Contents ( 71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Kate followed and tentatively stepped into her hallway. Nothing had changed. She took another step, past the kitchen and then on into the living room where the police had sat just hours before.
It had been ransacked. Papers tipped onto the floor, books scattered. Recoiling, she backed out. ‘Tim?’ she called out, frightened.
‘Upstairs,’ he shouted, then added quickly, ‘Don’t come up.’
But she already had done and was standing behind him at the entrance to Becky’s room. He tried to take her arms and steer her out, but she pushed him away. Like downstairs, the room had been turned over. The walls suddenly spun, and she grabbed the door frame. Becky’s clothes, books, personal possessions all strewn across the carpet. She stared numbly as Tim punched at the wall.
‘The bastards,’ he cried, ‘the fucking little bastards.’
Right at the edge of the room near the radiator, half-buried under some clothing, was a faded, almost threadbare oval of cloth: an ear. Blue Puppy had been snuffled and stroked and spent the majority of his early years tucked under Becky’s nose as she caressed his ear with her finger. Becky had been so attached to him, Kate had always referred to him as her second child. She stepped haphazardly through the mess, quickly needing to get to Blue Puppy, and then clutched him to her. When she turned back and saw Tim, the look of pity and anguish on his face was more than she could bear.
FOUR
1995
She was mooing like a cow. A low, guttural groaning that spewed out of her body, along with a large number of fluids; in fact everything seemed to be emitting out of her except for this goddamn baby.
Christ, she was scared.
Even more so by the worried, tense faces that she glimpsed in short flashes when her eyes actually managed to focus on something, for most of the time the walls rippled, floated around the room, like those in a horror movie.
‘I’m going to be sick!’ Kate suddenly shouted out, a brief moment of lucidity, which brought a second of relief, despite the fact she was retching into a cardboard tray that an anonymous hospital worker held at her face. Why would you be relieved to feel nausea, to vomit? Was it because it was a reminder you were still alive?
When would it end?
The door opened. The long-awaited anaesthetist. Kate was propped up. Her back swabbed. She was told, instructed, commanded to keep still. The severity of the tone indicated that if she didn’t, there might be dire consequences. How could she keep still when she was speared by pain right through her abdomen? Held down on her back, writhing in agony?
When would it end?
Then, a call. Urgent mutters. Barely controlled panic in voices. Something was wrong.
‘I need more time,’ pleaded the anaesthetist.
‘There is no more time!’ hurtled back the reply from someone at the polar opposite end of her ravaged body, somewhere down by her spreadeagled legs.