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Back The Family Next Door Save as PDF
Chapters (117)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
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  20. 15
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  22. 17
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  25. 20
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  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
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  54. 49
  55. 50
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  110. 105
  111. 106
  112. 107
  113. 108
  114. 109
  115. 110
  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“The assistant chief constable’s finally grown a pair,” said French. “We’ve got to go back in. Mac’s been kicked off the case.”

45

45

Now

Birdie’s remains ended up in the reservoir and I shut the shop for a month. The low humidity and lack of air in the wooden chest had contributed to her mummification. If any of the children had confided in their parents, I hoped enough time had passed for their outrage to weaken. To dismiss it as childish imaginings, and move on.

But that was not the only reason.

I had someone else’s blood on my hands.

Your blood.

And I needed time to process what I had done.

46

46

Tuesday 31st July 2018, 9:37 A.M.

25 The Avenue

The smoke alarm would not stop beeping.

“Mum!” The kitchen smelled of burnt toast, and a coil of smoke rose up from the grill pan. Evan doused a tea towel in water and threw it over his blackened breakfast, the way the fire safety officer had shown his class when he’d visited last term. He flapped his arms and shouted for his mother again. “I’ve had a bit of an accident.”

He waited a few moments, but his mother didn’t appear. The smoke alarm continued to beep, the sound drilling its way into his head. The kitchen was full of smoke. He was in big trouble. But he’d made his own breakfast only because he was still feeling sulky with his mother. Wearing his goalie gloves and an anxious expression, he ran down the hallway and called to her through the study door.

“My toast is on fire.” Strictly speaking, that wasn’t exactly true, but he thought the dramatic sound of it would rouse her from her work.

Silence.

He hesitated, then went in. His mother’s computer was on the desk and the bag she used for work was slung in the corner. Her glasses case was by the keyboard, a thin cardigan draped across the chair’s arm. A notebook with Olivia Lockwood embossed on its front sat next to a silver pen and a coffee mug.

It looked as if she had popped out for only a minute.

He called again, irritated and hungry. “Mum.”

Evan checked the downstairs toilet, the dining room and the garden. An empty glass sat on the patio table, a wasp crawling across the residue of stickiness at its bottom. The patio light was still on and her Kindle was on the table next to her car keys, as if she had just put them down.

There was no sign of his mother.

Through the open window, Evan could still hear the smoke alarm. He went back inside and stood, uncertain, in the hallway. He switched tack. “Dad?” A pause to see if his call would be answered. “Where are you?” And then he remembered. His father had an all-day job interview in London and had left before Evan woke up.