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Back The Lucky Eight Save as PDF
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. Five Years Later
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Fifty-four
  59. Fifty-five
  60. Epilogue
  61. Acknowledgements
  62. Canelo Crime
  63. About the Author
  64. Also by Sheila Bugler

Keith Mason was one of the many people affected by the plane crash that Adam kept in regular contact with. A surgeon from Maidstone in Kent, Keith had lost his wife and his three teenage daughters in the plane crash. They’d been returning from a fortnight’s holiday in Crete.

‘A girls-only holiday,’ he’d told Clodagh the first time she met him. ‘I drove them to the airport to catch their flight out. It was the last time I ever saw them. My whole life taken from me, just like that.’

Knowing it would be a long phone call, Clodagh leaned back in her chair after Adam left and tried to relax some of the tension in her body. She lifted her glass to take a sip of wine. But the smell of alcohol was repugnant, making her retch. Disgusted, she put the glass back down. And then it hit her; with such sudden and shocking certainty, she felt the room starting to spin as it sunk in. Twelve weeks since her last period. Vaguely, she’d been aware she was late, but hadn’t worried too much. Her periods had never been regular. But not like this. Twelve weeks was a record. She was pregnant. The knowledge was pure instinct. Apart from her late period and a sudden distaste for alcohol, she had no evidence. But she knew, as certainly as she knew her own name. She was pregnant with Adam’s child.

‘Clodagh.’

At some point he had come back into the room and was standing in front of her, frowning. For a moment, she thought he’d worked it out. Until she realised that was impossible.

‘What’s wrong?’

She thought of the tiny cells inside her. Not a baby yet, but on their way to becoming one. The miracle of life. Or a monumental cock-up. All depending on what way you chose to look at it. Right now, both perspectives felt about right.

‘That wasn’t Keith,’ Adam said. ‘It was Rachel Lewis. She wants to see us both again. Says she has more questions for us.’

‘What sort of questions?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve told her I’m going to London tomorrow, so I’ve arranged to meet her the following day. But she asked if you’ll go and see her tomorrow morning. Is that okay?’

No, Clodagh wanted to scream, it was not okay. But she didn’t say that, because she knew she didn’t have a choice. She was a suspect in a murder enquiry, which meant doing whatever the police told her to do. Even if it wasn’t what she wanted.

Fifteen

Simon Gilbert and his wife lived in a terraced house on a narrow street behind Southwick train station.

‘Not quite what I expected,’ Rachel said as Ade pulled up outside the house. ‘You sure this is the right place?’