Little Darlings

LITTLE DARLINGS

A Novel

MELANIE GOLDING

Dedicated to the memory of Amber Baxter (nee Fink), 1979–2012

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my brilliant agent, Madeleine Milburn, and the talented, dedicated team at the MM agency for all of their hard work and unwavering belief in my writing. To my editors and publishers, Manpreet Grewal and the team at HQ, Jennifer Lambert and all at HarperCollins Canada, Chelsey Emmelhainz and the Crooked Lane team, I thank you for your encouragement, expert editorial advice and enthusiastic championing of the book, without which there would not be a book at all.

Many good people contributed to this journey. Your support, early reading, comments and conversations have helped to improve the novel far more than I could possibly have done alone. Heartfelt thanks to Alison Dunne, Kitty Fordham, Mary Reddaway, Mel Sellors.

To my specialist advisors, Dr Laura Hole and Rebecca Bradley, my humble thanks. Any mistakes or liberties taken with medical details and police procedure are entirely my own.

To all of my fellow students in the critique workshops on the MA in Creative Writing at Bath Spa 15-16, especially Daisy McNally, Tam Purkess, Emily Goodman, Mike Manson, Jay Millington, Ariel Dantona, Madeleine Streater. Your surprising, intelligent, and occasionally hilarious notes on this book in its very early stages helped to shape it and make it better.

Many thanks also to my inspirational tutors, Samantha Harvey, Fay Weldon, Celia Brayfield, Gerard Woodward, Gavin Cologne-Brookes. Your thoughts and insights were invaluable. Thanks also to Tessa Hadley, for a chance conversation over breakfast that planted the seed.

If you have helped me in writing this novel and I have forgotten you, feel free to curse my name, track me down and force me to give recompense. I'm good for a beer at least.

To Jonathan, who has enabled this entire thing. To Wilfred and Elspeth, who have put up with it stoically. To my mother, who has read every version, and never doubted me for a moment, even when I doubted myself. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

AUGUST 17TH
PEAK DISTRICT, UK

DS Joanna Harper stood on the viaduct with the other police officers. On the far bank, across the great expanse of the reservoir, a woman paused at the water’s edge, about to go in, her twin baby boys held tightly in her arms.

Harper turned to the DI. “How close are the officers on that side?”

Dense woodland surrounded the scrap of shore where the woman stood. Even at this distance, Harper could see that her legs were scarlet with blood from the thorns.

“Not close enough,” said Thrupp. “They can’t find a way to get to her.”

In a fury of thudding, the helicopter flew over their heads, disturbing the surface of the reservoir, bellowing its command: Step away from the water. It loomed above the tiny figure of the mother, deafening and relentless, but the officers on board wouldn’t be able to stop her. There was nowhere in the valley where the craft could make a safe landing, or get low enough to drop the winch.