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Back The Blame Game Save as PDF
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. SANDIE JONES
  3. Dedication page
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. PART TWO
  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. EPILOGUE
  37. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  38. About the Author
  39. Also by Sandie Jones

My head spins as I try to unwind myself from this web of deceit I’ve spun. How can a tiny lie have spiralled so out of control? Been turned into something that could have devastating consequences, not just for me, but for everyone? Perhaps if I’d been honest with Leon in the first place, I would have felt better equipped to tell the police what I know, so that they have all the facts at their disposal.

‘I brought her one out,’ says Shelley, in a sudden rush. She says it so quickly that as I turn to look at her, it’s clear to see she has no idea how to follow it up.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘They were still working in the house and she didn’t want me to see it until it was finished.’

Shelley laughs awkwardly. ‘So I made her stand in the porch,’ she says, warming to the theme. ‘And brought the tea to her.’

We look at each other and I can see the cloud of confusion in her eyes; hurt, even, that I’d use her as an alibi for something that didn’t happen.

13

I barely sleep a wink again that night.

It’s preposterous, I know, but I can’t shake off the gut-wrenching possibility that my father is somehow involved. If I’m honest with myself, he’s always involved, because as much as I try to pretend that I’ve never given him a second’s thought, I live with what he did every day of my life. He’s why I veer between being helplessly needy and fiercely independent. He’s why I have no friends who know me well enough to know that I love dancing to old Britney Spears songs, too scared to get close enough to anyone for them to find out. He’s why I made the difficult decision not to have children, so terrified that someone would take them away from me, tearing my heart out. And he’s why I do the job I do; in the hope that I can save just one person from the same fate as my mother.

A notification pings on my phone and I wearily lift my head up to look at it; an email from Wendy at Gulliver’s Travels. If they’re trying to tempt me with a too-good-to-miss offer, they’ve picked the wrong day. I go to swipe it off the screen, but notice that the subject heading reads: Your upcoming flight to New York (JFK). I frown.

I click on it, waiting for the spam to reel me in, but it’s a personalized itinerary for a trip I don’t remember booking. I do a quick scan and see that the flight I’m supposedly taking is tomorrow. Something’s not right.