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Back When I Was Ten Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. Cover
  2. WHEN I WAS TEN
  3. Dedication page
  4. Epigraph page
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. PART TWO
  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. PART THREE
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  78. WHEN I WAS TEN
  79. Also by Fiona Cummins

I consider walking up the pathway and knocking on her door myself, but my phone is vibrating, and I smile because it’s probably Aunt Peg, but instead it’s a Google Alert.

My heart is in my mouth. I blink twice, and then I’m calling out to Lawrie, thrusting my phone at him.

‘Oh, God, look at this.’

Someone has posted Catherine Allen’s name and home address on Twitter.

20

The Right Honourable Geoffrey Heathcote was thinking about his imminent dinner reservation at the Members’ Dining Room in the House of Commons.

More specifically, he was thinking about the woman he was about to dine with, and what kind of underwear she might be wearing.

He had told Barbara he would be home very late because there was a debate and vote that evening, which was true. Except he had no intention of attending, and had, instead, booked a room at a hotel around the corner where he was planning to fuck his mistress stupid.

It was a risk, of course. The eyes of the nation were upon him. But Heathcote thrived on risk. He was counting on the fact most photographers were too lazy to hang around until the vote was over. In the unlikely event a couple of the more tenacious buggers decided to wait for him, he knew a back route to the hotel that would allow him to avoid them.

He popped a tablet of Viagra from the blister pack in his drawer.

His mistress – Anna – would distract him for a few hours. His wife would get a few hours’ peace. The old girl certainly deserved it after the week they’d had. With a bit of luck, the story would have moved on by tomorrow. Everyone’s a winner, baby.

He loosened his polka-dot tie and slipped on the blazer required for Members’ dining. Anna would be here any minute. He’d persuade her not to bother with a starter or dessert. After all, it wasn’t an expensive meal he was paying for.

The minister shut down his computer, placed his papers in a tidy pile and was just about to switch off the light when his desk telephone rang, signalling an internal call.

He almost ignored it, but his conscience wouldn’t let him.

‘Yes,’ he said, his brusqueness a deliberate attempt to intimidate the caller into ringing off until tomorrow.

‘Geoff, it’s me.’

He recognized the gravelly tone of the Attorney General, Sir Stanley Townsend. The Secretary of State for Justice sank back down into his chair. It was 8.26 p.m. on a Wednesday in December. This was not a social call.

‘What’s up, Stanley?’

He had known Sir Stanley for four years. Technically, the Attorney General was his subordinate, but they worked closely with each other on a day-to-day basis.

‘The Angel of Death case.’