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Back The Cliff House Save as PDF
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Booklist
  3. Title Page
  4. Praise
  5. Dedication
  6. Prologue
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. CHAPTER TWELVE
  19. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  20. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  22. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  24. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  25. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  53. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  54. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  55. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  61. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  62. Epilogue
  63. Acknowledgements
  64. About the Publisher

Angie snapped her eyes open and threw the T-shirt down towards the foot of the bed and away from her. She banged her fist against the pillow.

Leave me alone. I need to move on. I’m so bloody lonely.

His face fell and he drew back from her.

You mean that?

Angie sat up and stretched forward to retrieve the T-shirt. She clasped it to her chest and began to cry.

‘No,’ she sobbed quietly. ‘I don’t mean it. How could I? Stay with me, Rob. Never, ever go. Please. Stay with me.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tamsyn

August 1986

Their footsteps drummed the pavement. Lowered voices. The whole time they’d been gone, I’d lain in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and listened to the storm with the thought of them together gnawing at me like a pack of James Herbert’s rats.

They stopped outside our front door and I knelt up on my bed to look out of the window, whilst keeping myself concealed behind the curtain. They were down there, obscured somewhat by the crack in the windowpane covered by a strip of masking tape, which my mother attached to stop the glass blowing in during storms. He wore a sweater over a shirt. The moonlight glinted off whatever product he’d used to tame the flyaway strands of his thinning hair. They faced each other. Her hands were clasped in front of her. He said something. She looked at the ground. He nodded. Then he put his hand on her waist and she looked up.

No.

The flat of my hand went up to the glass.

No. No!

But then it happened. He leant forward and kissed her.

My insides screamed out as if the kiss was a knife in my belly.

Get off her. Get. Off. Her.

I dropped the curtain and I curled myself into a ball on my bed, my hands scratching at the sides of my head. All I could picture in my head was my father, out there in the crashing waves, crying out as he struggled to stay above the water, his eyes stinging with salt water and tears. My bedroom grew colder and our house more toxic.

The front door closed. I heard feet on the stairs. Only one person. No whispering voices. Just her. She was on the landing. The airing cupboard opened. Then I listened to her going into the bathroom. The tap. The toilet flush. Her feet padding back down the stairs.

I stared into the darkness for some time. I’ve no idea exactly how long. My skin itched and the claustrophobic air in my box room became harder and harder to breathe. It was as if I’d become allergic to what used to be my home.

I needed to get out.