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 (#ua704a6af-5a5c-5fc0-a316-513230959083)
Chapter Six (#u1d742c15-541f-516f-8f62-e6467cb5ccb1)
Chapter Seven (#u81fecfea-af6a-5d14-95bd-179fba50b0cc)
Chapter Eight (#u205b79b7-1c0c-5e61-8aee-098d881979c4)
Chapter Nine (#ud51ffd86-38b9-5f5a-87c3-12f1efd484eb)
Chapter Ten (#u51da7290-247e-5e5e-b93b-1094d33251ab)
Chapter Eleven (#uf4d60de4-836e-5e70-b341-c723031a6425)
Chapter Twelve (#u8fe1432a-383e-54a4-ba05-ac47c8c11fe0)
Chapter Thirteen (#u810392f0-139e-58e8-82fc-d8f25b839b85)
Chapter Fourteen (#ud8ed81fd-4ca6-5ab1-b367-6d87f3da7c7e)
Chapter Fifteen (#u1521c2d5-6e38-5c45-98b8-3c9ecbb3bd86)
Chapter Sixteen (#ufdf7792a-5034-58e9-be27-36022b2a249d)
Chapter Seventeen (#u796b61c1-c072-57e4-b7d6-602169ecaab6)
Chapter Eighteen (#ubc01d843-7ceb-5c27-bf4b-3c9902287afa)
Chapter Nineteen (#u8e97e5b9-dd8f-5143-9be3-15377ca58c48)
Chapter Twenty (#uffb07206-41d8-553c-9d5e-58f703db32ff)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u65a89613-57ce-5ef0-a5f1-1c40ddc1b233)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u94f589d9-10fc-5813-9f99-f0763bcf8490)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#uc8efcca1-d8db-5503-a449-d73430bf068e)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u691983b1-a133-5fde-94ad-08294c107f76)
Epilogue (#uee76e285-d6b7-5a73-9098-64a5ea4b0937)
Read on for an exclusive extract of THE LOST SISTER (#u12486171-bb3e-5ba1-bd26-6f1fb4442be6)
Acknowledgements (#u8a497025-93e3-5a74-b0db-51c44bd09282)
Keep Reading … (#u61d7a913-76fd-5529-afae-01d8ed8b6c52)
About the Author
By the Same Author:
About the Publisher (#u5eb251a6-f663-5903-b610-bc09a0810d79)
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.
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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 (#ua704a6af-5a5c-5fc0-a316-513230959083)
Chapter Six (#u1d742c15-541f-516f-8f62-e6467cb5ccb1)
Chapter Seven (#u81fecfea-af6a-5d14-95bd-179fba50b0cc)
Chapter Eight (#u205b79b7-1c0c-5e61-8aee-098d881979c4)
Chapter Nine (#ud51ffd86-38b9-5f5a-87c3-12f1efd484eb)
Chapter Ten (#u51da7290-247e-5e5e-b93b-1094d33251ab)
Chapter Eleven (#uf4d60de4-836e-5e70-b341-c723031a6425)
Chapter Twelve (#u8fe1432a-383e-54a4-ba05-ac47c8c11fe0)
Chapter Thirteen (#u810392f0-139e-58e8-82fc-d8f25b839b85)
Chapter Fourteen (#ud8ed81fd-4ca6-5ab1-b367-6d87f3da7c7e)
Chapter Fifteen (#u1521c2d5-6e38-5c45-98b8-3c9ecbb3bd86)
Chapter Sixteen (#ufdf7792a-5034-58e9-be27-36022b2a249d)
Chapter Seventeen (#u796b61c1-c072-57e4-b7d6-602169ecaab6)
Chapter Eighteen (#ubc01d843-7ceb-5c27-bf4b-3c9902287afa)
Chapter Nineteen (#u8e97e5b9-dd8f-5143-9be3-15377ca58c48)
Chapter Twenty (#uffb07206-41d8-553c-9d5e-58f703db32ff)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u65a89613-57ce-5ef0-a5f1-1c40ddc1b233)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u94f589d9-10fc-5813-9f99-f0763bcf8490)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#uc8efcca1-d8db-5503-a449-d73430bf068e)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u691983b1-a133-5fde-94ad-08294c107f76)
Epilogue (#uee76e285-d6b7-5a73-9098-64a5ea4b0937)
Read on for an exclusive extract of THE LOST SISTER (#u12486171-bb3e-5ba1-bd26-6f1fb4442be6)
Acknowledgements (#u8a497025-93e3-5a74-b0db-51c44bd09282)
Keep Reading … (#u61d7a913-76fd-5529-afae-01d8ed8b6c52)
About the Author
By the Same Author:
About the Publisher (#u5eb251a6-f663-5903-b610-bc09a0810d79)
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.
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Tracy Buchanan
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: 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…?