This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780008300814

Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008328689

Version: 2018-09-20

Dedication

For my sons, Louis and Nathaniel. You make me proud every day.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue: 19th March 2014 – Exeter Crown Court

Part One

Chapter One: Alice

Chapter Two: Connie

Chapter Three: Connie

Chapter Four: Alice

Chapter Five: Connie

Chapter Six: Alice

Chapter Seven: Connie

Chapter Eight: Deborah

Chapter Nine: Connie

Chapter Ten: Alice

Chapter Eleven: Connie

Chapter Twelve: Deborah

Chapter Thirteen: Connie

Chapter Fourteen: Alice

Chapter Fifteen: Deborah

Chapter Sixteen: Connie

Chapter Seventeen: Connie

Chapter Eighteen: Deborah

Chapter Nineteen: Alice

Chapter Twenty: Connie

Chapter Twenty-One: Connie

Chapter Twenty-Two: Tom

Chapter Twenty-Three: Deborah

Chapter Twenty-Four: Alice

Chapter Twenty-Five: Connie

Chapter Twenty-Six: Alice

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Tom

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Connie

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Deborah

Chapter Thirty: Alice

Chapter Thirty-One: Connie

Chapter Thirty-Two: Connie

Chapter Thirty-Three: Alice

Chapter Thirty-Four: Tom

Chapter Thirty-Five: Deborah

Chapter Thirty-Six: Connie

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Connie

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Alice

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Deborah

Chapter Forty: Connie

Chapter Forty-One: Connie

Chapter Forty-Two: Tom

Chapter Forty-Three: Connie

Chapter Forty-Four: Connie

Chapter Forty-Five: Connie

Chapter Forty-Six: Deborah

Chapter Forty-Seven: Connie

Chapter Forty-Eight: Tom

Part Two

Chapter Forty-Nine: Angela

Chapter Fifty: Connie

Chapter Fifty-One: Deborah

Chapter Fifty-Two: Angela

Chapter Fifty-Three: Connie

Chapter Fifty-Four: Connie

Chapter Fifty-Five: Deborah

Chapter Fifty-Six: Tom

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Connie

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Angela

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Connie

Chapter Sixty: Tom

Chapter Sixty-One: Connie

Chapter Sixty-Two: Deborah

Chapter Sixty-Three: Angela

Chapter Sixty-Four: Connie

Chapter Sixty-Five: Tom

Chapter Sixty-Six: Deborah

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Angela

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Connie

Chapter Sixty-Nine: Connie

Chapter Seventy: Tom

Chapter Seventy-One: Deborah

Chapter Seventy-Two: Angela

Chapter Seventy-Three: Tom

Chapter Seventy-Four: Connie

Chapter Seventy-Five: Connie

Chapter Seventy-Six: Angela

Chapter Seventy-Seven: Deborah

Chapter Seventy-Eight: Connie

Chapter Seventy-Nine: Connie

Chapter Eighty: Tom

Chapter Eighty-One: Angela

Chapter Eighty-Two: Deborah

Chapter Eighty-Three: Connie

Chapter Eighty-Four: Angela

Chapter Eighty-Five: Connie

Chapter Eighty-Six: Deborah

Chapter Eighty-Seven: Tom

Chapter Eighty-Eight: Deborah

Chapter Eighty-Nine: Connie

Chapter Ninety: Angela

Chapter Ninety-One: Deborah

Chapter Ninety-Two: Tom

Chapter Ninety-Three: Connie

Chapter Ninety-Four: Connie

Chapter Ninety-Five: Deborah

Chapter Ninety-Six: Angela

Chapter Ninety-Seven: Connie

Chapter Ninety-Eight: Connie

Chapter Ninety-Nine: Tom

Chapter One Hundred: Connie

Chapter One Hundred and One: Deborah

Chapter One Hundred and Two: Connie

Chapter One Hundred and Three: Connie

Chapter One Hundred and Four: Deborah

Chapter One Hundred and Five: Angela

Chapter One Hundred and Six: Deborah

Chapter One Hundred and Seven: Angela

Chapter One Hundred and Eight: Connie

Chapter One Hundred and Nine: Connie

Chapter One Hundred and Ten: Angela

Chapter One Hundred and Eleven: Connie

Chapter One Hundred and Twelve: Alice

Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen: Connie

Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen: Deborah

Epilogue: Monday 6th August 2018

Author’s Note

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

19th March 2014 – Exeter Crown Court

‘It took approximately eight hours for Sean Taylor to die.’

She listened as the man spoke, her heart beating a little faster, her eyes blinking a little more than necessary. She shifted in her seat. Her bottom was numb, her legs heavy. She didn’t

want

to hear the details. She

needed

to. Her gaze fixed on the coroner; she couldn’t move her limbs and escape the courtroom, couldn’t close her ears to the words.

She had to know.

‘The stab wound to the back of his neck entered between cervical C5 and C6, causing complete severance of the spinal cord. Not immediately fatal, but it would’ve paralysed him.’

A tight band constricted her chest wall, threatening to squash her heart. Still, she listened.

‘He lay, unable to move, in his own blood for hours. It wasn’t until the tide came in fully that his life was finally taken.’

‘So, cause of death was drowning?’

The man’s left eye twitched. It was visible even from her seat in the gallery. ‘Well, officially, yes – suffocation from water was the decisive factor. But, clearly, the stab which caused—’

‘That will be all, Doctor Varsey. No further questions.’

The young man in the dock was standing very still – like a shop dummy, frozen in position by the person who put it there. Unmoved by proceedings. His mop of blond hair fell in loose curls, covering his eyes. Blocking his guilt from view. How could this unremarkable eighteen-year-old have caused so much devastation?

She swallowed.

He deserved what was coming to him. Didn’t he? A lifetime in prison.

A life for a life.

But he wasn’t the only one who needed to be punished.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Alice

Wednesday 31st January 2018

The chairs form an almost perfect circle. I manoeuvre the last two so they have equal distance between them. It’s important I try to maintain the personal space of those who’ll be seated here. Satisfied, I step back to check. Only one chair is different – double the room either side of it – separated from the rest of them. It’s also the only soft-furnished chair, the others being brown plastic.

This is my chair.

I’m their leader. I need to be seen easily by all the members – all eyes will need to be able to find mine. Eye contact is so important. That’s how they can see my empathy. My pain. Share it all with me.

Ten minutes left to wait.

It’s taken a few months of organisation: a lot of online chats, convincing others there was need for in-person interaction rather than virtual, finding an appropriate venue. Hopefully there’ll be a good turnout; at least six. I’ve optimistically put out ten chairs. Not a big group, but that doesn’t matter. Not to begin with. It will grow, once people realise how much they’re gaining. How much help and support it will offer them. And then they’ll travel from further afield to be a part of my group, a part of each other’s lives.

Five minutes.

A fizz of excitement bubbles inside my stomach. Most people wouldn’t understand that. Not with the type of group I’m running.

But this means a lot to me.

This is going to help redeem me.

‘Hello.’ A quiet, hesitant voice drifts in from the outer door of the church hall.

I straighten, my muscles hardening for a few seconds before I recover. I deftly smooth my black pencil-skirt with both hands, and pat my hair – the new curly style is taking some getting used to. I take small, quick steps towards the voice.

‘Welcome, I’m Alice Mann, come on in.’ I’m relieved to hear the words effortlessly flowing from my mouth as I thrust my hand into the palm of my first group member. The robust, ruddy-faced woman gives a shaky smile in return.

‘Wendy,’ she manages, her eyes flitting around the church hall.

I can tell she’s nervous. I must put Wendy at ease quickly, to make sure she stays; doesn’t turn tail at the first opportunity, or only attend this first session and never return.

‘A church,’ Wendy says. ‘Is it appropriate?’

‘Well, the church

hall

, to be exact,’ I say, as confidently as I can. ‘It’s the only venue I could secure locally.’ I pop my arm around Wendy’s shoulders and guide her to a chair.

I did wonder if this would be the best place, but I’d been limited. And this only cost £25 for two hours. It’s not like we’re in the actual church. But anyway, isn’t God meant to forgive people their sins? And the people coming to my group aren’t the ones who’ve sinned. I keep this thought to myself.

The sound of footsteps catches my attention. A sigh of relief forms but dies in my throat. At least it’s not going to be just the two of us. That would be a disaster. I smile as I greet four more people: three women and one man. I hope he won’t be the only male. It’s important to have a good selection.

After a few minutes of mumblings, squeaking of metal legs on the wooden floor, shuffling of bodies into a comfortable position – the room falls silent.

I can hear my own breath as it escapes my lips.

Six people, including me. All here for the same thing.

‘Welcome to the group.’ My enthusiastic voice fills the high-ceilinged room, and I almost jump – it sounds loud, unfamiliar. ‘I’m really pleased you’ve made it here today.’ I take a moment to look directly at each of the group members in turn. ‘I thought we’d start by going around the circle, each giving a brief introduction, start getting to know each other.’

A few people drop their gaze from mine. They don’t want to be the first to speak, the first to verbalise the reason they’re here. It’s easy, online, you see. To talk in a chat room, remain anonymous, unseen. This is different, and it’ll take a while before they build up trust in each other. In me. It will take time before they can be themselves. I can relate to that. I’m not even at that stage myself, yet.

I’ll start. I am the leader, after all.

‘Okay. I’ll begin.’ I take a large lungful of air, and slowly expel it before speaking again.

‘My name is Alice. And my son is a murderer.’

CHAPTER TWO

Connie

Connie Summers all but sprinted up the hill towards the building that housed her psychological therapy practice, puffs of breath clouding the cold space in front of her. Eight months ago, she’d struggled to walk it – extra weight gained through long periods of stress-related binge-eating had taken its toll and prevented her from even ascending stairs without gasping for air. But when her new housemate had moved in, so too did a new regime: healthy eating, gym sessions, hikes over the moors. Detective Inspector Lindsay Wade had brought the best out in Connie.

Not everything in Connie’s life was rosy, though. The weight of worry still hunched her shoulders and tugged at her thoughts – still meant she couldn’t fully relax. Even now, as she strode past the familiar Totnes shops, flashbacks permeated her mind in short, sharp bursts. The images – bright, vivid and unwelcome – came to her when she didn’t even realise she was thinking about the events that had shaken her so profoundly last year.

Connie hadn’t fully recovered from the aftermath of her involvement in the Hargreaves’ murder, and she doubted she ever would. It was bad enough that she’d been one of the professionals responsible for the decision to release Ricky Hargreaves from prison, when days later he reoffended by raping a woman, but to then be dragged into Ricky’s murder case a year later when she’d begun to put her prison career behind her – it was like the red-blood icing on a poisoned cake. She’d lost clients, quite literally, due to a cruel twist of fate: the lethal mix of her previous work with offenders and her own father’s criminal links. The innocent faces of the young woman and her little boy – both now dead – were still at the forefront of Connie’s mind. She’d also struggled financially – her failure to drag herself to work every day, coupled with an inability to motivate herself to build her business back up, took its toll. This wasn’t only a direct effect of Hargreaves, but also her family’s own dubious past, its secrets unexpectedly revealing themselves, causing her thoughts to spiral uncontrollably for a while. Lindsay moving in had hel

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