BooksBarbecue
Back The Dead Line
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

‘All right.’ She had felt a surge of affection as he began to laugh. They had laughed together, just for a moment, everything left unsaid.

The affection had echoed on as she waved him off for the Tube station. As she watched him walk down the pavement, he stopped to talk to old Mrs Markovic from three doors down on the right, who blossomed under his smile. Tom had always been able to do that, Miranda thought as she watched: remember small details about people’s lives, ask them about their day and really listen to the answers.

Miranda remembered details when they would make good colour for a story, and asked people about their day to start them talking.

She only knew Mrs Markovic’s name because Tom had been talking about her grandchildren – Boris got scouted by Arsenal, isn’t that amazing? – at the same time as Miranda had been investigating some Serbian war criminals.

When Mrs Markovic had pottered back into her house, Tom glanced back at Miranda. ‘Off to hunter-gather,’ he said, and laughed. And she watched him hurry down the road.

He’d never offered to stop his job, she thought, with a flicker of anger.

Rebecca. Becky.

Miranda forced herself to concentrate on the terracotta pots, tugging at the dead plants.

How do you fix something you only want to break?

‘Hello, Miranda!’ It was Verity Taylor, right on schedule, off to drop her six-year-old twins at the primary school just down the road.

‘Verity!’ Miranda just managed to mirror the enthusiasm. ‘How nice to see you.’

‘You’re gardening!’ Verity’s china blue eyes opened wide. ‘What fun.’

‘Thought I should get stuck in. Do you fancy a coffee?’

‘After I’ve dropped off the kids? Why not? I’ll be back in five.’

Verity, two doors down on the left, had stopped working at the BBC to bring up her children. Within a day of Miranda and Tom moving into this house, Verity had insisted that they come to a barbecue ‘just to meet a few people, you’ll love them’. Within five minutes of Miranda arriving at the barbecue, Verity had told her all about her twins being born ‘with the help of an amazing surrogate’. Verity believed in ‘honesty and openness about it all. Because I really think it helps people to see that everyone has a different path.’

Miranda had decided that this honesty and openness might be helpful; especially if Tom believed she was actually doing some gardening.

‘I like what you’ve done with the blinds,’ said Verity, so that Miranda was startled into noticing the blinds for the first time as she switched on the coffee machine.

It only took a few minutes to get Verity talking about surrogacy, and then the words spilled out of her.

‘We went for Ukraine in the end, and they were so great.’ Verity took a sip of her cappuccino. ‘Couldn’t do enough to help.’