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Back The Woman in the Wood Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by M.K. Hill
  3. THE WOMAN IN THE WOOD
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Contents
  7. Epigraph
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. Acknowledgements
  61. About the Author
  62. An Invitation from the Publisher

Sensing that he may not have said the most tactful thing, the receptionist smiled. ‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon. We have such a lovely room for you and Mr Dawson… when he arrives. Maybe you’ll want to enjoy a drink at the bar first.’

‘No,’ she told him, listening to the piano and the laughter and conversation. ‘I think I’ll go upstairs and relax.’

All the stress of the week made her feel suddenly tired. All she wanted to do was collapse on the bed. If the worst came to the worst and Kev didn’t turn up, she could get a good night’s sleep, enjoy a nice hotel breakfast, and drive home first thing.

‘Good for you,’ the receptionist said.

37

Abs was never a great drinker. He had always tried to keep himself in shape, just in case one of the glossies wanted him to do a photoshoot with his top off, but his chances of getting voted the UK’s Sexiest Guy ever again were next to nil, and he needed something to settle his nerves now. Confusing thoughts and feelings careened around the inside of his head like bumper cars at the fair, and maybe a vodka would help him make sense of everything that was happening.

The barman at the pub along the seafront, an Aussie guy, held up a glass. ‘Single or double?’

‘Make it a double.’ Abs got out his debit card as the guy poured a large measure, rang it up at the till and went to fetch the card machine. He drank half of it down in one go, felt the alcohol flood into his bloodstream, taking the edge off his anxiety; but when he tapped his card on the reader, it didn’t work.

‘Got any cash?’ asked the barman.

Abs went through the rigmarole of checking his pockets, but knew he didn’t have any. Spare change caused an ugly bulge in your trousers, and he never carried it.

‘I’ll go to the cashpoint in a minute and come back, I promise.’ But Abs knew that he probably wouldn’t be able to get any money out of the ATM. He’d been in denial about how broke he was, just like he’d been in denial about everything else. Every penny he had had gone on this month’s mortgage payment on his flat.

He picked up the glass, but the barman took it.

‘Are you taking the piss? You’ve already drunk half of it.’

‘Don’t you know who that is?’ said a voice, and Abs turned to see two blokes standing behind him. There was a short one and a lanky streak, and they both stared at him in adoration. ‘It’s Abs from Laid In Essex! He’s like royalty around here, you can’t talk to him like that.’