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This one is for my mum.

Prologue

October 2014

‘And the winner of the 2014 Martindale Prize for Best New Artist is…’

Daniel Fitzwilliams lounged back in his chair and took another sip from the never-emptying glass of champagne. His bow tie hung loose around his neck, and the first two buttons of his wing-collar shirt had been unfastened since just after the main course had been served. The room temperature hovered somewhere around the fifth circle of hell and he wondered how much longer he would have to endure the fake smiles and shoulder pats from strangers passing his table.

The MC made a big performance of rustling the large silver envelope in his hand. ‘Get on with it, mate,’ Daniel muttered. His agent, Nigel, gave him a smile and gulped at the contents of his own glass. His nomination had been a huge surprise and no-one expected him to win, Daniel least of all.

‘Well, well.’ The MC adjusted his glasses and peered at the card he’d finally wrestled free. ‘I am delighted to announce that the winner of the Martindale Prize is Fitz, for his series “Interactions”.’

A roar of noise from the rest of his tablemates covered the choking sounds of Nigel inhaling half a glass of champagne. Daniel’s own glass slipped from his limp fingers and rolled harmlessly under the table. ‘Bugger me.’

‘Go on, mate. Get up there!’ His best friend, Aaron, rounded the table and tugged Daniel to his feet. ‘I told you, I bloody told you, but you wouldn’t believe me.’

Daniel wove his way through the other tables towards the stage, accepting handshakes and kisses from all sides. Will Spector, the bookies’ favourite and the art crowd’s latest darling, raised a glass in toast and Daniel nodded to acknowledge his gracious gesture. Flashbulbs popped from all sides as he mounted the stairs to shake hands with the MC. He raised the sinuous glass trophy and blinked out at the clapping, cheering crowd of his peers.

The great and the good were out in force. The Martindale attracted a lot of press coverage and the red-carpet winners and losers would be paraded across the inside pages for people to gawk at over their morning cereal. His mum had always loved to see the celebrities in their posh frocks. He just wished she’d survived long enough to see her boy come good. Daniel swallowed around the lump in his throat. Fuck cancer. Dad had at least made it to Daniel’s first exhibition, before his heart failed and he’d followed his beloved Nancy to the grave.

Daniel adjusted the microphone in front of him and waited for the cheers to subside. The biggest night of his life, and he’d never felt lonelier.

***

Mia Sutherland resisted the urge to check her watch and tried to focus on the flickering television screen. The latest episode of The Watcher would normally have no trouble in holding her attention—it was her and Jamie’s new favourite show. She glanced at the empty space on the sofa beside her. Even with the filthy weather outside, he should have been home before now. Winter had hit earlier than usual and she’d found herself turning the lights on mid-afternoon to try and dispel the gloom caused by the raging storm outside.

The ad break flashed upon the screen and she popped into the kitchen to give the pot of stew a quick stir. She’d given up waiting, and eaten her portion at eight-thirty, but there was plenty left for Jamie. He always said she cooked for an army rather than just the two of them.

A rattle of sleet struck the kitchen window and Mia peered through the Venetian blind covering it; he’d be glad of a hot meal after being stuck in the traffic for so long. A quick tap of the wooden spoon against the side of the pot, and then she slipped the cast-iron lid back on. The pot was part of the Le Creuset set Jamie’s parents had given them as a wedding gift and the matching pans hung from a wooden rack above the centre of the kitchen worktop. She slid the pot back into the oven and adjusted the temperature down a notch.

Ding-dong.

At last! Mia hurried down the hall to the front door and tugged it open with a laugh. ‘Did you forget your keys—’ A shiver of fear ran down her back at the sight of the stern-looking policemen standing on the step. Rain dripped from the brims of their caps and darkened the shoulders of their waterproof jackets.

‘Mrs Sutherland?’

No, no, no, no. Mia looked away from the sympathetic expressions and into the darkness beyond them for the familiar flash of Jamie’s headlights turning onto their small driveway.

‘Perhaps we could come in, Mrs Sutherland?’ The younger of the pair spoke this time.

Go away. Go away. She’d seen this scene played out enough on the television to know what was coming next. ‘Please, come in.’ Her voice sounded strange, high-pitched and brittle to her ears. She stepped back to let the two men enter. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

The younger officer took off his cap and shrugged out of his jacket. ‘Why don’t you point me in the direction of the kettle and you and Sergeant Stone can make yourselves comfortable in the front room?’

Mia stared at the Sergeant’s grim-set features. What a horrible job he has, poor man. ‘Yes, of course. Come on through.’

She stared at the skin forming on the surface of her now-cold tea. She hadn’t dared to lift the cup for fear they would see how badly she was shaking. ‘Is there someone you’d like us to call?’ PC Taylor asked, startling her. The way he phrased the question made her wonder how many times he’d asked before she’d heard him. I’d like you to call my husband.

Mia bit her lip against the pointless words, and ran through a quick inventory in her head. Her parents would be useless; it was too far past cocktail hour for her mother to be coherent and her dad didn’t do emotions well at the best of times.

Her middle sister, Kiki, had enough on her hands with the new baby and Matty determined to live up to every horror story ever told about the terrible twos. Had it only been last week she and Jamie had babysat Matty because the baby had been sick? An image of Jamie holding their sleeping nephew in his lap rose unbidden and she shook her head sharply to dispel it. She couldn’t think about things like that. Not right then.

The youngest of her siblings, Nee, was neck-deep in her final year at art school in London. Too young and too far away to be shouldering the burden of her eldest sister’s grief. The only person she wanted to talk to was Jamie and that would never happen again. Bile burned in her throat and a whooping sob escaped before she could swallow it back.

‘S-sorry.’ She screwed her eyes tight and stuffed everything down as far as she could. There would be time enough for tears. Opening her stinging eyes, she looked at Sergeant Stone. ‘Do Bill and Pat know?’

‘Your in-laws? They’re next on our list. I’m so very sorry, pet. Would you like us to take you over there?’

Unable to speak past the knot in her throat, Mia nodded.

Chapter One

February 2016

Daniel rested his head on the dirty train window and stared unseeing at the landscape as it flashed past. He didn’t know where he was going. Away. That was the word that rattled around his head. Anywhere, nowhere. Just away from London. Away from the booze, birds and fakery of his so-called celebrity lifestyle. Twenty-nine felt too young to be a has-been.

He’d hit town with a portfolio, a bundle of glowing recommendations and an ill-placed confidence in his own ability to keep his feet on the ground. Within eighteen months, he was the next big thing in photography and everyone who was anyone clamoured for an original Fitz image on their wall. Well-received exhibitions had led to private commissions and more money than he knew what to do with. And if it hadn’t been for Aaron’s investment advice, his bank account would be as drained as his artistic talent.

The parties had been fun at first, and he couldn’t put his finger on when the booze had stopped being a buzz and started being a crutch. Girls had come and gone. Pretty, cynical women who liked being seen on his arm in the gossip columns, and didn’t seem to mind being in his bed.

Giselle had been one such girl and without any active consent on his part, she’d installed herself as a permanent fixture. The bitter smell of the French cigarettes she lived on in lieu of a decent meal filled his memory, forcing Daniel to swallow convulsively against the bile in his throat. That smell signified everything he hated about his life, about himself. Curls of rank smoke had hung like fog over the sprawled bodies, spilled bottles and overflowing ashtrays littering his flat when he’d woven a path through them that morning.

The cold glass of the train window eased the worst of his thumping hangover, although no amount of water seemed able to ease the parched feeling in his throat. The carriage had filled, emptied and filled again, the ebb and flow of humanity reaching their individual destinations.

Daniel envied their purpose. He swigged again from the large bottle of water he’d paid a small fortune for at Paddington Station as he’d perused the departures board. The taxi driver he’d flagged down near his flat had told him Paddington would take him west, a part of England that he knew very little about, which suited him perfectly.

His first instinct had been to head for King’s Cross, but that would have taken him north. Too many memories, too tempting to visit old haunts his Mam and Dad had taken him to. It would be sacrilege to their memory to tread on the pebbled beaches of his youth, knowing how far he’d fallen from being the man his father had dreamed he would become.

He’d settled upon Exeter as a first destination. Bristol and Swindon seemed too industrial, too much like the urban sprawl he wanted to escape. And now he was on a local branch line train to Orcombe Sands. Sands meant the sea. The moment he’d seen the name, he knew it was where he needed to be. Air he could breathe, the wind on his face, nothing on the horizon but whitecaps and seagulls.

The train slowed and drew to a stop as it had done numerous times previously. Daniel didn’t stir; the cold window felt too good against his clammy forehead. He was half aware of a small woman rustling an enormous collection of department store carrier bags as she carted her shopping haul past his seat, heading towards the exit. She took a couple of steps past him before she paused and spoke.

‘This is the end of the line, you know?’ Her voice carried a warm undertone of concern and Daniel roused. The thump in his head increased, making him frown as he regarded the speaker. She was an older lady, around the age his Mam would’ve been had she still been alive.

Her grey hair was styled in a short, modern crop and she was dressed in that effortlessly casual, yet stylish look some women had. A soft camel jumper over dark indigo jeans with funky bright red trainers on her feet. A padded pea jacket and a large handbag worn cross body, keeping her hands free to manage her shopping bags. She smiled brightly at Daniel and tilted her head towards the carriage doors, which were standing stubbornly open.

‘This is Orcombe Sands. Pensioner jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds.’ She laughed at her own joke and Daniel finally realised what she was telling him. He had to get off the train; this was his destination. She was still watching him expectantly so he cleared his throat.

‘Oh, thanks. Sorry I was miles away.’ He rose as he spoke, unfurling his full height as the small woman stepped back to give him room to stand and tug his large duffel bag from the rack above his seat. Seemingly content that Daniel was on the move, the woman gave him a cheery farewell and disappeared off the train.

Adjusting the bag on his shoulder as he looked around, Daniel perused the layout of the station for the first time. The panoramic sweep of his surroundings didn’t take long. The tiny waiting room needed a lick of paint, but the platform was clean of the rubbish and detritus that had littered the central London station he’d started his journey at several hours previously. A hand-painted, slightly lopsided Exit sign pointed his way and Daniel moved in the only direction available to him, hoping to find some signs of life and a taxi rank.

He stopped short in what he supposed was the main street and regarded the handful of houses and a pub, which was closed up tight on the other side of the road. He looked to his right and regarded a small area of hardstanding with a handful of cars strewn haphazardly around.

The February wind tugged hard at his coat and he flipped the collar up, hunching slightly to keep his ears warm.

Daniel started to regret his spur-of-the-moment decision to leave town. He’d been feeling stale for a while, completely lacking in inspiration. Every image he framed in his mind’s eye seemed either trite or derivative. All he’d ever wanted to do was take photographs. From the moment his parents had given him his first disposable camera to capture his holiday snaps, Daniel had wanted to capture the world he saw through his viewfinder.

An engine grumbled to life and the noise turned Daniel’s thoughts outwards again as a dirty estate car crawled out of the car park and stopped in front of him. The side window lowered and the woman from the train leant across from the driver’s side to speak to him.

‘You all right there? Is someone coming to pick you up?’ Daniel shuffled his feet slightly under the blatantly interested gaze of the older woman.

His face warmed as he realised he would have to confess his predicament to the woman. He had no idea where he was or what his next move should be. He could tell from the way she was regarding him that she would not leave until she knew he was going to be all right.

‘My trip was a bit spur-of-the-moment. Do you happen to know if there is a B&B nearby?’ he said, trying to keep his voice light, as though heading off into the middle of nowhere on a freezing winter’s day was a completely rational, normal thing to do.

The older woman widened her eyes slightly. ‘Not much call for that this time of year. Just about everywhere that offers accommodation is seasonal and won’t be open until Easter time.’

Daniel started to feel like an even bigger fool as the older woman continued to ponder his problem, her index finger tapping against her lip. The finger paused as a sly smile curled one corner of her lip and Daniel wondered if he should be afraid of whatever thought had occurred to cause that expression.

He took a backwards step as the woman suddenly released her seat belt and climbed out of the car in a determined manner. He was not intimidated by someone a foot shorter than him. He wasn’t.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked as she flipped open the boot of the car and started transferring her shopping bags onto the back seat.

‘Fitz…’ He paused. That name belonged in London, along with everything else he wanted to leave behind. ‘Daniel. Daniel Fitzwilliams.’

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Madeline although my friends call me Mads and I have a feeling we will be great friends. Stick your bag in the boot, there’s a good lad. I know the perfect place. Run by a friend of mine. I’m sure you’ll be very happy there.’

Daniel did as bid, his eyes widening in shock as unbelievable! Madeline propelled him in the right direction with a slap on the arse and a loud laugh.

‘Bounce a coin on those cheeks, Daniel! I do so like a man who takes care of himself.’ With another laugh, Madeline disappeared into the front seat of the car and the engine gave a slightly startled whine as she turned the key.

Gritting his teeth, he placed his bag in the boot before moving around to the front of the car and eyeing the grubby interior of the estate, which appeared to be mainly held together with mud and rust. He folded his frame into the seat, which had been hiked forward almost as far as it could. With his knees up around his ears, Daniel fumbled under the front of the seat until he found the adjuster and carefully edged the seat back until he felt less like a sardine.

‘Belt up, there’s a good boy,’ Madeline trilled as she patted his knee and threw the old car into first. They lurched away from the kerb. Deciding that a death grip was the only way to survive, Daniel quickly snapped his seat belt closed, scrabbled for the aptly named oh shit! handle above the window and tried to decide whether the journey would be worse with his eyes open or closed.

Madeline barrelled the car blithely around the narrow country lanes, barely glancing at the road as far as Daniel could tell as she sang along to the latest pop tunes pouring from the car radio. He tried not to whimper at the thought of where he was going to end up. What the hell was this place going to be like if it was run by a friend of Madeline’s? If there was a woman in a rocking chair at the window, he’d be in deep shit.

The car abruptly swung off to the left and continued along what appeared to be a footpath rather than any kind of road. A huge building loomed to the left and Daniel caught his breath. Rather than the Bates Motel, it was more of a Grand Lady in her declining years. In its heyday, it must have been a magnificent structure. The peeling paint, filthy windows and rotting porch did their best to hide the beauty, together with the overgrown gardens.

His palms itched and for the first time in for ever, Daniel felt excited. He wanted his camera. Head twisting and turning, he tried to take everything in. A group of outbuildings and a large barn lay to the right of where Madeline pulled to a stop on the gravel driveway.

Giving a jaunty toot on the car’s horn, she wound down her window to wave and call across the yard to what appeared to be a midget yeti in the most moth-eaten dressing gown Daniel had ever seen. Not good, not good, oh so not good…