Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- Forty-seven
- Forty-eight
- Forty-nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-one
- Acknowledgements
- An Eastbourne Murder Mystery
- Canelo Crime
- About the Author
- Also by Sheila Bugler
When she found out that he wasn’t coming back, she’d blamed herself. And hadn’t stopped blaming herself in the years that followed. The guilt she already felt about Kitty intensified to include guilt at letting her father leave. Until, eventually, guilt became the thing that defined her. Something she couldn’t escape, no matter how hard she tried or how many glasses of wine she drank to block it out.
She had spent so much time wishing she could find her father one day and apologise. Maybe now that moment had finally arrived. Emer lifted her hand and knocked on the door.
Inside the flat, the voices from the TV or radio stopped. She waited for him to come and open the door, but nothing happened. She knocked again.
‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Dad?’
At first, she thought he wasn’t going to respond. But then she heard the shuffle of his feet, getting closer. She held her breath, listening to the rattle of the door being unlocked. Time stood still as she waited until, eventually, light from the flat flooded into the dark hallway as the door slowly started to open.
Thirty-one
It wasn’t him. She knew right away, but the knowledge – followed by the sharp stab of disappointment – took a moment to sink in.
‘Can I help you?’ He peered at her through the gap in the open door. A tall man, stooped over and old before his time. White hair that stuck out at odd angles, skin that looked like dried-out paper, and a face made for regrets.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I must have got the wrong flat.’
She turned to go, but he called her back.
‘Wait a moment.’ He stepped into the hallway and came closer. So close she could smell him – stale sweat and old clothes. He wasn’t her father, this strange, broken man. She should have been pleased, but she wasn’t. She was heartbroken. It was only now, standing here in this dark corridor, that she realised how much she’d let herself believe she’d find him today.
‘I know why you’re here,’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
‘You’re looking for Annie.’
‘How do you know that?’
He smiled. But even his smile was sad.
‘Isn’t it obvious? When I opened the door and saw you, I thought for a second you were her.’
Tears pricked her eyes. She wiped them away, but more tears came and suddenly she was properly crying.
He put a trembling hand on her arm.
‘You won’t find her. I’m sorry, love. But Annie’s gone. You’re too late.’
‘Where is she?’ she said, between sobs. ‘I just want to see her and know she’s okay. Is that such a bad thing?’
‘Here. Take this.’
He pulled a filthy-looking handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and held it out for her.