, as you’d expect,’ she said as she sat down. ‘But things are starting to feel a bit more normal.’ ‘Good. We’re still getting lots of emails in to the show.’ ‘I’ve been listening. Georgia’s doing a great job,’ Anna said, referring to the news anchor who’d temporarily taken over from her. ‘Yes, she’s great, I’ve always liked Georgia.’ Nathan raised an eyebrow. ‘But she’s not you, Anna.’ ‘You’re too kind.’ The waitress came up and Anna ordered an iced coffee and lemon drizzle cake as she pulled some snacks out for Joni. In the distance, the sea was calm, the skies bright blue. The heatwave hadn’t really let up, but it was more bearable than previous days. People sat in the village’s distinctive fuchsia pink deckchairs that dotted the seafront. A child ran along it with a red flag in the air, his father laughing as he followed him. A golden retriever jumped in and out of the waves, yapping at them. Beyond, the lighthouse watched over them all, its windows twinkling in the sun. It almost felt like a normal day. ‘There’s an article about Elliot Nunn’s brother in the Sun today,’ Nathan said, quirking an eyebrow as he jutted his chin towards a newspaper being read by an elderly couple on the beach. ‘Bit of a local criminal, apparently.’ Anna followed his gaze to see the newspaper he was referring to, a large photo of a man staring out from it. Anna let out a gasp. It was the same man who’d helped her when Elliot’s parents had confronted her a couple of weeks before. ‘What’s wrong?’ Nathan asked. ‘That’s not Elliot Nunn’s brother, is it?’ Nathan nodded. Anna frowned. Elliot’s brother had helped her? But why? ‘What’s wrong, Anna?’ Nathan asked. Anna shook her head. ‘Nothing. Let’s change the subject, shall we?’ Nathan smiled. ‘Of course. So what are your thoughts about coming back to work?’ Anna looked at him, alarmed. ‘Now?’ ‘Maybe in a month or so, whenever suits you.’ ‘It’s not ideal, is it, the person reading the news being the news?’ ‘Exactly what we discussed yesterday. But we have a solution! You could work behind the scenes, you’ve done it before when you had laryngitis and couldn’t talk, remember?’ Anna gave Joni her sippy cup and fanned her hot cheeks with the menu. ‘Aren’t there rules about employees who’ve been involved in an incident like this?’ He shrugged. ‘You were released with no charge. It’ll be good for you, Anna. You can get some semblance of a normal life back. You’ll miss Joni, I’m sure, but I’m only suggesting part-time to start with, maybe a couple of days a week. Plus there’s the money too.’ Anna sighed. He was right. Guy paid maintenance for Joni but it was now up to her to cover the mortgage on a house she wasn’t even able to live in and everything else. Joni threw a handful of mashed banana onto the floor. Anna thought about Nathan’s offer as she leaned down to wipe the banana up. Regardless of the money, could she really leave Joni to go to work, even if it was for a few hours and even if she’d be left with family, either Florence or the nursery her mother-in-law owned? It was already so difficult when Guy had her. But Nathan was right, she needed the money…and she needed a semblance of normality. ‘There’s a lot to think about. Can I let you know in a few days?’ she asked. ‘Of course.’ Nathan took a sip of his latte and leaned back in his chair. ‘Did I tell you about what Heather said to me the other day?’ As they gossiped about work, Anna felt herself relax. Maybe life could begin to feel normal? In fact, Anna felt so relaxed after her coffee with Nathan that she decided to stay out a little longer, strolling down the beach front under the sun, popping into the boutique shops to browse. It almost felt like she was back to her old life, before the terrible day Elliot Nunn had died. Anna batted that thought away and headed to her favourite second-hand bookshop, flicking through the books that were laid out on the long tables outside, the sea breeze providing some respite from the growing heat. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/tracy-buchanan-2/no-turning-back-the-can-t-put-it-down-thriller-of-the-yea/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.