Chapters (55)
- Cover
- ANNA WHARTON
- Dedication page
- 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
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Praise
- THE IMPOSTER
ANGIE’S FATHER IN SHOCK ARREST
Her heart stops still in her chest. Her hands start to shake as she reads the words she knows so well, the ones she’s already committed to memory, the quotes from Patrick that had once put her mind at rest. She looks from the cutting to Patrick in the queue. He took this from her archive. She knows this because she recognizes the same biro writing down the side of it: Patrick angry. Maureen frightened into silence. And the date, just a few weeks before.
The cutting flutters in her hands. She looks up. Patrick is paying at the till. He turns around, heading out of the petrol station, back across the forecourt. She takes the cutting, pushing it into her coat pocket, feeling it tear as she does so. Quickly, she shoves everything else back into the glove compartment, closing the door tight just as Patrick gets back in the car beside her. He stops for a moment and looks at her, as if sensing a shift in atmosphere. He looks down at her hands in her lap. She places one over the other, so he doesn’t see how they’re shaking.
‘Bloody queues,’ he says, heaving the car door shut behind him. Then he pulls on his seat belt and puts his key in the ignition. And as he does, Chloe closes her eyes and longs for the safety of home. Nan’s home.
They continue on the road towards the Fens. Inside, the car is filled with the white noise of tyres on the dual carriageway. Chloe’s head is spinning beside Patrick. He taps the steering wheel, humming along to the radio. She watches his hands as he changes gear; the rest of the time, she focuses on the dull grey of the road in front of them, pictures swimming in front of her eyes. She is still in her seat, but her heart thumps behind her ribs and hot blood spins in her ears.
Then Patrick turns off the dual carriageway onto a single track they haven’t taken before. Chloe grips the sides of her seat as he pushes his foot down on the accelerator. In the wing mirror she sees dust kicked up by the tyres. Her feet press into the footwell.
It is early evening out in the Fens and the big sky is turning pink, dyeing silhouettes of the trees an inky blue. She would usually see beauty here, but not tonight. She doesn’t recognize this road. She has never been here before. She pictures the boot of the car. Patrick’s gun. Maureen at home waiting for fish and chips.
‘Would you look at that?’ Patrick says.