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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

I walk over to the dresser and pull out a drawer, expecting to see Elspeth’s craft materials, but it’s empty. I pull out another and another, my body trembling with pain and grief. Who could have done this? Who could have come into my house and swept away all trace of my little girl? Why would Sean let this happen?

And then I hear footsteps on the stone floor behind me, a sharp intake of breath.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

I turn round and see a tall, blonde woman standing with her hands on her hips. She has a round, pale face, the skin almost translucent, and large green eyes that she fixes on me.

‘Are you going to answer me?’

‘I … I was …’

My brain has shut down. I desperately try to scramble some words together but they won’t come.

‘I’m calling the police,’ she says, putting her hand in her pocket and pulling out her phone.

‘No,’ I say, holding my hand out. ‘Please don’t do that. I used to live in this house. The door was open and … look, I’m sorry. I’ll go now.’

I feel her eyes on me as I stagger to the back door.

‘Just because you used to live here doesn’t mean you have the right to bloody break in,’ she calls after me.

I don’t answer but unclick the latch on the door and step out as quickly as I can. She is right. What the hell was I thinking? The pain in my chest intensifies as I hurry round the side of the house. All I can think about is my little Elspeth and those empty drawers in the kitchen. Every trace of her has been scraped away; it’s like she never existed, like our whole family life was just a figment of my imagination.

As I reach the driveway I see the woman’s car parked outside the house. It is a red sporty one with a soft-top roof. She mustn’t have children, I think to myself, those kind of cars are not made for families. And as I look at the car I hear Elspeth crying. I feel the softness of her dressing gown on my fingertips as I push her into the seat. ‘I don’t want to, Mummy, please can we just stay at home?’ I can smell the toothpaste on her breath and the soft lavender scent of her shampoo. She’s had a bath and is ready for bed and I am forcing her into the car. I hear her screaming: No, Mummy, no.

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