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Back Cut to the Bone
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for Cut to the Bone
  3. About the Author
  4. Also by Roz Watkins
  5. Note to Readers
  6. Dedication
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. Extract
  67. Prologue
  68. Chapter 1
  69. Author’s note
  70. Acknowledgements
  71. About the Publisher

Daniel had left a pale pink towel folded neatly on the side of the bath. She dried her hair and realised that, contrary to Daniel’s fears, this experience had made her think more of him rather than less.

She stepped out onto the little square of landing. Voices drifted up from below. The two doors on her right were firmly closed.

She took a tentative step forward. A floorboard creaked and she hesitated. But she needed to see what his room was like. She knew it was silly, but she felt like his room would show her what kind of person he was. Whether his questions earlier had been well-intentioned, or if he’d been trying to needle her.

She wanted to know if his room was neat and organised, a haven against the chaos around him. What books he had, what posters on the wall. Maybe there’d be some drawings he’d done. She could imagine him doing drawings. She hoped there wouldn’t be that poster of the woman playing tennis with her bottom out.

She carefully twisted the handle and pushed the door open. Poked her head into the room.

It was tidy, the single bed covered in a smooth duvet in a plain black cover, the floor clear, and a few clothes piled neatly on a chair in the corner. And there was a picture on the wall, right by his bed. She took a step closer to it.

She froze.

It was a photograph. A face, zoomed in, blown up large.

Bex shot from the room, pulled the door shut behind her, and ran back into the bathroom, her heart pounding.

The photograph on Daniel’s bedroom wall, right by his bed, was of her.

16

Meg – Present day

Tuesday

Leona O’Brien, head of the Animal Vigilantes, sat opposite Fiona and me in the interview room. She was black, petite, and well-groomed – not your stereotype of an animal rights activist. If I hadn’t seen videos of her in a meat-pattern boiler suit scaling the walls of factory farms, I’d never have believed it.

The clue to Leona’s beliefs was in her T-shirt, which was pink with bold white lettering. If you want to know where you would have stood on slavery before the Civil War, don’t look at where you stand on slavery today. Look at where you stand on animal rights.

She had the attitude of someone waiting for a routine dental appointment. Been here before, will be here again, it’s not pleasant so let’s get it over with, shall we?