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
She nudged Tim again.
‘Uh . . .?’
‘Sorry. But it’s not just the story.’
‘No?’ he said in a muffled voice.
‘It’s money. They need money.’ She sat up straight. ‘In fact, that’s the most important thing.’
‘Eh?’
‘They need money, Tim.’
‘Espect they do.’
‘Someone needs to help them get it.’
‘That’s great, Kate. You’re a wonder. I know you can do it.’
He rolled over and she let him sleep. Flipping heck, she’d just gone from not being sure whether or not she could write a few words to deciding to help them get compensation. She was mad! She lay there for a moment, her heart still racing.
There was something else. A warm thought spread throughout her body. Becky, this is how I make it up to you. I have no idea what I’m doing but I’m going to try. For you.
NINETEEN
Friday, 20 January 2017 – thirty-five days before the accident
Becky shivered in the large farmhouse kitchen and decided against taking her coat off. She’d taken advantage of the fact Terence was out of the office all morning and snuck out to Ashdown Farm in Ramsbourne. She hadn’t bothered to make an appointment, preferring to surprise Justin Holmes, the farmer.
He’d been unintimidated when she’d introduced herself as a journalist (it was only a small exaggeration) from the Herald and she suspected her youthful looks were what had got her through the door. He wasn’t bad-looking himself: late twenties with a definite wholesome vibe going on.
Justin noticed her pinched face. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘heating’s not on. Doesn’t seem any point when I’m out on the farm all day.’
‘No problem,’ said Becky breezily and watched as the kettle came to the boil, sending billows of steam into the cold room. As Justin made them both a mug of coffee, she looked around. It was as far from a cosy farmhouse kitchen as you could get. It had an unloved air about it – the Aga was cold, and Becky wondered if it was ever used. A microwave had centre stage on the worktop and when Justin opened the fridge to get milk, she saw a few ready meals and that was about it. Several pairs of boots stood haphazardly at the back door in some mad dance formation and a single series of muddy prints had at some time traipsed across the room. Perhaps he’d been in a rush – forgotten to take them off. A lone breakfast bowl, the cornflakes drying out and sticking to the china, sat by the sink. He’s obviously single, thought Becky, and then he handed her the burning-hot coffee and the scalding mug demanded her attention.
He took a sip of his drink and watched her, a smile on his face that was almost flirtatious. It was clearly down to her to start the conversation, which was fair enough as she’d doorstepped him.
‘Thanks. For the coffee.’
‘Pleasure.’
She looked around the kitchen. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’