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Back The Scarlet Dress Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. Dedication
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. Friday
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. Saturday
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. Sunday
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. One Week Later
  77. 71
  78. Afterwards
  79. 72
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. Reading Group Questions
  82. More from Louise Douglas
  83. About the Author
  84. About Boldwood Books

It never crossed her mind to go to him. Instead, she crept further backwards, a mixture of fear and pity in her veins, because the man approaching her was drenched, he was old and his demeanour was desperately sad. He was bent over a stick, his face, when it was illuminated, briefly, by the glare of a lightning flash, was scored with lines of grief and loneliness.

TT must have caught Marnie’s scent because he raised his head as they passed the point closest to her and looked directly towards her, but he was on the lead and John pulled him away and the two of them continued on their lonely way.

He must have been to Denise’s grave.

Denise had always been terrified of thunder and Marnie’s father had gone to her grave in the midst of the storm to keep her company; to make sure that she was all right.

51

Will was relieved when the sky beyond the flowery curtains at last began to glow pale. The night had spread itself out between nightmares and thunderclaps, the pipes in the bedroom groaning whenever the person downstairs turned on their taps.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, desperate to overlay his fears about the role he might have played in Alice’s death with the less pressing mystery of why she’d come to Severn Sands in the first place.

Why had he never asked her at the time?

Why hadn’t it occurred to him that it was odd for a young woman to come all the way from Lincolnshire to a little-known holiday resort in the South-West when she had the beauty of the North-Eastern coastline right on her doorstep?

It hadn’t occurred to him because he’d been so wrapped up in their love affair that he couldn’t see any further than that.

Will sat on the side of the bed, scratching his scalp. If he went to the police and told them everything, would that make him feel better?

But tell them what?

That he might have done something to hurt Alice Lang twenty-four and a half years earlier, but he wasn’t sure?

That he couldn’t remember?

Was it really fair to get John Morahan and his own mother, possibly Marnie too, into deep trouble in a possibly futile attempt to salve his own conscience?

The smells of bacon and coffee insinuated themselves beneath the door. Despite his anguish, Will felt a pang of hunger. He went into the little bathroom, noticed, as he peed, the new damp stain on the ceiling that indicated a tile was loose on Mr Bradshaw’s roof, resolved not to mention it because why should he bother, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater.