Chapters (81)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- Forty-seven
- Forty-eight
- Forty-nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-one
- Fifty-two
- Fifty-three
- Fifty-four
- Fifty-five
- Fifty-six
- Fifty-seven
- Fifty-eight
- Fifty-nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-one
- Sixty-two
- Sixty-three
- Sixty-four
- Sixty-five
- Sixty-six
- Sixty-seven
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Read More
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Follow Merilyn online
- Dedication
Alf doesn’t respond so I push myself up and run to him, pulling my cardigan off as I stumble towards them. I take the baby from his hands, wrapping it as I pull her away from him. He just watches me. I clutch it to me, trying to make sure it’s warm, and then I see she’s a girl. Her eyes open a little, deep blue stones staring up at me, and I pull her closer. She is bigger than I thought she would be, strong, healthy. She mews in my arms.
‘Take it back to the café and I’ll deal with it later.’ His tone is distant.
‘Her,’ I say. Alf pauses, his eyes flittering unwillingly over the baby I’m holding. I hold my breath. Maybe he’s changed his mind and he’ll let her live; maybe there’s a father in him after all. But the thought of him touching this baby makes my blood run cold.
‘Take it and make sure you’re not seen.’
This is my chance. I hug the baby close to me, fearful of dropping her, then I turn my back on Aoife and hurry our baby away.
Forty-three
Harriet Arnold’s house was simultaneously neat and chaotic. Everything seemed to have a place, but those places extended to the whole house, which was covered in a blanket of books, candles and hanging objects that provided a tinkling background hum. Harriet herself mirrored the house: neatly dressed in an array of purples, blues and reds, she was adorned with a variety of heavy silver jewellery ranging from chunky rings to a statement necklace. After asking them to sit on the frayed brown sofa, she fiddled absent-mindedly with a clutch of silver bangles on her wrists.
‘So you want to know about the Waites case?’ she began. ‘Not our finest moment. We all knew, you see, what was going on. But what can you do when teenage girls insist on avoiding all forms of help?’ She continued without waiting for an answer. ‘We contacted the police and they did their bit, but the truth of the matter was these girls “loved” the man who was abusing them, because they had no other experience of love to compare it to.
‘Quite a striking pair they were,’ she continued. ‘All long legs and big eyes, but with an awful haunted look, making you want to take care of them even more than you usually did with that sort of girl.’
‘That sort of girl?’
Harriet gave a heavy sigh, which felt weighed down with the memories of all the struggling teenagers she’d dealt with over the years.