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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

49

Friday 11 August

Golden light trickles through the open curtains. It’s morning now and I’m still holding Elspeth’s cardigan. Though it no longer has her smell, it still retains her shape. I spread it out on the bed in front of me and as I lie looking at it I see her, standing in the driveway at Larkfields. She has her hair tied back in a plait and she’s holding a Hello Kitty lunch box in her hands.

‘Come on, Mummy,’ she says impatiently. ‘We can’t be late. Not on the first day.’

‘I just want to take a photograph of you so we can text it to Daddy,’ I say, holding my phone out in front of me. ‘I want to show him how grown up you look now you’re Year Five.’

‘Okay,’ she says.

Then she holds up her hands and jumps in the air and I press the red button.

‘Let me see. Let me see,’ she says, running to my side and looking over my shoulder as I get the image on the screen. ‘Oh wow, I look like I’m flying.’

And she’s right. The picture shows a beaming girl, her arms skywards, her legs curled up beneath her, floating in the air like some gappy-toothed angel.

‘Send it to Daddy. See what he thinks,’ she says excitedly as we make our way to the car.

I open the back door for her and help her secure the seat belt. Then I get in the driver’s seat and type a hurried text to Sean with the photo attached:

Look at our big girl flying off to Year 5.

Within a minute he texts back:

Go get ’em Elspeth! Daddy loves you very much xxx

‘What did he say?’

I pass her the phone and hear her giggling. Then she kisses the screen and says, ‘Love you too, Daddy.’

‘He can’t hear you, Elspeth,’ I say as I start the car and pull out of the drive.

‘Oh, he can,’ she says. ‘Daddy has special powers. Mummy, isn’t it great that my uniform is purple? How did they know that it was my favourite colour?’

I look down at the cardigan and run my fingers over the fabric, willing it to take shape.

‘Where are you, baby?’ I whisper. ‘Where are you?’

And then I think about those words: ‘Daddy has special powers.’ I need to hear Sean’s voice. I need him to assure me that our little girl is definitely dead.

I sit up in bed and take the ICU diary from the bedside table where I left it last night. I turn to his first entry and read it closely, looking for any small detail that might prove that the child he identified wasn’t Elspeth.

‘… every part of me wanted to say, “No, that’s not my daughter. My daughter’s at home, safe and well.”’