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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

‘You shoot off, Ali,’ said Vix, following me to the door. ‘I’m sure you have cooking to finish.’ A little pointed, or did I imagine it? I was over-sensitive about having been out of work for so long, I knew. Sometimes I saw slights that weren’t there.

So I went, back to my tagine and candles, leaving Julie and her kids to cope as best they could with the fact that their father, her husband, had tried to hurt her. In the car, heading back through town in the sunshine, tense again as I worried about the weekend – we hadn’t been together, the six of us, for over twenty years – I caught myself and remembered to feel grateful. This wasn’t my life any more – spending a hot Saturday in the stale air of a police station, dependent on professional kindness. I’d worked hard so it wouldn’t be, and if I could help women like Julie get away from it too, it eased some of my feelings of guilt. As I drove back home, I was trying to be thankful for my life. It was mine, whether I deserved it or not.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

When I reached the house, I could see there was already a people-carrier in the drive behind Mike’s BMW. Callum and Jodi were just arriving, unpacking cases and raffia bags with flowers and Tupperware poking out of them. I parked my Kia and dashed out. ‘Sorry! Sorry, work emergency. I’m here now.’

Callum was also wearing shorts and a polo shirt, though they were Ralph Lauren. ‘Work?’ He stretched out his arms and I hugged him, feeling his solidity and strength. ‘You’ve gone and got yourself a Saturday job, Al? What does Mike think about that? Mike who appears to be wearing some kind of orange jersey? Gone colour blind, mate?’

I saw Mike was annoyed. ‘It’s red, you divvy. Speaking of colour blind.’

I steered the conversation back. ‘It’s not work as such. You know I’m on the board of that charity.’ Although I was working too, as a journalist, so I didn’t know why I was downplaying it. And what business was it of Mike’s?

Jodi nudged him. She was so enormous under her maternity smock (some kind of homespun broderie anglaise thing I thought was from The White Company, in shocking contrast to the tailored suits she normally wore) I could hardly reach her, so we air-kissed. She looked tired and pale, her limp fair hair scraped back. ‘You do know, Cal. We watched her on the news, remember?’

‘Of course. You ate that kid for breakfast.’