Anything for Her E-Book

Jack Jordan

• Herausgeber: Corvus
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Sometimes the past comes back to haunt you. Louise Leighton's life has fallen apart, all because of one fateful night. Her husband is an adulterer, her sister is his mistress, and soon, Louise will lose everything she owns. But she never imagined she would lose her daughter. Eighteen-year-old Brooke Leighton is missing. It's up to Louise and the Metropolitan Police to find her. Has Brooke run away? Or has she been taken against her will? And can Louise aid the investigation without mentioning the night where all of her troubles began? If she mentions that night, she will incriminate her daughter for heinous crimes. But if she doesn't, she may never find Brooke; and if she has been abducted, the person who took her may come for Louise, too. Sometimes the past comes back to kill you.

Leseprobe

Anything For Her

Jack Jordan

First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Amazon. This edition published in 2017 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Jack Jordan, 2016

The moral right of Jack Jordan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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.

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

E-book ISBN: 978 1 78649 440 5

Printed in Great Britain.

Corvus An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd Ormond House 26–27 Boswell Street London WC1N 3JZ

www.corvus-books.co.uk

Also by Jack Jordan:

Anything for Her My Girl Before Her Eyes A Woman Scorned Night by Night

Mum, thank you for your unwavering support and love, for always putting me first, and for the sacrifices you made to do so. Thank you for teaching me that anything is possible if I work hard enough to obtain it. I love you.

ONE

Louise had never wanted her husband to die. Not until he ripped their family apart.

Testicular cancer? Rabies? A fatal fall from a windy clifftop? Lightning strike to his adulterous crotch? She hadn’t decided. All she knew was, once a husband told his wife that he had been having an affair with her younger sister, it was more than acceptable, if not entirely necessary, for his wife to imagine his gruesome death over and over for her own pleasure.

They had argued all night: ever since Michael had confessed to the ten-month affair. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, he divulged.

‘I’ve been sleeping with Denise.’

She instantly forgot to how to breathe.

‘I love you, Louise. I don’t want our marriage to end because of this.’ Her throat constricted. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest.

‘I… I don’t understand.’

‘I’ve been meaning to tell you—’

‘No,’ she turned to face him. ‘Say it again. Look into my eyes and say it again.’

She stared at her husband’s bewitching face, and waited for him to explain that it was a sick prank. He would laugh hysterically as her mouth relaxed into a relieved smirk and she would slap his arm playfully. You really got me for a moment there, Mike!

‘I’ve been having an affair with your sister.’

Michael’s complexion paled as he watched his words sink in.

He was lying – he had to be. Michael wouldn’t do that. Maybe she had fallen asleep – maybe she was having a nightmare. Was it possible for her to feel her heart break while she slept?

Her eyes began to sting with tears. She couldn’t escape the thought of her husband writhing naked on top of her sister, both of them glistening with sweat and panting like excited dogs; she imagined Denise clutching her husband’s buttocks as he slammed into her, while Michael caressed her breast with his hand as the gold wedding ring on his finger cooled her nipple.

Louise got out of bed, rushed to the en-suite, and vomited.

***

After an exhausting night of tears, yelling, apologies, and expletives, they occupied the room in stifling silence, with every word they had spoken echoing in their ears. Louise sat on the end of the bed – the side of their marital bed that she had occupied for twenty years.

She looked out of the window, as the sun rose and began to warm the December frost that sparkled on the London rooftops, and wondered if she would ever be able to look at her husband again without wishing him dead.

Michael stood at the foot of the bed with the facial expression of a scolded child. His bottom lip quivered as he tried to keep the tears at bay.

‘Why, Michael?’ she asked weakly. ‘Why my sister, of all people?’

‘I couldn’t handle the secrets anymore. I couldn’t handle the distance you put between us. Denise came on to me and I let her.’

‘It seems we all have secrets,’ she replied, her eyes fixed on the window. ‘But don’t worry, my secrets don’t involve fucking your brother.’

They succumbed to the silence again. Louise looked down at the hastily packed suitcase by her feet. She had to escape her new, agonising reality before it killed her.

‘So not only have you destroyed your business, lost all of our money, and destroyed our family, but you’ve decimated our marriage and severed my bond with my sister forever.’

She looked at him with tears in her eyes, a woman too weak to take another knock.

‘I will never forgive myself.’

‘I will never forgive you either.’

Tears ran down her cheeks and reflected the rising sun in their streams.

She stood and reached down for the suitcase handle; fresh tears dropped to the carpet.

‘Please stay. Please stay until we work this out.’

‘I can’t bear to be near you right now,’ she walked to the door. ‘I can’t even look at you.’

She opened the bedroom door while Michael sobbed behind her. In front of her stood their two children.

Ten-year-old Dominic looked startled to see his mother’s worn complexion and bloodshot eyes. His small hands were shaking.

Eighteen-year-old Brooke, a youthful double of her mother, stood next to him; her checks were streaked with dried tears.

Both children looked utterly drained, as though neither of them had slept a wink. They must have listened to every word.

‘I need to go away for a while,’ she said, wiping tears from her face.

‘Can we come with you?’ Dominic asked.

‘No, darling. Mummy needs some time to herself for a few days.’ She knelt down in front of her son; his eyes shimmered with hurt. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t need you or love you with every part of me. It just means that I need to go away and have a good, long think. Okay?’

‘What have you got to think about?’

‘Not very nice things. But whenever I need cheering up, I’ll think of you.’

‘You promise you’ll come back?’

Tears began to fill his eyes.

‘I promise you, my angel. I’ll be back.’

Louise spread her arms and her son fell into her chest and unfurled his sobs. She held him to her, her heart breaking all over again, and looked up at Brooke.

Our secret did this.

She didn’t need to say it out loud. Brooke knew.

Louise gave her son one last squeeze and a kiss before she got to her feet to stand before her eldest child. She entered into a tight embrace with her and kissed her quickly on the cheek.

‘Be strong,’ she whispered into her daughter’s ear. ‘Be strong for your brother.’

From the top of the South Kensington townhouse, Louise carried the heavy suitcase down each flight of stairs, trying to ignore the approaching steps of her husband, and the children following behind him like his shadow.

‘Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.’

Louise couldn’t trust herself to reply without crying; she hurried for the last flight of stairs. The suitcase strained her arm and back but she didn’t care: the sooner she escaped, the better.

When she reached the front door, she stopped in her tracks. Michael stood on the bottom step of the staircase; the children remained at the top. Louise couldn’t take her eyes away from the framed photo hanging proudly by the door for all to see: the photo of her and Michael on their wedding day. Standing next to her was Denise in her maid of honour dress; Michael’s brother, the best man, stood to the right. The four of them were laughing. Their wide grins radiated glee and wedding-day beauty. She had never noticed that Michael and Denise’s eyes were locked, frozen by the click of the camera.

Rage swelled in her chest. Her entire body shook with hate, and her skin flushed hot. She dropped the suitcase with a bang, snatched the photo frame from the wall, and launched it at her husband with a scream. He ducked as it crashed against the wall and exploded into shards of glass and splinters of wood.

Dominic screamed from the top of the stairs and ran out of sight.

Louise looked at the scene, at the mess that her life had become, torn between hurting her husband further and running to his aid. She took her keys from the sideboard, picked up her suitcase, and rushed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. The sound reverberated through the house and sent shudders through those she left behind.

TWO

Shards of glass slipped from Michael’s back as he looked up at the glass-panelled door and watched his wife disappear down the steps and out of his life.

She’s gone. She’s actually left me.

He hadn’t expected it. He thought she would be hurt, but had anticipated that she would stay in the family home and that, eventually, they would rekindle their relationship after this minor blip. He had never thought she would pack a suitcase and disappear.

After being by her side for twenty years, Michael realised he didn’t know his wife at all. He hadn’t predicted she would leave. He hadn’t thought she could keep secrets from him. He had thought wrong.

Brooke lingered at the top of the stairs, her eyes on her father crouched on the bottom step, his bare feet surrounded by shimmering glass. The photo lay on its back.

‘Get ready for college,’ he said without moving his eyes from the front door.

She obeyed and left her father alone in the silence of the entrance hall.

Michael stood and walked to the kitchen for the dustpan and brush. He returned and swept up the mess from the hardwood floor and the carpeted stairs. He picked up the dislodged photo and looked at the four young faces.

Who would have seen this coming? He said to his younger self.

He ripped Denise from the photo, tearing her from their family forever, and perched the remaining three characters in the shot against the vase on the sideboard.

She will see it when she comes home. If she comes home.

He longed to pour himself a large stiff drink, regardless of the time. He returned to the kitchen, put the dustpan and brush on the countertop, and turned on the coffee machine. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He thrust his hand inside and yanked his phone into view, excited at the possibility of seeing his wife’s name on the screen. It wasn’t her. It was his lawyer.

‘Now’s not a good time,’ was the first thing he said.

‘There’s never going to be a good time,’ Shannon Holloway replied. ‘And the more you avoid this, Michael, the longer the stretch you’ll do behind bars.’

He imagined Shannon sat behind her desk, nursing her fifth cup of coffee, her breath tainted with lingering cigarette smoke.

‘What do you want?’

‘Why haven’t you been answering my calls?’

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘Too busy to prepare for the court appearance that’s looming? Too busy to try and avoid a prison sentence? You’re in big trouble, Michael. You’re acting like this is nothing.’

‘I’ve got bigger problems going on right now.’

He looked at the dustpan and stared at the photo of Denise, ripped and curling in on itself. She stared at him, witnessing his pain with a smile on her face. The sound of Louise slamming the door echoed through his mind.

‘Bigger than prison? Losing your houses, your cars, your children’s private education? You and your family are going to lose everything if we don’t work together on this.’

‘Well, forgive me if I don’t want to be reminded every second of every day that I might go to prison.’

‘Fine. I won’t mention it again. Let’s just turn up at the court and fluke it, shall we? Hope the judge is feeling good that day? You’re guilty of insider trading, tax evasion, and trying to bail yourself out with money from the employees’ pension plan. The judge will not take this lightly, however cheery he or she is on the day; and when the news is out, the public won’t be too pleased either.’

‘All right!’ he barked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘I’ll do whatever you want. Meet me at my office at eleven.’

‘I can do that,’ she said. He heard her diary’s pages flick to her commitments for the day. ‘Don’t stand me up. This is serious.’

‘I won’t!’ he snapped. Talking with Shannon made him feel as though he was a mischievous teenager and she was his nagging mother, trying to rein him in.

‘All right, I’ll see you at eleven.’

He ended the call, put the phone on the kitchen worktop, and sighed heavily.

He never reacted well to pressure. He couldn’t handle situations that were out of his control. He wouldn’t be able control the judge’s verdict when he appeared in court. He couldn’t control Louise and her decision to leave. He hadn’t been able to control or understand her depression over the last year – a situation that had led him into an affair with his own wife’s sister. He refused to face circumstances that he couldn’t manipulate, so instead he distracted himself with other tasks, other thoughts, other women. Another thing he couldn’t control was his nightmares. They taunted him every night. He always woke up just as the prison cell door slammed shut.

I can’t go to prison. I can’t lose Louise. I can’t lose everything we’ve worked for. I can’t handle any of this.

He picked up the phone again and called a different number.

After three rings, Denise picked up.

‘Hi.’

‘I need to see you tonight,’ he said immediately.

‘Someone’s eager.’

‘Louise knows.’

Neither of them spoke for a moment; they listened to the sound of each other’s anxious breaths.

‘Is she still there?’ Denise asked.

‘She left. She packed a suitcase and left.’

‘Well, I think it’s safe to say she won’t be knocking on my door for a place to crash.’

‘She’ll go to the country house, I’m sure.’

‘So, what time tonight?’

Michael didn’t wonder how Denise could be so cold-hearted about breaking her own sister’s heart. He didn’t fear her ruthless nature. He didn’t think about her at all, other than what she could do for him – how she could distract him from what he couldn’t handle.

‘I’ll come by after work.’

‘I’ll get some champagne,’ she said.

‘Sure. Whatever. I’ve got to go.’

‘See you later.’

Champagne? To celebrate the breakdown of my marriage? Does she think our arrangement is something more meaningful? Does she think I belong to her now?

He shook the thought from his mind. He had enough to worry about, without adding Denise into the mix.

He just needed to distract himself. He just needed to forget.

THREE

Louise pulled up outside the country house, situated in the quaint village of Sinster in the Cotswolds. The stone exterior had aged with the many seasons it had withstood. The gutters were brimming with rotting autumn leaves and ivy crept up the left side of the house, leaching the life and colour from the stone. The trees surrounding the house had matured since her last visit and were casting shadows over the building with their extended, limb-like branches and the array of twigs that jutted from them like old, bony fingers; it was as though the neglected cottage was slowly surrendering itself to the woodland, ashamed of its dishevelled appearance.

The house had slowly begun to decay, just like their marriage. The ‘For Sale’ sign outside said it all: they were broke.

Louise looked up at the house and released a heavy sigh.

I’m forty-one years old and I’m about to lose my husband, my house, and everything I own.

She was exhausted. In twenty-four hours, she had had no sleep, had travelled from one side of the country to the other, and had watched as her world was ripped apart.

She lifted the suitcase out of the boot as the cold, damp wind played with her hair. She gathered the grocery bags from her stop mid-journey. Autumn leaves were dragged around violently by the forceful wind as she made her way up the garden path, longing to get inside and open her first bottle of wine. Halfway up the path she slipped on a damp tile. Her right heel dug into a crevice between two tiles and her ankle twisted violently as she slammed down to the ground. The bags landed on the grass and the wind coaxed their contents to roll from them and flitter across the wet lawn. Gusts of wind whistled and wailed in passing, almost as though they were laughing at her misfortune.

Her ankle was smarting, her hip ached, and a red mound was already forming on her forehead after her collision with the path. The suitcase slammed down on its back after a playful push from a passing blast of wind.

She held her ankle and groaned. Damp locks of blonde hair plastered her face, as she lay defeated on her side. Rain darted from the clouds to the ground, striking her like tiny slaps.

She began to cry where she lay, the rain soaking through her clothes and dripping from her skin and hair. Her sobs were almost silenced by the orchestra of the wind, the thrashing trees, and the noisy rush of the rain.

I deserve this, she thought. I deserve everything I get.

***

Louise inspected her ankle in front of the warm fireplace. Her ankle had swelled to twice the size of its twin, but hadn’t bruised.

She’d had to limp around the front lawn to collect her shopping. Wine bottles had muddied themselves in forgotten, overgrown flowerbeds; cigarette packets had flown into bushes and snuggled between the protective leaves; and frozen food had begun to defrost in the rain.

She sat before the fire with her hair still damp from her bath. She sipped at a glass of wine, lost in her thoughts. Her clothes spun violently in the washing machine behind the utility room door, which quaked and shuddered with the motion.

The ground floor of the cottage was small and open-plan. Fireplaces sat at each end of the cottage, one facing the living room, and the other facing the dining area; both glowed with crackling flames and rid the house of December chill.

Gigantic panes of glass sat side by side at the back of the house, looking out over the garden that was hidden in shadows.

Her phone had been ringing constantly. Brooke had called three times, Michael had called five times, and every one of the day’s clients had rung when their therapist’s door hadn’t been answered and their appointment had been ignored.

She couldn’t muster the courage to answer their calls, to apologise and reschedule. She needed to be alone, to be far away from other people and their concerns. She had her own problems. She couldn’t listen to another’s. But most of all, she couldn’t face her vulnerable clients while her whole world fell apart. Who was she to give advice on life, when she couldn’t even save her own?

When did you first come on to my husband, Denise? She thought, staring into the fire. When did you first touch him inappropriately? Kiss him? Strip off your clothes and open your legs for him?

A sharp pain stabbed at her chest whenever she thought of them together. When she imagined the pair naked and panting, grinding and coming, she had to fight the urge to retch.

Just when she thought her tear ducts had dried up and every drop of moisture had left her body, more tears fell when she was reminded of the treachery.

She took her eyes away from the fire, as if escaping a trance, and looked around the house, settling her eyes on the uncovered windows. Droplets of rain raced down the glass. The wind was still strong and ferocious; it attacked every tree and shrub it passed, pressed stray leaves against the windows, and cracked twigs and branches before discarding them on the ground.

Louise didn’t feel safe in the country. Not on her own.

In London she was surrounded by hundreds of people and copious sounds – the intrusive wail of ambulances as they raced through the night, cars rushing down nearby roads, and dogs barking from neighbouring gardens.

In the country, she was completely unshielded. The cottage was the only house down the secluded lane for at least half a mile. It led to an abandoned barn that had long been left to fall into decay. Dog walkers were known to follow the lane towards the range of hills and grassland behind the barn, which rolled out for miles; but no one else used the lane – not unless they were lost. There were no sirens to be heard, only the sound of the woodland: hooting owls, wailing vixens and, occasionally, the squeal of a rabbit as it became prey.

Louise looked out into the garden and stared into the darkness, as though someone was out there peering in. She got up from the sofa, left her wine glass on the side table and began to close the blinds. At each window, she peered out, trying to discern any prying eyes within the black canvas of the night.

She returned to the sofa with a tight, anxious chest.

That night. It’s driven you insane.

She rubbed her face, sighed heavily, and took a large gulp of wine.

That night destroyed your mind, your daughter, and has helped destroy your marriage.

Not a single day went by without her being reminded of that night. She would do anything to forget it, to go back in time and do things differently.

She downed the rest of the wine in the glass, and got up to pour another. She was going to drink until the pain eased, and her fear of the darkness subsided. She needed to forget – just for one night.

FOUR

Louise finished her first bottle of wine and began to wander in light, languid sways around the cottage, collecting all of the photo frames that held captured memories of Michael and Denise. She took them downstairs and opened a second bottle.

Sitting by the fire, with images of happier times littering her lap, she cut Michael and Denise out of the photos and placed them in a pile beside her; she put the rest of the photos – now marred by dark, Michael and Denise-shaped silhouettes – back into their frames. The wine eased the pain of her swollen ankle and had left her mind almost floating within the confines of her skull.

Louise looked down at the pile of photos and saw the various expressions from her husband and sister: some laughing, some funny faces they had pulled with the kids, Michael’s lips puckered to blow out the candles on the cake at his fortieth birthday party.

Her entire world had fallen apart, and all she wanted to do was jump through the cracks and disappear.

She had been depressed ever since that night and carried around disabling guilt that plagued her every thought. If she ever found herself smiling, the voice of shame crept from the shadows of her subconscious and said: You’re not allowed to be happy. Not after what you did.

Ever since that night, she had drunk every evening, just so she could sleep. She had returned to smoking, despite quitting when she was pregnant with Brooke. That night had affected everything in her life – her mental health, her marriage, her daughter, her work. She couldn’t listen to a client without thinking of her own problems in comparison, and hating herself when she did. She felt like a fraud: she was unable to sooth her own inner turmoil, yet gave advice to others to deal with their own.

She stood and winced from her injured ankle, and knelt before the fireplace. She took a cutting of Michael and held it between her fingertips. She scanned his handsome face, his beaming smile, and his eyes – which had always made her melt. She loathed him, yet craved him. She needed to be far away from him to heal after his betrayal, but needed him to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. She threw the cutting into the fire and watched as Michael’s face began to burn away. The fire ate his smile and the sparkle in his eyes: it devoured him until his entire face had turned to ash.

Louise took the piles of cuttings and threw all of them into the fire to perish. She watched the fire digest her memories.

Ever since that night, Louise had fantasised about taking her own life, freeing herself from the excruciating burden of guilt. She had chosen not to for the sake of her husband and children. As she watched the photos burn to ash, suicidal thoughts began to creep back into her mind.

Our marriage is over. I no longer have to stay for Michael.

Brooke would understand. She hates herself just as much as I hate myself. She is probably hanging on for the sake of our family.

What about Dominic? He’s young. Denise can be his new damn mother. She already has my husband, why not my son, too? He won’t miss me. I’m not the mother he used to know, the mother who was kind, doting, forever smiling – that woman is gone. He will be better off without me.

She struggled to her feet. The wine made her head spin and her thoughts scrambled. She staggered towards the front door, slipped into her boots and coat, and grabbed her keys.

If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. Louise left the house and slammed the door behind her. The sound echoed through the treetops as she made her way towards her car, swaying on unsteady legs and shivering from the molestation of the cold. She unlocked the car and slammed into the driver’s seat.

The tyres screeched as they pulled away. The car whipped through the small, dark village, drifting from one side of the road to the other. As she drove past the quaint cottages with their unlit windows, her conscience and her guilt began to battle over her fate.

You don’t deserve to live after what you did.

You can’t leave your children. You can’t be that selfish.

This is what you’ve wanted to do for an entire year. Now you finally have a chance to act.

You’re drunk. You’re upset. You’re not thinking straight.

Can you face another day? Can you face the fact that your sister stole your husband? That your marriage is over? That you’re soon to be penniless? Can you face what you did that night?

Louise drove out of the village and into the darkness of the night, engulfed by shadows and exhausted by her despair. She sped down every road, unsure how she was going to end her life and when. She considered letting go of the steering wheel and smashing into one of the trees by the roadside, hoping to be killed instantly by the impact, or rendered unconscious and thrown into a coma from which she would never wake.

She drove recklessly down unfamiliar roads, disorientated by the night, until she approached a bridge; she impulsively pulled to a stop in the middle of it, making the brakes squeal. After pulling up the handbrake, she turned off the engine and got out.

It was dark. The only light was that of the moon reflecting on the surface of the deep, wide river that passed beneath the bridge.

Louise stood at the edge of the bridge, her hands on the ice-cold metal barrier, and breathed the fresh air into her lungs. The chill of the wind that stalked the flowing river stung her face.

Here. I’ll do it here. Tonight I will set myself free.

She placed a trembling leg over the barrier and fumbled to rest her foot on the narrow ledge on the other side, before sliding her body over the cold metal. Her heart was pounding in protest, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She rested the tips of her feet on the ledge, facing her car on the bridge, and mustered the courage to turn around. She released her grip on the metal rail with her left hand and pushed it out behind her as she turned on her feet, twisting and turning her body over the drop of the fall. Her left hand clasped the metal bar on the other side of her. She looked out, facing the river and the drop below. The full moon watched her intently from the sky.

As she gazed down at the long fall and the rocks protruding menacingly from the flowing ice-cold water, she began to cry with overwhelming fear; she wondered how much pain she would have to feel before she was freed from this life forever.

FIVE

Brooke unlocked the drinks cabinet in the grand living room and grabbed her father’s favourite bottle of whisky.

You cheated on Mum, she thought as she checked the label, making sure it was his most expensive, beloved bottle. The least you deserve is to have your favourite whisky taken from you.

Brooke wanted to go outside and drag her house key up and down the paintwork of her father’s car with vengeful glee, but it wasn’t in front of the house; it would be outside Denise’s flat, where he was probably distracting himself between her legs.

Brooke made her way downstairs and fixed herself a strong whisky and Coke with two cubes of ice. She headed outside into the courtyard, sat at the table on the patio, and lit a cigarette.

The air was cold enough to make her body shiver and her teeth chatter; even the smoke escaping her lips emerged in clipped, quivering billows.

Where are you, Mum?

She had called her mother three times. All she had been able to think about that day was her parents fighting all night long, her mother leaving, and her lack of sleep, which had caused her to nod off in several of her sixth-form lessons.

She took a drag on the cigarette and two large gulps of whisky, which was strong enough to make her eyes water.

She thought back to some of the things she had overheard her parents yelling the night before.

You’re a despicable excuse of a man! How can you even try to justify sleeping with my sister?

You’ve been impossible for the past year. It’s like my wife’s died and been replaced by a crazed woman who wakes up screaming in the night. You have so many secrets it’s difficult to keep up with them. I thought you were having an affair!

Don’t be ridiculous. I could never be that cold-hearted. Would that make you feel better? If I went and jumped into bed with your brother? Would that even the score?

Don’t change the subject. You’re always trying to get out of talking about your secrets. What the hell has happened to my wife? What bloody happened that night?

Brooke knocked back her drink and the strength of the whisky made her grimace. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of London: police sirens, car horns, the distant chatter from nearby streets. Even the sounds of her favourite city couldn’t distract her from her life.

This is my fault.

Her mind strayed to the night that changed her life forever; the night that brought her and her mother closer than ever. She smoked the cigarette to the filter, which shook between her fingers.

Her mother had always been the strong one, especially since that night. I just need you to tell me everything will be okay, Mum. She took her phone from her pocket and called her mother.

SIX

Louise stood on the narrow ledge of the bridge.

She was so drunk that she wondered how much longer she would be able to stand. Maybe the alcohol would cause her to slip from the ledge so she wouldn’t have to jump. Tears blurred her vision, but she could still see the moon’s rays lighting up the river’s choppy surface. The wind cooled the tears on her face and bit at her exposed skin. Her pyjama bottoms dance wildly in the wind and, beneath her coat, she felt sweat trickling from her armpits. Her boots felt too large for the ledge, which only allowed for the heel of each boot to rest upon it. Her hands gripped the railing so tightly that her fingers and knuckles turned white. She didn’t know how she would build up the courage to let go. She darted her head from left to right, terrified that a car would emerge from the darkness and head for the bridge – that the driver would see her and try to stop her.

This is your only chance. Do it now.

Think of your children. They are at home waiting for you to return.

You can’t go back. Your life has been destroyed.

Can you really abandon your children?

Can you really live another day?

Despite the conflicting arguments inside her mind, she had never felt so much clarity in all her life. She couldn’t continue living a lie, in the shadow of that night. She couldn’t live with the guilt of what she had done, while trying to piece back together her shattered reality. She had to escape. She had to die tonight.

Louise took a deep, rattling breath and began to loosen her grip on the railing. She inched forwards, her hands slipping from the railing bit by bit, until her fingertips were the only parts of her keeping her from plummeting to her death into the freezing waters below.

Her phone began to vibrate inside her coat pocket. She jolted and snatched onto the railing with a firmer grip. Her injured foot slipped from the ledge, taking the other with it, and threw her downwards, screaming. Her hands slipped from the railing. She gripped the ledge where her feet had been, breathing in frantic gasps as her feet scrambled against the side of the bridge. Her phone continued to vibrate in her pocket as she dangled above the drop and her shrieks echoed in the darkness.

It was as though every drop of alcohol had evaporated from her body. Her once hungry need for death disappeared into the back of her mind as her instinct to survive overwhelmed her. She whimpered as she struggled to drag herself up, while the wind pushed against her from one side and then the other. She grabbed the railing with one hand, and then the other; her grip immediately began to moisten with terrified sweat. All she was aware of was the sound of the water as it rushed under the bridge and flowed around the sharp rocks that jutted out of the water like glistening teeth, waiting to devour her when she fell.

Louise threw all of her energy into the climb: the muscles in her arms burned from the strain. She managed to secure one foot on the ledge and pulled herself up. She clawed her way up the metal barrier and, with both feet back on the ledge, frantically gripped onto the railing, begging her feet not to slip again. She climbed over the railing, shaking violently, and fell onto the road on the other side. She lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, taking in each gulp of air as though it was the best thing in the entire world. She looked up at the star-filled sky and allowed her heart to slowly calm.

The vibrating started again.

With a jittering hand, Louise retrieved the phone from her coat pocket and held it above her.

On the screen was a photo of Brooke, blonde and smiling.

She looked at the photo of her daughter and took in her beautiful smile and haunted eyes. She immediately answered.

‘Hello!’

‘Where have you been?’ Brooke asked. ‘I’ve been calling you all day.’

You have no idea, Brooke.

‘I’m at the country house,’ she replied, breathlessly.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘How long are you going to stay there – at the country house?’

‘I don’t know, Brooke,’ she replied, flustered. ‘I need to have some time alone.’

‘I get it. I just… I miss you. We all miss you.’ Louise closed her eyes, overcome by guilt.

‘Is your dad there?’