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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

Dear Mummy,

I’ve written you a poem. This is it:

When I think of home I think of you and me.

A warm cosy place, a place where I feel free.

I think of all the good times

That we would have in there.

A big lovely house, pretty and fair.

When I think of home, there’s water all around.

Running down the windows.

Rising up through the ground.

The river’s always flowing

Down towards the sea.

It’s carrying a secret.

That belongs to you and me.

I love you Mummy.

Xxx

31

I sit on the lumpy sofa in my new home, cradling the phone in my hands. I’ve spent the last few minutes searching the name ‘Freya Nielssen’ on Google but by the third page the only people coming up are an elderly Canadian vet and a Hollywood personal trainer, neither of which I could see Sean running away with.

It’s 8 p.m. Sonia and Amanda left an hour ago after spending the afternoon getting me settled. It’s a ground-floor flat in a quiet street, and though I suppose I should feel grateful, it isn’t my home.

There are two armchairs as well as the sofa and a large flat-screen television hangs on the wall above the fireplace, its bulk dominating the entire room. From where I am sitting on the sofa I can see my reflection in it. I look crooked and small.

There are some built-in shelves next to the television that Sonia said would make wonderful bookshelves. I told her that I don’t have any books; that all of mine had been in Larkfields and who knows where they are now. She’d suggested we go to Oxfam to buy some more but the last thing I want to do right now is read. Once, books were my lifeline, my sanity; now it feels like that part of my brain has been closed for good.

I get up from the sofa and walk through into the narrow galley kitchen. Sonia drove me to Aldi to get some shopping before she left. My money is depleting fast. I had never been to Aldi before, though Sonia assured me it was the best of the supermarkets in terms of value for money. She has set my weekly food budget at £20 and recommended that I buy basic items and cook meals that can last a few days – like casseroles and soups.