Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
‘Ma’am, if you’ll excuse me. I have to make a call.’
THIRTY-SIX
Sarah Truman stepped from the black cab and rushed to the steps that led up to her front door, shielding her face from the driving snow as she ran.
The weather had taken a dramatic turn. As cold as it had been that morning, the temperature had dropped throughout the day and in the last two hours London had been turned picture-postcard white with snow.
Sarah could hear the music before she had climbed the first step.
Johnny Cash. The slow stuff.
It was all the warning she needed. Michael had a mixed taste in music, most of which he played for enjoyment. But Johnny Cash, played loud while Michael was alone? Sarah knew exactly what that meant.
The hallway lights were on as Sarah closed the front door behind her. So were the lights in the living room, which was unusual. They rarely used that room.
Sarah looked inside. Michael was not there, but he had been. The photographs on the sideboard had been moved. The whisky, too. And next to both was Michael’s phone, its battery dead.
Sarah left everything as she had found it and headed towards the kitchen. The source of the music. The door was just slightly ajar. She pushed it fully open, not expecting the sight that greeted her.
Michael was dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, and was slumped in one of the tall chairs positioned beside the island unit. In front of him was an empty crystal glass, and next to that a whisky bottle that was equally drained.
‘Michael?’ Sarah was surprised to see her fiancé asleep. ‘Michael? Are you OK?’
He didn’t respond. Not even a flicker.
Sarah moved closer, concerned. She reached out a hand, placing it gently on his shoulder as she spoke again.
‘Michael? Are you awake?’
Michael jumped from his seat at Sarah’s touch. He seemed unaware of his surroundings – of Sarah, even – and he reacted on instinct. Sarah was pushed forcefully away, a near blow to her sternum with Michael’s open palm.
For just a moment Sarah saw the madness in her fiancé’s eyes. The hidden, violent streak that had, in the past, kept them both alive. It was gone in an instant, but that was long enough to remind Sarah of Michael’s other side. Of his other nature.
As the dream state from which she had awoken him faded, the violence was replaced by horrified concern. Michael covered the distance between them in a single stride, his arms outstretched.
‘Sarah. Jesus. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know it was you.’
Sarah was shaken. Her first concern had been for the baby. But she couldn’t say that. This was not how she had envisaged telling Michael that he was to be a father. Instead she stepped forward and found herself pulled into her fiancé’s embrace.
‘I must have been dreaming.’ Michael voice was shaken. Emotional. ‘God knows where I was, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.’