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Back Day of the Accident
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. What readers are saying about
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. Part One
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. Part Two
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. Part Three
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. 54
  64. 55
  65. 56
  66. 57
  67. 58
  68. Epilogue
  69. Acknowledgements
  70. THE NEXT THRILLER BY NUALA ELLWOOD
  71. THE BEGINNING
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Part Two

33

Saturday 5 August

I’m with Ben. We’re down by the river. It’s hot, stiflingly hot. He kisses me. I tell him to stop. We shouldn’t be doing this. ‘Come on, Maggie, for old time’s sake,’ he whispers. And I relent. Like I always do.

I open my eyes and the dream dissolves.

Then slowly, like a rash creeping across my body, the revelations of the previous night come back to me. Sean. The diary.

I turn on my side, trying to stem the images that are multiplying in my head. Elspeth lying in the morgue, her face battered and bruised. Dr Elms said she wouldn’t have felt a thing, but how does he know? It kills me to think that she could have been in pain before she died and that I couldn’t get to her. Her fear. Her panic.

Is Sean right? Was I responsible?

I lean across the bed, my head thick with sleep, and take the diary from the bedside table. I read the last page over and over, the venom of Sean’s words penetrating my skin. They gave me your phone.

And in that moment, I remember something. Ben. He had been back in touch. I’d spoken to him on the phone, the day before the accident.

I sit up straight, my heart thudding against my chest as bit by bit it comes back to me.

The conversation was brief, and I was defensive and wary. He said he was sorry, that he felt guilty. What we did was bad, he said, but it’s time we forgive ourselves. When the call ended I felt strange, like I’d just been winded.

I put the diary back on the table, my hands shaking. What was on that phone? Had Ben sent messages too? What exactly did Sean find out?

Then my phone starts to ring. I stare at it for a moment, too scared to answer. But it could be important. I reach over and pick it up.

‘Hello.’

‘Oh hello, is that Miss Nielssen?’

‘Sorry?’ I say, my skin prickling. ‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Sharon Jarvis from Kingsland Farley. My colleague asked me to give you a call. You were enquiring about one of our properties?’

‘Oh,’ I say, remembering the estate agent. ‘Yes, thank you for calling but actually my name is not Nielssen. It’s Maggie Allan. Sean Allan’s wife.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, my colleague said your name was Freya Nielssen. She must have got mixed up.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say.

‘It’s about Larkfields, is that right?’

‘Yes,’ I say, pulling the covers up.

‘Well, I’m glad you called,’ says Sharon. ‘Because we have a key fob here with your name on it but we had no number to call you on.’

‘My name?’

‘Yes, Maggie Allan?’

‘On a key fob?’