Cover

Praise for Tess Stimson

‘Dark. Twisty. Addictive. I couldn’t put it down’

Lisa Jewell

‘More chilling than Gone Girl and twistier than The Girl on the Train, this emotional, raw, dark family drama keeps you guessing until the end’

Jane Green

‘Truly gripping: the opening is heart-breaking and it never lets up, all the way to a genuinely shocking denouement’

Alex Lake

‘Well-drawn characters, believably complex relationships and relentlessly twisting plot keep the reader guessing. Plus, Tess Stimson writes beautifully’

Debbie Howells

‘Tense, twisty, and that ending – wow!’

Jackie Kabler

‘Such a gripping, fast-paced book. I just couldn’t put it down and read it within a day!’

Short Book and Scribes

Dedication

For my mother,
Jane, my father Michael,
my sweet sister Philippa
and beloved brother Charles.

Holding you all in my heart until we’re together again.

part one

chapter 01

millie

The silence of a house that’s been broken into is unlike any other. It’s as if you’ve flipped up its skirts and made it gasp, taking all the air with it.

Those first few stolen seconds of stillness are like a drug to me. I could spend a lifetime in this moment, at peace.

But it doesn’t last long.

It’s broken by the soft patter of feline paws running down the hallway. A grey cat slinks into the laundry room, ignoring me completely as she heads to her bowl. She isn’t the least bit interested in me, or what I’m doing in her house.

Cats have refined survival of the species to an efficient minimalism. Even the most self-absorbed cat will nurture her own kittens. But by the time they’re eight weeks old, the mother, having accomplished the important work of teaching them independence, is done with them. She’ll still intervene if they’re in trouble or get too rough in play, but she won’t interact with them on a regular basis. She’ll swat a youngster who disturbs her rest. And once they reach adolescence, at around twelve weeks, it’s every cat for herself. The mother will hiss if they come near her food. She won’t grieve when they disappear from the home. In fact, she’ll be relieved.

We don’t blame a cat for being a cat.

You knew what you were getting into, Tom says. You’re an intelligent woman. You knew what having children would mean.

The cat twines herself in a figure-eight around my legs, seeking more food. I pick her up, stroking the back of her head, enjoying the sensual pleasure of her fur beneath my fingers as I wander into the kitchen.

I had high hopes for this property, but it looked a lot better on Rightmove than it does in person. The pictures were clearly taken with a wide-angle lens, and then Photoshopped. The kitchen has very little natural light, and even on a bright morning like this, it feels dingy.