BooksBarbecue
Back The Last Guests
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONE
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. DEADLY SAS RAID IN AFGHANISTAN UNDER SCRUTINY
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. PART TWO
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. DANIEL MOORE: ‘A SINGLE BLOKE, HAPPY-GO-LUCKY, A BIT OF A DUNCE BUT WITH A GOOD HEART,’ BEST FRIEND SAYS.
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. THIRTY-TWO
  41. THIRTY-THREE
  42. THIRTY-FOUR
  43. THIRTY-FIVE
  44. BREAKING: POLICE CONFIRM DANIEL MOORE ACTED ALONE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. SECOND ARREST MADE IN WESTAY HIDDEN CAMERAS CASE
  50. EPILOGUE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  52. Discover More
  53. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  54. Also by J. P. Pomare

Dozens of responses on Facebook, a few on Instagram.

You’re going to Tarawera! Great. Check out the Downtown, excellent pub food near the turn-off outside of Rotorua.

You’ve got to check out the redwoods.

Go to Lucky Egg. Try the pan-fried gnocchi.

‘Lucky Egg,’ I say, jabbing him in the arm with my elbow. ‘Your favourite.’

The message is accompanied with two thumbs-up emojis.

‘It’s just a little odd,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just they both started Facebook profiles less than a year ago. At around the same time.’

‘Is it any weirder than the couple who booked for next month who had a shared Facebook page?’ A yawn seeps out of me.

‘I suppose not,’ he says, but the way he says it, still staring at the page, makes me think he’s not sure at all. He turns back to me. ‘Most of her followers on Instagram have private accounts.’

‘You checked out her followers?’

He shrugs. ‘I’ve been conditioned to be suspicious of strangers.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘But this is paranoia now.’

‘Alright, bedtime.’

I can see through his neutral expression to the uncertainty beneath, a strong current somewhere deep, despite the stillness of his face. ‘I actually came down to say goodnight,’ I say. ‘And to say good news about Axel and Claire. They’ll be great parents.’ The words have a bitter quality, artificially sweet. When we’re in bed together, for what seems the first time in weeks, I forget about Daniel, my necklace, the predicament. I’m simply myself, present in that moment as I reach for him. He seems to anticipate it and before we’ve kissed, before we’ve had time to do anything else, he’s inside of me. I need him now, I need his support and love. He’s breathing close to my ear and his fingertips dig into my hips. It’s how it was all those years ago, how it used to be. His blood is running hot. Just for a moment Lucy Swallow rises through the sensations, I look at my husband’s laboured face behind me. His muscled, scarred body, rocking. His eyes are barely open and it occurs to me that he’s imagining me as her. I groan with him. I imagine I am Lucy Swallow, just how he’s picturing. It’s odd to admit but as that deep rush comes on, I like being her.

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