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Back The Bad Place Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. THE BAD PLACE
  3. Contents
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  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. Acknowledgements
  71. About the author
  72. An Invitation from the Publisher

And she needed to be alone more than ever tonight. Down the years, the number of people who recognized her, the ones who glanced at her in the street or muttered as she walked past, or even stopped to ask for a selfie, had dwindled. But now, with Michelle’s connection to Sammi Manning revealed – that disastrous press conference had been all over the news – people were talking all over again about the Bad Place. Travelling home on the bus, someone had stared at her, their curiosity tinged with suspicion, and Karin had got off as soon as she could. All the old feelings of shame and guilt were back, those same feelings she experienced in the aftermath of the Bad Place, when she felt everyone could see right into her soul.

And then there were the texts from Becky…

Ignoring her own dark reflection in the kitchen window, she took a ready meal from the freezer, put it in the microwave, and turned the dial to defrost.

The texts couldn’t have been from Becky – because Becky was dead, she was surely dead. But a small part of Karin, the part that still ached every day for her friendship and love, hoped desperately they could be from her.

She took out her phone and looked again at the last one…

i miss U ♥ ♥

BeXxx

When she’d eaten, Karin went upstairs. She changed out of her work clothes and hung them in the wardrobe. Someone was shouting on the street below and she tensed – it surely couldn’t be long before the first journalist turned up on her doorstep – but the voice receded. She padded naked along the landing and turned on the shower, leaving the phone on the sill where she could see it. Turning the temperature as high as she could, she stepped into the fierce jet of water and braced her hands against the tiled wall, stood under the searing hot spray, let the heat soak into her skin, into her bones, until she couldn’t bear it any longer. Afterwards, she towelled off, dabbing gently at her flushed, angry skin, and climbed into a T-shirt and pyjama bottoms.

Downstairs, she placed the phone on the arm of the sofa and watched a film, too anxious to change the channel in case she stumbled across a news report about Sammi Manning. Letting the movie carry her away, for an hour she actually forgot about Becky.

Until a text dropped into her phone, startling her.

She grabbed the mobile, read the text – it wasn’t from Becky. Instead, it was from one of the men she occasionally met, no strings attached, a married guy called Louis. He was coming into town on a business trip tomorrow night and did she want to hook up? She hesitated, replied that she did. The message flew off.