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Chapters (55)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  55. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

It was all Pip could do not to roll her eyes. Was there anybody in this whole town who didn’t know about ‘her trouble’? The evidence suggested not, but they all meant well, and their wishes were kindly given.

‘Thank you,’ she replied.

She was saved from having to say anything else by the arrival of the first man carrying a cardboard storage box with ‘Southwold Gazette – 1983’ written on its side in black marker pen.

‘Here you are,’ he said as he approached.

‘Now then, Ian, this young lady has been coming to this library since she was knee-high to a grasshopper. I could barely keep up with her. She was always in here, changing her books and ordering things in from Ipswich. But it didn’t go to waste, because she went on to be a barrister in London. That’s right, isn’t it, Philippa?’ He looked to her for confirmation, looking almost as proud as if he had fathered her himself.

‘That’s right,’ said Pip as she reached for the box of microfiches, anxious not to get into a discussion about her more recent history. ‘Are the readers still in the back room?’ she asked, cocking her head in that direction.

‘Oh yes,’ laughed Mr Lancaster. ‘We don’t like change for change’s sake around here.’

Pip saw him eyeing the box curiously, but she wanted to talk about what she was looking for even less than she wanted to discuss the accident.

‘Thanks for your help,’ she said dismissively. ‘And lovely to see you again, Mr Lancaster.’

She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head as she walked away.

In the back room, she picked the machine in the corner that faced outwards so that she could see people approaching, and set the box down on the desk. Then she sat down, flicked the light on and took the first tape out. The label read June 1983. That was too early. She put it back, skipped past July and pulled August out. Then she fitted it into the machine and began to scroll through the pages.

According to the diary, Scarlet must have died on Wednesday the seventeenth, or at least that was the first day when Evelyn hadn’t written anything. It didn’t take long to locate the story. As Pip had assumed, it was front-page news.

Child dies in drowning tragedy