Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
‘I’m quick to grab the glory when things go well. Got to hold your hands up when it all goes shit-shape. M62 in the rain for me now. Thanks for listening, everyone. And the best of fucking British.’
16
4.03 pm
When Eve Clay stepped outside her house on Mersey Road, she looked down the road in the direction of the river and was sucked into the recent past. She estimated that the place where Annie Boyd’s body had been discovered was a seven-minute walk from her front door.
‘Mum!’ Her son Philip’s voice came from the open doorway of their home, snapping her back into the present. ‘It’s freezing. Brrrhhhh! Come in.’
As she walked up the path, she smiled at Philip, who suddenly appeared much older than the pictures she carried of him in her head when they were apart.
‘Are you tired, Mummy?’
You’ve got a point, Philip, she thought, as she headed in his direction. Maybe fatigue’s playing tricks on my imagination.
‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you, love?’ she replied as she followed him into the house, shutting the door after herself.
‘How do you mean?’ he asked.
‘What I mean is for a six-year-old, you’re very grown-up in the things you say. Like a much older boy.’
From the kitchen, she heard a kettle whistling and her husband, Thomas, call, ‘Tea or coffee, Eve?’
Before she could answer, Philip chipped in, ‘Tea, please, Dad.’
‘The same for me, Thomas.’
He’s drinking tea now? She asked the question in silence and the element of surprise hit her beneath her skin.
Eve Clay followed her son into the living room and sat next to him on the sofa.
‘So, how long have you been drinking tea?’ she asked.
‘I made a cup…’
‘You made a cup of tea?’
‘I’m a big boy. I can handle a kettle. I made a cup of tea for Dad. Dad watched me. When his tea was cooler, I asked if I could have a sip. I liked it. So I made another cup for me. We sat and had a cup of tea together.’
Clay smiled but the weight of another missed milestone in her son’s journey sank inside her.
‘I think I know why you’ve got such a sad face on you, Mum.’
She smiled at him and said, ‘I’m not sad. I’m having a short break at home with you and that dad of yours. I’m not sad, love. Tired, maybe. That’s all.’
‘Well, OK, you say you’re not sad but it was on the radio, Radio Merseyside, about the dead woman found on the river. Are you chasing the baddie?’
‘I’m the Senior Investigating Officer, so yes, Philip, I’m very much involved.’
‘Is that why you were staring down to the river just now?’
‘I was just working something out.’