December 2021

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

January 2003

Chapter 6

December 2021

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

February 2003

Chapter 9

December 2021

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

March 2003

Chapter 13

December 2021

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

April 2003

Chapter 18

December 2021

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

April 2003

Chapter 23

December 2021

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

April 2003

Chapter 27

December 2021

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

May 2003

Chapter 35

December 2021

Chapter 36

May 2003

Chapter 37

December 2021

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

April 2003

Chapter 51

December 2021

Chapter 52

June 2003

Chapter 53

December 2021

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

January 2022

Chapter 57

Epilogue

A Letter from Sarah Clarke

Keep Reading …

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader …

About the Publisher

Dedication

For my family

Chris, Scarlett, Finn

& Mika

Note to Readers

Note to Readers

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Prologue

Prologue

January 2022

Simon sits up tall. The soft cushion of his chair feels wrong in this setting, his expectation formed by childhood memories of hard wooden church pews. He plants both feet, rests his clammy palms on his thighs and tries to focus on the discomfort caused by his shirt collar cutting into his neck.

He wonders if he can keep up the façade throughout the whole service. Or whether he will slip to the floor at some point, bang his fists against the carpeted floor of the crematorium and scream for his life back, beg some higher power to tell him it’s all a big joke – a dark prank performed for one of those toxic TV shows perhaps – and that Beth is going to waltz back into his life at any moment with a wink and a ‘gotcha’ smile.

There are many other people here, every chair occupied, the room thick with mourners. But it doesn’t stop the intense ache of loneliness seeping through him. Or the desperate knowledge that things won’t get better. That his future is now grey and empty.

He wishes Beth was here.

Of course she is here, he thinks as he stares at the coffin lying on the plinth just ahead of him. But not in any reachable way. She can’t allay his loneliness, squeeze warmth into his fingers, lean against him and whisper something inappropriate for a funeral that makes them both look down at their feet to hide their smiles. She can’t be his wife anymore.

Looking back, he can see the stepping stones of mistakes he made, and how they helped build the path that led to this day. If only he’d recognised the danger earlier, veered away from his middle-class beliefs that things like this don’t happen to people like them. If only he hadn’t believed Beth when she said she’d be fine on her own.