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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

38

Sunday 6 August

I can hear the faint noise of the radio trickling along the hallway. Sonia is here. She’s spent the whole morning in the kitchen making various soups and stews to put in the freezer. The smell of garlic and frying onions wafts through the air. It’s a comforting, homely smell, but it only serves to make me feel more alone as I lie here in this borrowed bed. All I can think about is Elspeth’s poem, its heartbreaking description of home and the glaring truth that she had written it as a way to get my attention. If I could go back in time I would rip up every book I ever bought, destroy every note, every document, because it was my reliance on them and my need to be validated as an intelligent person rather than someone who flunked their exams and worked in dead-end jobs for years that destroyed the greatest gift of all: being a mother to Elspeth. That little girl had drifted in and out of my life like a feather on the breeze and I should have scooped her in my arms, brought her down to earth, taken notice of her instead of locking myself away.

And now it’s too late.

I turn over and look at the rust-coloured curtains that hang either side of the bedroom window. There’s a brown stain on the bottom corner. ‘Never let your iron overheat or you’ll burn right through the fabric.’ My mother’s voice drifts down the decades, though I never ironed curtains – I never ironed anything, I was much too busy. Or at least that’s what I told myself. Outside I hear a car door slam then footsteps making their way up the path. The doorbell rings and I sit up in the bed.

‘Just coming,’ calls Sonia, clattering a pot down on the kitchen counter.

She opens the front door and I hear Julia’s voice, asking how I am.

I run my hand through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to tidy myself up then give up. Julia is a doctor. She regularly sees people at their very worst. Why should I be any different?

‘She’s just down here.’

Sonia’s voice echoes along the corridor. My bedroom door opens and she peeks in and smiles.

‘Oh, good, you’re awake,’ she says gently. ‘Dr Mathers is here. Shall I send her in?’

I nod my head then pull the covers up to my chest. I hear Sonia whispering outside, then after a few moments Julia comes into the room.