BooksBarbecue
Back What You Did
Chapters (44)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. CONTENTS
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. Chapter Fifteen
  20. Chapter Sixteen
  21. Chapter Seventeen
  22. Chapter Eighteen
  23. Chapter Nineteen
  24. Chapter Twenty
  25. Chapter Twenty-One
  26. Chapter Twenty-Two
  27. Chapter Twenty-Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-Four
  29. Chapter Twenty-Five
  30. Chapter Twenty-Six
  31. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  32. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  33. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  34. Chapter Thirty
  35. Chapter Thirty-One
  36. Chapter Thirty-Two
  37. Chapter Thirty-Three
  38. Chapter Thirty-Four
  39. Chapter Thirty-Five
  40. Chapter Thirty-Six
  41. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  42. Epilogue
  43. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  44. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mike was in a coma. Maybe he had no idea that, as soon as he woke up, he was going on trial for rape. He’d no idea I knew about the extent of his affair with Karen. Or that Jake was his son. Had he really not known, never suspected? I thought of the money going out of our accounts, the neat regular sum every month. Almost like child support. Had he been paying Karen off all this time? My mind told me it was impossible, unthinkable, but I knew that nothing was impossible any more. I wondered what he’d say, if he knew the choice was between him and Cassie, if he’d want her to donate part of her liver or if he’d rather take his chances on the transplant list. I wondered, once again, how we ever ended up here.

‘Mrs Morris?’ It was DC Devine again, with a light tread.

I jumped. ‘Oh, hello. There’s no change, I’m afraid.’

‘I know.’ He looked at me, his kind features rearranging themselves into formal, anxious lines. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

1996

Here’s what I know. Although it’s hard to recall the details over so many years, this is the truth as far as I can remember, as opposed to what I have sometimes imagined late at night, lying awake beside a sleeping Mike.

Martha was ‘on it’ that night, was what I heard muttered by Victoria Adams in the loos several hours into the ball, and I was flattered she was even speaking to me, Victoria who kept her own horse stabled just outside of town. ‘Jesus, she’s really on it,’ was what she said, flicking at her long blonde hair in the mirror. ‘I should take her home.’

I could tell she wanted me to talk her out of it. ‘She’ll be OK. Everyone’s a bit pissed. She won’t want to go.’ I lowered my voice and jerked my head to the door. ‘Karen never goes home when I try to make her.’ She rolled her eyes at me and I thought how strange it was, me and her in cahoots as the sensible friends, and Karen and Martha – Martha! – the unstable pissheads. In truth, I had lost track of Karen some time ago, and had been drifting in a pleasant haze from quad to quad, room to room, conversation to conversation. It seemed as if finally everyone wanted to talk to me, ask how I’d be spending the summer, get me in their photo. Compliment my dress.