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Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Dawn Goodwin
  3. WHAT I NEVER TOLD YOU
  4. Copyright
  5. Contents
  6. Dedication
  7. Prologue
  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. Acknowledgements
  55. About the Author
  56. An Invitation from the Publisher

Once the boxes had been dragged aside, she pushed on the bottom corner of the wooden panel so that the top corner popped out. She wormed her fingertips into the gap and pulled the panel away.

She felt the familiar puff of cold air on her face from the gap in the roof tiles beyond the panel, carrying with it the smell of mouse droppings and age-old dirt. She reached in. There was space, cool air, darkness… but nothing else. Helen turned on her phone flashlight, but it only confirmed her suspicions.

It was all gone.

*

The body floated gently in the otherwise still water. She was face down, like she was bobbing for apples, her hair fanning out around her, her legs splayed. Puddles of water had collected on the tiles, lightly marbled with blood.

Seagulls shrieked outside, shocking Mills into action. She rushed over to the side of the pool, reached in and grabbed a leg, pulling it towards her.

The body was surprisingly heavy as Mills flipped it over and tried to get her arms underneath to pull her from the water.

Mills fell backwards as she heaved Diana from the pool, wet jeans and Doc Martins weighing her down. Diana was left slumped on her side. Helen could see a gash on her head where blood had seeped into her wet hair. She reached out and touched it gingerly. Her fingers came away red and slick. Mills fought the urge to heave.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she moaned.

She looked around, her head spinning, trying to make sense of what had happened. Who had been in here? Who had met Diana? Lydia had probably been with her earlier and Matt had also headed in this direction. They could’ve fought. He could’ve lost his cool. She had seen him punch doors before. He was furious when he found out about Lydia and Diana.

Furious enough to kill her?

And what about her mother? Had she already been here to confront Diana? Was she just covering her tracks by asking Mills to message Diana?

She staggered to her feet, a thousand questions running through her brain. Should she leave her here? Call someone? The police? Run?

There was a bag lying on the floor. It looked like one of the bookshop tote bags. A pile of notebooks lay on a lounger. And lying in a pool of water on the tiles was one solitary Polaroid photo.

Mills reached out and picked it up.

34

THEN

The rest of the week is a jumble of sights and sounds, nothing distinct and yet interspersed with moments of absolute clarity. Martha has taken to shaking me awake every morning because the sleeping pills are making me sleep through my alarm. But I am enjoying the dreamless sleep of the intoxicated dead, for which I am grateful.