by M. A. Hunter
‘After some gentle persuasion, the seller agreed to lower her asking price,’ Charlie continued, as he led me through to the medium-sized back garden, with beautiful raised flowerbeds along one side, and a patio that puts Morag’s to shame. ‘When I told her everything we’d been through in the last eighteen months, she said she’d be pleased to know the house will be filled with love and noise once more.’
Charlie’s always been a good salesman, and I can just imagine him using his charm to strong-arm this pensioner into agreeing to sell the house to him. He assures me that the bank has agreed to loan us the additional money required to buy it as a replacement for our old house. As pragmatic as ever, Charlie had it out with Doug and said he would be leaving the company if he didn’t get a pay rise and the freedom to work from home a couple of times a week. To my amazement, Doug agreed, and Charlie is now Vice-President of their New Business division, as Doug is looking to expand.
Sometimes, if you stop long enough to appreciate what you actually have, you realise just how lucky you are.
‘Are you still okay to meet again on Tuesday?’ the physiotherapist asks me now.
My entire body aches – well, the parts I can feel do – but that’s why I’m here. I noticed something that day when the detective came to the secure wing of the hospital. Maybe it was the shock of seeing Tommy bleed out, how quickly his warm blood on my skin cooled and congealed; or maybe it had something to do with the way he landed on me when we struggled with that knife. Either way, I felt a warmth in my thighs that I hadn’t experienced since the hospital, and I’m now filled with renewed determination.
I’m having physiotherapy twice a week, once in the outpatients’ clinic here at the hospital, and on Tuesday we do work in the swimming pool. I know I’ll struggle to move tomorrow, but nothing worthwhile having ever came without pain and sacrifice.
Gail has been over several times since I was released by the police. She’s been speaking with the chief editor at the newspaper about me doing some freelance work from home for them, with a view to restarting my old job when I’ve kicked the wheelchair into touch. I appreciate her support and encouragement, but part of me suspects she’s angling for me to share my story with her for an exclusive. And who knows, maybe I will. After all, who would have imagined everything that would happen based on those four little words I heard Daisy say?
Morag and Angus have been allowed to return to their home, although from what Morag has told me, they can’t wait to move. It must be weird to live in a house knowing death was the last visitor. I hope they decide to stay in Northwood. With Tommy now gone, there is no reason for them to move on, but I wouldn’t blame them for wanting to return home to Scotland so she can be closer to her sister. I guess only time will tell what decision they will make. If they do move back, I will miss Morag. After everything, and in spite of my moments of irrationality, she was there when I most needed a friend.
I wave my thanks to the physiotherapist, as she washes her hands and moves on to her next appointment. The girl in the wheelchair before her now can’t be much older than ten, and I recognise the pained and tearful look, as it was the same one that stared back at me from the mirror for a long time. I’m only guessing, but I would think she is newly confined to her chair, and I can’t imagine how tough that must be on her emotionally. It was hard enough to accept as an adult, but to lose that feeling at such a young age must be unimaginable.
I continue to watch as the girl’s mum fusses and fidgets around her, handing a file of notes to the physiotherapist and talking about the girl as if she isn’t even there. I know that feeling too, but it’s not one I plan to accept any longer. Being unable to walk doesn’t make me, or her, any less of a human being. If you cut us, we still bleed. If you call us names or ignore us, we still carry the emotional scars. Labels like ‘disabled’ and ‘crippled’ are too easily doled out because our limbs have failed us, but we are so much more than our disability.
If I’ve learned anything in this last year, it’s that I am more than the sum of my working parts. Whether in this chair or fully recovered, I have so much more to offer, and I will spend the rest of my days fighting to prove that I am just as capable as the next person, regardless of physical and mental condition.
I wheel over to the little girl and introduce myself whilst her mother continues to natter to the physiotherapist. ‘Do you like chocolate?’ I whisper.
She eyes me suspiciously at first, before nodding with just a hint of a smile.
‘My daughter loves chocolate,’ I say, smiling warmly, ‘so I bought her a chocolate bar while I was at the shop earlier today. Only it was on offer so I ended up with two bars instead. The thing is, I don’t really want her to eat two chocolate bars, so it leaves me with a bit of a dilemma.’ I pause and check that her mum is still not paying us any attention. ‘I tell you what, I will give you the second chocolate bar if you can beat me in a race to the end of the room and back. You reckon you’re quick enough?’
She looks sceptical, until I pull the purple bar from my handbag. Her eyes light up.
‘I should warn you that I’m pretty fast,’ I add. ‘You reckon you can beat me?’
The little girl nods uncertainly.
‘Okay, on your marks, get set, go.’
I pull away, but not so fast that she can’t soon catch up and then pull into the lead. Over my shoulder I hear her mother gasp, but it’s not like we’re causing any trouble, nor in any immediate danger.
The girl makes it to the wall, and is already on her way back to the finishing line by the time I reach the far side of the court. Her mother is staring at me in utter bewilderment when I make it back. I’m not sure she’s even noticed the beaming smile breaking across her daughter’s face.
‘Congratulations,’ I whisper, handing over the chocolate bar. ‘Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you can’t do something. If you put your mind to it, you can achieve anything. Don’t give up on yourself.’
Her face is a picture, and despite her mother’s disapproving stare, I know our little race has broken down a barrier in that girl’s mind.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Charlie asks, as I meet him at the car.
‘Nothing,’ I murmur, not wanting to share the moment with anyone who wouldn’t understand.
‘Do you fancy stopping somewhere for a sandwich before we go home?’ he asks. ‘We still haven’t celebrated my promotion properly, and I’m famished.’
‘Lunch sounds perfect,’ I tell him, as I hoist myself into the front seat unaided. ‘I need to keep my strength up.’
There’s something else Charlie doesn’t know; the real reason why I stopped taking my antidepressants last month. And in eight months’ time he’ll know exactly why I took that decision. We’d better start getting some quotes for that garage extension.
THE END
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We hope you enjoyed Mummy’s Little Secret! Don’t forget to leave a review…
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And don’t miss Ransomed – the explosive opening salvo in a nerve-shredding new crime series starring investigative journalist Emma Hunter and the twenty-year-old secret that drives her vigilante crusade to solve a string of missing children cold cases across the south of England…
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Get your copy here!
Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading Mummy’s Little Secret, and for taking the time to read about all the people who helped make this such a gripping and terrifying story. Please get in touch via the channels below and let me know what you thought about it.
The idea for the story came when I took my children to a playground in Romsey, Hampshire close to where we live. I was watching all the young children climbing and running, and laughing and lost in the safety of a place that demands all who enter to let go and have fun. I spotted parents staring on from the sides, cringing when their child looked like they might trip, and waving frantically when they heard their name being shouted. It got me thinking about
what would happen if there was an imposter amongst them: someone who wasn’t there having fun. That then morphed into this vision of a child approaching me with the terrifying words, “She’s not my mum.”
As a parent, my greatest fear is danger befalling my child. Over the course of my parenting that has ranged from the prospect of choking, drowning, breaking a limb, and abduction. Actually having the children trapped at home during the lockdowns in this unprecedented time has somewhat alleviated some of those fears. But with it has come more self-doubt: what if my home-schooling isn’t good enough; what if my children fall behind in class; what if they don’t understand why times are so challenging at the moment?
The thing we need to remind ourselves is: we’re only human, which is why I’ve dedicated this book to all of you who are keeping your shit together during unprecedented times.
I want to thank Bethan Morgan and Charlotte Ledger for their creative input into this story, for encouraging me to delve deeper into Morag’s character and understand why she would act in the way she does. Thank you also to the team of line editors, copyeditors, proofreaders, marketing gurus, and media whizzes who make up the rest of the One More Chapter team.
Thank you also to my best friend, Dr Parashar Ramanuj, who never shies away from the awkward medical questions I ask him. Thank you to Alex Shaw and Paul Grzegorzek – authors and dear friends – who are happy to listen to me moan and whinge about the pitfalls of the publishing industry, offering words of encouragement along the way. Thank you to Joanne Taylor for her continued support with spotting the typos in my work before it even goes to my editor.
My children are an inspiration to me every day, and as they continue to grow so quickly, I am eternally grateful that I get to play such an important role in their development. I know neither has found it easy during lockdown and home-schooling (who of us has?), but they continue to show one another affection, patience, and kindness, and make being their dad that bit easier. I’d like to thank my own parents and my parents-in-law for continuing to offer words of encouragement when I’m struggling to engage with my muse.
It goes without saying that I wouldn’t be the writer I am today without the loving support of my beautiful wife and soulmate, Hannah. She keeps everything else in my life ticking over so that I can give what’s left to my writing. She never questions my method or the endless hours daydreaming while I’m working through plot holes, and for that I am eternally grateful.
And thanks must also go to YOU for buying and reading Mummy’s Little Secret. Please do post a review to wherever you purchased the book from so that other readers can be enticed to give it a try. It takes less than two minutes to share your opinion, and I ask you do me this small kindness.
I am active on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, so please do stop by with any messages, observations, or questions. Hearing from readers of my books truly brightens my days and encourages me to keep writing, so don’t be a stranger. I promise I will respond to every message and comment.
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Stephen
twitter.com/Writer_MAHunter
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Thank you for reading…
We hope you enjoyed Mummy’s Little Secret!
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Don’t miss The Missing Children Case Files, your new favourite crime series starring investigative journalist Emma Hunter and the twenty-year-old secret that drives her vigilante crusade to solve a string of abductions across the south of England…
Be sure to follow M. A. Hunter on Twitter @Writer_MAHunter and Facebook @AuthorMAHunter for all the latest updates.
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Happy reading!
About the Author
M. A. Hunter has been a huge fan of crime fiction series since a young age and always fancied the idea of trying to write one. That dream became a reality when One More Chapter signed The Missing Children Case Files.
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Born in Darlington in the north-east of England, Hunter grew up in West London, and moved to Southampton to study law at university. It’s here that Hunter fell in love and has been married for fifteen years. They are now raising their two children on the border of The New Forest where they enjoy going for walks amongst the wildlife. They regularly holiday across England, but have a particular affinity for the south coast, which formed the setting for the series, spanning from Devon to Brighton, and with a particular focus on Weymouth, one of their favourite towns.
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When not writing, Hunter can be found binge-watching favourite shows or buried in the latest story from Angela Marsons, Simon Kernick, or Ann Cleeves.
Also by M. A. Hunter
The Missing Children Case Files
Ransomed
Isolated
Trafficked
Discarded
Repressed
Exposed
About the Publisher
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