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
As we walk back across the pebbled beach, the wind blowing our hair together so it becomes intertwined, red and brown indistinguishable in the dark, I ask her, ‘Are you Catholic?’
She laughs and the wind carries it away. ‘No. I don’t like God, remember? But he thinks I am because I’m Irish. And he is half right, I suppose. I was born a Catholic ’cos of my mum.’
I don’t really understand how you can be born religious but I don’t say that.
‘She came over from Ireland to have an abortion, though, so I suppose she wasn’t all that Catholic either. Didn’t manage it, mind. Spent the money on drugs and six months later I arrived.’
I want to say ‘I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,’ but what do I know? Maybe she does, but it still makes my heart squeeze tight at the thought of her not having a mum like mine.
‘Come on,’ she grabs my hand, ‘race you,’ and with that she’s off into the dark, waves crashing onto stones, wind spraying the sea onto our faces as we stumble and fall across the beach to our home.
Twenty-one
Kelly-Anne Wilson sat huddled in her chair: head down, arms wrapped around herself as if she wanted to disappear, which Nell thought she probably did. Discarded tissues lay on the table along with an untouched cup of tea. Someone had obviously told her about Connor.
Paul nodded at the tea.
‘Would you like a fresh one?’
Kelly-Anne looked at the cup as if seeing it for the first time, then shook her head. ‘No thanks, I’m not thirsty.’ As Paul and Nell took the seats opposite, she unfolded her arms and rested them – hands clasped – on the table.
‘Thank you for coming back in and I’m sorry we didn’t get to take a statement from you yesterday, we were a little,’ Nell paused, ‘busy.’
‘You found him. That’s why I was told to go home and come back. That’s why you were “busy”, wasn’t it?’
Nell shifted under Kelly-Anne’s stare. They should have been the one to tell her, not some random uniform turning up on her doorstep. But nothing she could do about that now. Mistakes happen.
‘Yes, I’m afraid we did, Kelly-Anne. This morning we found Connor in a flat.’
Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘How did he die?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t know that yet.’
‘But …’
Nell knew what she was asking. ‘We’re treating his death as murder.’
Kelly-Anne froze. ‘Why murder? Why do you think that?’
Nell pictured Connor’s head smashed in, the letters ‘A W’ carved into his chest. She chose her words carefully.
‘We believe Connor was struck on the back of the head with an object, which caused massive bleeding. It is probable the strike caused his death.’