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Back Last Place You Look Save as PDF
Chapters (85)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. Part 1
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. Part 2
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. Part 3
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. Epilogue
  82. Acknowledgements
  83. Canelo Crime
  84. About the Author
  85. Also by Louisa Scarr

He looks up now, and sees the emotion on her face.

She nods. ‘Then you should leave.’

‘Steph—’

‘Please.’ She’s looking down to the floor, unable to meet his gaze. ‘Just go.’

He pauses, about to protest, but there’s something final in her tone. He stands up, then gently puts his hand on her shoulder. Without looking up, she puts her hand on his, squeezes, then takes it away again.

He picks up his coat. Desperately, he wants things to go back to the way they were before this conversation happened. But he knows that’s not a possibility. He doesn’t want to lose her. Not because of the sex, but because he suspects she’s the closest thing to a friend that he has.

But he stays silent, then turns and walks out of her front door, pulling it closed with a gentle click behind him.

42

Fucking Kal. What an arsehole. Amy’s furious – how dare he? How dare he say that she needs help?

She barely remembers the drive home, takes a diazepam the moment she gets in the door, then follows it up with a large glass of Chardonnay. Fuck them all, she thinks, pulling her ridiculous dress off in the kitchen and walking into the bedroom. She already feels the welcome fuzz descending. The warm blanket of delirium that only choice pharmaceuticals can provide.

She gets into bed and pulls her duvet over the top of her. Precariously holding her wine glass at an angle, she gets her phone out and sends a text.

Fuck you, she types, then presses send to Kal. Not exactly eloquent, she admits, through her addled brain. She giggles slightly. But to the point.

She sees a message has come in from her sister and opens it up.

That detective came to see me on Thurs, it says. He knows I drugged him. He’s angry.

Amy replies: So? Has he arrested you?

She waits. Three small dots appear, then a ping. No. If he does he’ll get himself into trouble. But he’s after you.

Fucking detective. Arsehole, Amy thinks. She finishes her wine and sends a message back. What am I supposed to do about that?

Just don’t do anything stupid. Got to go, working.

Amy throws her phone away from her with disgust. She slumps back on her pillow. Fucking slut sister, she thinks. She feels her eyes closing. What does she think I’m going to do?

Then her eyes snap open. She sits up again, grabbing her phone from where it’s landed at the end of her bed. I’m a genius, she thinks, opening up a new email. And she starts to type.

43

Sunday

‘Why do you ask? Why do you want to know?’