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A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Sue Fortin 2016
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover Design by Books Covered
Sue Fortin asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for 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.
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and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
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Ebook Edition © April 2016 ISBN: 9780008194840
Version 2019-03-27
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
PART 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
PART 2
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
PART 3
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
EPILOGUE
Author Note
Acknowledgements
Book Club Questions
A Q&A with Sue Fortin
Also by Sue Fortin
About the Author
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
For my mum and my daughters, with my eternal love.
PART 1
‘I can’t go back to yesterday – I was a different person then.’
Lewis Carroll
Chapter 1
London, England
This is the moment I’ve been dreading. It’s time for me to go back. I play with the Triskelion pendant around my neck, my finger rubbing each of the three edges in turn. Father. Mother. Child. I read the email once again.
From: Roisin Marshall
To: Erin Hurley
Subject: Meeting Up
Hello Erin
You can’t keep ignoring me. I’m sure you never really thought you could walk away from everyone and everything.
I have something that might interest you.
Call me.
Roisin
My finger hovers over the reply key. For a fleeting moment I consider deleting the message. If I ignore it, she may go away. She may give up. I sit back in my chair and let out a long, slow breath. The anxiety that has lain dormant for all this time, having now been stirred, stretches its hand, grips tightly and twists my stomach. No matter how many times I have anticipated this moment, prepared myself to confront my past, right now, it’s insufficient.
‘Aha! Caught you.’ A voice from behind startles me. Somehow I manage to click on the inbox icon, clearing the screen of the email. I plaster on a smile and spin round in my chair to face Ed.
‘You made me jump,’ I say, noting that I sound overly cheerful. ‘How long have you been there?’ My mind replays the last few minutes. How long had I been staring at the email? How long was it visible on the screen? Could Ed have read it from where he was standing?
Ed gives a small laugh. ‘What are you trying to hide?’
I know he’s only joking but he has no idea how true his words are.
‘Now, it wouldn’t do for a girl to tell her boss and her boyfriend all her secrets, would it?’ My turn to laugh. It sounds forced. Ed cocks his head to one side, weighing me up.
The phone on my desk rings and I offer a silent prayer of thanks that I am saved from having to continue the conversation.
‘Good afternoon, Hamilton’s Health and Beauty Spa.’ I glance back up at Ed, who winks before returning to his office.
The immediate danger has passed, but the ever-present fear remains, which only serves to convince me I must do something about it. I cannot afford to let chance or luck, bad luck even, take control. I can afford even less to let my old school friend be in charge.
I turn my attention to the call and quickly deal with booking an appointment for a back massage. Replacing the phone in its cradle, I peek back through to Ed’s office.
He’s busy looking at his computer screen. I return to mine, calling up Roisin’s email again. Instead of replying, I forward it onto my own private email address. One I will have to sacrifice giving to her. I don’t want her trying to contact me at work again. I check my phone and see the email has been received. Next job is to delete the email coming in and going out of the work computer. I know there will be some sort of cyber-footprint, but no one will be looking for that.
It takes less than a minute to carry out, just in time as my next client arrives for her full leg wax. ‘I won’t be a moment,’ I tell her as I double-check that all traces of the email have been eradicated.
For the rest of the day, try as I might, I can’t put the email and Roisin out of my mind. Up until now, I’ve been pretty good at ignoring her. Naively, knowing Roisin, I had hoped she would go away if I didn’t reply. That she would give up. Her first email had been unthreatening. The sort you’d send to someone you hadn’t been in contact with for a long time. The second, thinking back, had a more insistent tone. And now the third, well, she’s certainly not going away and the bait she’s dangling, the something that might interest me, how can I ignore that? Not after what I’ve done.
The day slowly comes to a close and as I’m tidying up and checking the diary for tomorrow’s clients, the telephone rings. I let out a sigh, hoping it’s a straightforward query.
‘Good afternoon, Hamilton’s Health and Beauty Spa,’ I reel off automatically. ‘How can I help you?’ There’s silence, but I know someone is there. I can hear their breath. ‘Hello,’ I repeat. ‘Can I help you?’ A bead of sweat pricks the skin at the back of my neck and my mouth dries. I know who it is before they speak.
‘Hello, Erin,’ she says. ‘It’s me. Roisin.’ The soft roll of her country accent seeps out of the receiver, winding itself into my ear.
I haven’t much of my Irish accent left any more. Ten years has seen it dwindle and I’ve never had any particular desire to hang onto it. In the early days of our relationship, Ed used to mock it, which just served as another reason to leave it behind. Another connection with my past that I don’t want. I adopt my best English accent as I reply.
‘No. Sorry. You have the wrong number.’ I can’t speak to her. Not now. Not at work.
‘Oh, I don’t think I have,’ she replies. I can hear amusement in her voice. It’s the same patronising voice I remember from when we were at school. ‘And before you hang up, you might want to listen to what I have to say.’
I look up towards Ed’s door. It’s closed. The frosted glass blurs his outline, but I can see him there, sitting at his desk.
‘What do you want?’ My voice is low, almost a whisper. I hope she can’t detect the undercurrent of fear.
‘We need to talk,’ says Roisin. ‘Oh, and you can drop the accent.’
‘What do you want?’ I repeat, ignoring the snipe.
‘If you hadn’t ignored my emails, you would know.’ She’s enjoying this, I can just tell. It reminds me of when we were kids. She loved being in control then, whether it was as five-year-olds in the playground, twelve-year-olds listening to music or teenagers deciding what to wear for a party. It always had to be on Roisin’s terms. And I’d let her. She was pretty, she was popular, she was rich, she was all the things I wasn’t. She used to tease me then and she’s doing it now. Except, I’m not the same person as I was then. A little flicker of defiance ignites within me.
‘Look, Roisin,’ I say. Perhaps if I stand up to her now, like I should have done all those times before, I can call her bluff. ‘Whatever it is you want to talk about, spit it out. I haven’t got all day. I’m about to go home.’
‘Don’t go getting yourself all worked up now, Erin,’ says Roisin. ‘I’ve found something of yours.’
‘What’s that, then?’ I can’t for one minute think what it is and for that reason the unease shifts up a gear.
‘A photograph.’ She pauses for effect. It works. Then she continues. ‘A photograph of you and Niall.’
‘Roisin, can you get to the point,’ I say, noticing through the glass that Ed is standing up, getting ready to leave.
‘I tell you what, I’ll scan it and email it over to you.’
I hold in the sigh of exasperation. I don’t want her to know I’m riled. I can see Ed putting on his jacket. Any minute now he’ll be out of the office and waiting to take me for a drink. Neither of us has work tomorrow, so we had planned an evening out, which usually meant my staying over at his place.
I need to get Roisin off the phone. ‘Don’t email my work. Send it to my private email.’ I quickly rattle off the address.
‘Make sure you get back to me,’ says Roisin. ‘We need that talk.’
I put the phone down without answering just as Ed walks out of his office, his sports holdall in one hand and car keys jangling in the other.
‘All set, then?’ he says.
‘Erm, I’m not feeling too well,’ I say, not quite able to meet his eyes. ‘I feel a bit sick.’ That’s not actually a lie. I feel queasy at the thought of what Roisin is sending me.
‘That’s not like you,’ says Ed. ‘We can go straight to mine, if you like. Skip dinner.’
I smile at him. ‘To be honest, I think I’d better go home.’ Again that’s no lie. ‘I don’t think I’d be much company tonight.’ I pick up my bag and take my coat from the peg. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hey, that’s okay,’ says Ed. ‘Are you going to be okay to drive or do you want me to drop you home?’
‘I’ll drive. I’ll be fine.’
‘Text me when you’re home,’ he says. He gives me a hug and drops a kiss on top of my head. ‘I’ll give Ralph a call and see if he fancies a pint. Now, drive carefully and don’t forget to text.’ He’s scrolling through his contacts list and calling up Ralph before he’s even out the door. ‘Ralph, mate! What you up to tonight?’ And then he’s disappearing out of the door.
When I get back to the house, where I rent two rooms on the top floor, I call out a quick hello in the hallway and then head straight up. I hear Stacey, one of the house-sharers, call out a greeting. She rents the room at the front of the house. We’re friendly, but not friends. Same for the guy who rents the middle floor. I’m not even sure what he does, but he keeps himself to himself. We each do our own thing. I like it that way. Everyone at arm’s length.
I unlock the door at the top of the second staircase and step into my own bastion of safety. I make myself a cup of green tea and sit down in front of the laptop. I notice my hand shakes slightly as I move the mouse around on the pad and access my emails.
Roisin didn’t waste any time. Her email is sitting there in the inbox. The paperclip icon indicating an attachment.
I take a deep breath and open the email.
Call me by six o’clock this evening or you’ll be sorry. Last chance.
Her mobile number is typed below. I move the cursor to the attachment. It’s a jpeg. I double-click and wait for the image to download.
It takes only a matter of seconds.
My stomach lurches and for a second I think I’m going to be sick.
‘Oh God, no.’ I drag at my face with my hands, rubbing my eyes as if I can rub away what I’ve just seen. But I can’t.
There in front of me, filling the screen, is a picture of myself and Niall Marshall. Any other picture and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, but this one… Where the hell did she find it? I had totally forgotten about it.
Somewhere in the distance I hear the doorbell ring, followed by footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. I don’t fully register this or my name being called until there is a rapping of knuckles on the door.
I jump in my seat, knocking the cup of green tea flying. The earthy-coloured liquid performs a jump only physics could explain and cascades across the keyboard of my laptop.
‘Erin? Erin? You there?’ Ed is knocking on the door.
For a moment I’m paralysed as I stare at the door and then back at the laptop. ‘Erin!’ He’s more insistent and there’s a note of agitation in his voice. ‘Are you okay?’ He bangs harder on the door.
Adrenalin kicks in and I grab the laptop, turning it upside down, hoping the tea hasn’t reached the vital components. ‘Won’t be a minute!’ I call out. I rush through to the bedroom and into the small en suite. Grabbing a towel, I wipe at the keyboard.
‘Erin!’ He’s definitely gone past the agitated stage now.
I stand the laptop upside down, like a tent and hope it’s enough to save it from permanent damage. ‘I’m coming!’ As I bustle past the table, I upright the offending cup and throw a tea towel on the table to soak up the remains of the tea. Unfortunately, most of it seems to have gone on the laptop.
When I open the door, Ed is standing there, his face taking on a pink tinge. His mouth is set in a firm line and there’s the familiar crease between his eyebrows he gets when he’s annoyed.
‘I was just about the break the door down,’ he says.
‘Sorry, I was in the bathroom.’ I step back so he can come in. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were going out with Ralph.’
‘Yeah, well, Ralph is busy,’ he says. ‘I wanted to check on you anyway. Come back to mine if you’re not well. It’s much nicer than here.’ He waves his hand around with disdain. Ed has never made any secret of what he thinks of my living accommodation. It couldn’t be more different from his plush bachelor pad on the fourteenth floor with views of the Thames.
‘I’m okay here,’ I reply. I think of the laptop in the bathroom and check my watch. Thirty minutes until Roisin’s deadline.
‘Don’t be daft,’ says Ed. ‘I insist. Come back to mine.’
‘I just want to go to bed.’
‘Perfect. You can go to bed in much more comfortable surroundings than this.’
‘No, I mean here. I just want to go to bed here.’
‘Really, Erin, you’re so stubborn at times.’ The note of irritation is back. He picks up my jacket and handbag. ‘And silly. Now come on.’
I feel like a child as he ushers me out of the door. ‘My stuff,’ I say in a final act of protest.
‘Your overnight bag is still in my car. You put it in there this morning. Remember?’
He’s right. I did put it in the boot of his car earlier. I could kick myself. I glance at the clock. Twenty-five minutes to the deadline. Even if we get through the rush-hour traffic and to Ed’s apartment by six, there’s no way I can make a phone call to Roisin. Not with Ed there. I’ll have to nip to the loo and text her that I’ll call tomorrow. Hopefully that will hold her off from whatever it is she has planned.
County Cork, Ireland
Kerry wiped the petrol tank of the Yamaha with the polishing cloth. It looked good. His latest commission was to spray-paint an image of the human rib cage down the centre of the black tank and pop in a few mini skulls sitting on the rib bones. Unusual, but effective. He liked the less-than-ordinary private jobs he got in. Bike mechanics might be his trade but spray-paint artwork was his passion. A bike tattooist, if you like.
Draping a soft cloth over the tank to protect it, Kerry checked his watch. It was after six. He should call it a day soon. His cousin, Joe, had already finished and Max, Joe’s dad and owner of the workshop, wasn’t in today. That had given Kerry time to get the paint job finished.
Locking up behind him, Kerry left by the rear of the workshop. He only lived in the flat above but he wanted a quick smoke before he went up. Despite it being the middle of May, the day had been a particularly wet and dreary one. Kerry gave a little shiver, the sea breeze drifting in from the Irish Sea chilling his arms. He rolled a cigarette and, standing on the path, he looked across the High Street and to the service road opposite, which ran behind the parade of shops.
He saw something. At first he thought it was a pile of black bin bags that hadn’t been put in the commercial wheelie bins, but as he took a draw on his roll-up and looked closer, he realised it was someone kneeling down, bent over something. Or rather someone.
The person kneeling raised their head and flicked their hand towards the end of the service road. Then, as if sensing they were being watched, turned to look over their shoulder at Kerry.
‘What the…?’ said Kerry, instantly recognising Marie Hurley, not least because of her distinctive bobbed auburn hair.
She jumped to her feet and began running towards him. ‘Kerry! Kerry!’ she shouted. ‘Help me. Please.’
Kerry chucked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and dived across the road. He caught Marie as she bundled into him in a blind panic.
‘It’s okay, Mrs Hurley,’ said Kerry, holding onto the tops of her arms. ‘Mrs Hurley. What’s wrong?’
She looked up at him. Her face was paler than normal, if that was possible. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘It’s Jim,’ she said. ‘He’s had a fall or something.’ She pulled away from Kerry and then, taking hold of his forearm, started dragging him back down the service road. ‘He’s bleeding. Come quickly.’
Jim Hurley was indeed bleeding, badly. A dark crimson pool of blood was leaking out from under the back of his head. One of his arms was twisted underneath his body, which was sprawled flat out on the tarmac.
Kerry snatched his mobile from his pocket and dialled the emergency services.
‘Get a blanket and some towels,’ he instructed Marie, while he waited for his call to connect. He reached over and tried to locate a pulse in the man’s neck. It was there. Weak, but there.
The operator answered the call and after a few minutes’ exchanging information and advising on basic first aid, she assured Kerry the ambulance was on its way. Marie reappeared with a blanket.
‘Is he going to be okay?’ she asked as Kerry draped the pink candlewick bedspread over Jim’s body.
‘The ambulance will be here soon,’ said Kerry. He had no idea if Jim was going to be all right. He bundled the towel up and placed it at the side of Jim’s head.
‘If you can’t see where the wound is, then don’t move him,’ the operator instructed. ‘He might have spinal-cord injuries. Wait for the medics. Keep the towels either side of his head to stabilise him.’
‘I think I can see part of the wound,’ said Kerry. ‘It’s right at the back of his head. It looks pretty deep.’
‘Just leave the towel there. Don’t apply pressure. You could end up causing more damage.’
Kerry was no doctor but the trickle of blood from Jim’s ear that appeared didn’t look good to him. Marie was standing over her husband, looking down on him in a trance-like state. She was probably in shock.
‘It’s okay, Mrs Hurley. Come and kneel down. Hold his hand,’ said Kerry. Marie glanced around. ‘The ambulance will be here very soon. Come on, now.’ Marie nodded and, kneeling down, she took Jim’s hand, making soothing noises and offering reassuring words. Kerry suspected this was as much for her own benefit as for her husband’s.
Jim’s breathing was becoming shallower with each beat of his heart. Kerry willed the ambulance to get a move on. Rossway village was a bit out of the way, ten miles south from Cork itself on the Irish coast and the roads were twisty and narrow. Not exactly the easiest of routes to be throwing an ambulance around.
The sound of an empty bottle being knocked and rolling across the road made Kerry look up. He thought he saw something move in the shadows of the evening sun. A cat jumped out from behind one of the wheelie bins, trotted across the road and then sprang up onto the fence before disappearing into the grounds of the doctor’s surgery.
A thought broke into Kerry’s consciousness. The doctor’s surgery. Why didn’t he think of that before? He looked at the building. It was in darkness. He dismissed the small beacon of hope with his next thought. Half an hour earlier and one of the doctors might still have been there. Now, though, they would all have gone home. As far as he was aware, neither of the GPs lived in Rossway. It wasn’t as if he could get one of them here to help. There was, of course, Diana Marshall. She used to be the local GP, but he dismissed the idea pretty much straight away as well. She lived on the edge of the village. It would take over ten minutes to get there and back. The ambulance would be here by then. Besides, he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t have been drinking tonight. From what Roisin had told him in the past, her mother more than liked her sherry.