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Back Cut to the Bone Save as PDF
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

‘She was too busy looking after us, wasn’t she, Dad? We should let her live her own life now. Do things she cares about.’

He sighed and looked strangely forlorn. ‘I’m worried she’s going to get into trouble. But okay, I won’t contact her. I could do a spot of gardening for you?’

I looked out of the window. The unkillable shrubs that I’d planted the previous year were thriving, but the rest of the place was more wildlife safe-zone than garden. I shrugged. ‘All right. If you fancy it. There are tools in the shed.’

‘I worry about your mother,’ he said again, prompting me to wonder if he still loved her, deep down. ‘What if she never comes back?’

My phone buzzed. I fished it out. A message from Jai: Have you seen Justice for Violet FB page?

23

I left Dad moping at the kitchen table and walked out of the house into another day that belonged on a Greek island, with me in a tummy-control swimsuit by the pool, sipping a mojito. My Wi-Fi had been playing up and I’d not been able to see Facebook via the terrible Belper mobile phone signal, so I was keen to get into work and see what Jai had meant about the Justice for Violet page.

I clicked open the car and shoved my bag in. A noise behind me. I looked round. Was it Hamlet? It sounded like a baby crying. I pushed the car door shut and stood very still. Definitely a baby, not Hamlet, and it sounded as if it was coming from the patch of scrubland by the railway.

I locked the car and walked towards the noise. A baby crying from within a house was common enough, but I didn’t expect one to be bawling from the direction of the railway, especially this early. I followed a route which was clearly popular with incontinent dogs. The crying was getting louder.

And then I saw it. My breathing quickened. A Moses basket.

I ran towards it.

Someone grabbed me. I spun round. A man had hold of my wrist. A man in a black balaclava.

‘Get the fuck off me!’ I shouted.

Another man grabbed my other wrist. I kicked at his knees, but he didn’t let go.

There were four of them in total. All in black, and wearing balaclavas and leather gloves. One of them had a knife. ‘Don’t scream,’ he said. ‘If you keep quiet, we won’t hurt you.’

What an idiot I was. Falling for the crying baby. Not exactly original. The crying had stopped.