He wiped the tears from his cheeks and knelt beside her. He wrapped his arms round them – as far as he could – and felt the warmth of their bodies.

They were together again. He had feared he had lost his family, feared this moment would never arrive, but now it was here.

‘Annabelle,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home.’

She leaned up and kissed him.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’

Read on for a sneak peek of Alex Lake’s new novel, coming 2021 …

Early Summer, 2020

Chapter One

Carrie Lewis watched her fifteen-year-old daughter, Nancy, walk along the beach, waves lapping at her bare feet. It was an idyllic scene; the late afternoon sun glimmered on the surface of the water, families – suitably socially distanced, of course – talked or played ball or just soaked up the warmth, but she could not enjoy it.

She was too on edge, a pit lodged in her stomach.

Nancy had not wanted to come. Even though they had been housebound for weeks and the heat in town was muggy and sticky and oppressive, and the beaches were finally open, Nancy had shaken her head when Carrie suggested going out to the ocean.

But you love the beach, Carrie said.

Not today, Nancy replied. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week.

Come on, Rob, her husband, said. It’ll be fun. I’ll buy you an ice cream.

I’m not a kid, Dad, Nancy said. You can’t bribe me with ice cream.

OK, Rob said. Then I’ll bribe you with something else. Cash? A new outfit? A pony?

Nancy laughed. A pony will do. You promise?

Cross my heart.

Then Nancy shook her head again. I think I’d still prefer not to go.

Carrie – and Rob – didn’t need to ask why. They had been dealing with why for months.

Look, Carrie said. Let’s try it. If you want to leave, we can. Any time you say. OK? We can’t stay in the house forever.

Nancy gave her a long look. OK, she said, finally. But if I want to leave, we go. Agreed?

It broke Carrie’s heart that her daughter found it necessary to make sure she had that agreement in place. But they would sort it out. After this summer Nancy would never have to go through this again.

She glanced at Rob. He was reading a book about the 1918 Flu Pandemic. It was the last thing she would have read; they were living through their own version now, which was plenty for her. That was Rob, though. He watched documentaries and read history books and thought fiction was pointless because it was all made up.

It had been obvious when he bought her a book of Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs for their first Valentine’s Day, so she couldn’t complain. She’d had plenty of warning.

She took the lid from her cooler and reached in for a can of seltzer.