“One down,” she said.
Parting ways, Emily strolled back to the gates. All she wanted now was to go home, eat ice cream, and prepare for the next exam. She was just about to do exactly that when a deep, masculine voice called her name.
Vice Chancellor Eriksson was walking towards her at a deliberate pace.
“How was it?” he asked, blocking her path.
Emily eyed him warily. “Fine.”
Eriksson nodded, drawing nearer. “I hear a mutual acquaintance of ours has flown back to the nest.”
“With all of your money,” Emily said.
The Vice Chancellor’s face flushed scarlet. “Have you heard anything?”
She regarded him for a moment before shaking her head. “Only that your son was released without charge. He really does have some friends in high places, doesn’t he?”
The Vice Chancellor’s eyes grew wide and round. He glanced behind him, then over Emily’s shoulder. “He’s been very lucky. He’s agreed to move back with his mother for a little while. University life, it seems, is not for everybody.”
“No, I suppose it’s not.”
Eriksson leaned in closer. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed and tinged with anxiety. “And what about you, Emily? Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
She stared at him deliberately for a long time. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
Stepping to one side, she strolled past him.
“Well, whatever you’ve decided,” Eriksson called after her, “I hope for your sake it’s the right decision.”
A group of students idled by, chatting to each other. Emily slid to a halt.
“By the way,” she called over her shoulder. “The next time you speak to your son, perhaps you might have a word with him about the ethics of filming his sexual conquests without their consent. I’m sure that sort of thing is against the law.”
Eriksson’s face grew deathly pale as the group of students stared at him with wide eyes and open mouths.
By the time Emily reached the university gates, a heaviness had settled on her shoulders. It was still with her when she returned home and began studying for her next exam. As she worked, her mind occasionally drifted off, taking her to tropical beaches and along rainforest trails. She pictured herself travelling from country to country with just a bag on her back. It was a nice daydream, one that kept her distracted for the rest of the afternoon.
25
CORNWALL
JULY
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THE OLD VW coughed and spluttered as it pulled up outside a small white cottage that sat in an overgrown garden.
Emily was motionless behind the wheel, her heart thumping in her chest as she assessed the neglect the garden had fallen into. It pained her. She had spent hours in spring pruning and clipping and sculpting, hoping the view from the window would bring some joy. Heaving her shoulders, she turned and looked along the road. Other cottages in nicely kept gardens lined both sides. She could only imagine what the neighbours had to say about this eyesore at the end of the street.
It was Sunday morning, approaching midday. A large portion of the village would be in church, singing hymns and praising Jesus, while chickens roasted in ovens, the temperature turned down low so as not to dry the meat.
Nothing had changed since she’d been away. Nothing except the garden. She found her gaze pulled back to it. Just an hour of grafting here and there each week would have kept it maintained. Anyone could spare an hour here or there. But it wasn’t the time commitment that had allowed the garden to run wild, Emily decided. It was the proving of a point. The garden was a symbol on public display that cried: I have been neglected. No. Worse than that: I have been abandoned.
“Well, I’m here now,” Emily muttered.
It took her another two minutes to muster the will to leave the car. By then, she had seen her mother appear and disappear at the window more times than she could count.
The day was warm and heady. Above the village, the sky was cobalt blue with only a smattering of cloud. Emily sucked in a breath. The air tasted of fresh cut grass and summer flowers. The sun was warm on her skin.
Shutting her eyes for a second, she enjoyed the sensation. When she opened them again, she found her gaze drawn to the living room window, where her mother stood with her hands in the air. Sighing, Emily held up a finger and mouthed, “One minute.”
She turned and looked down the empty street. It was as if she and her mother were the only two people on earth. It had felt that way growing up. The feeling had never gone away.
Emily moved around to the back of the VW. It was an old model, the type where you had to pop the locks manually. The gearbox would need replacing soon and the exhaust pipe was threatening to fall off, but Emily had fallen in love with it as soon as she’d sat behind the wheel. It was hers now, and hers alone. Just about the only thing that was.
She was about to unlock the boot and remove her bags, when movement danced at the corner of her eye. A boy, thin and pale, and no older than seven or eight, stood on the pavement, staring up at her. He’d grown a little since she’d last seen him, but he had also lost weight.
“Hello, Phillip. Nice to see you. Are you out here all alone? Where’s that big brother of yours?”
Phillip stared up at her with wide, dark eyes. “Matthew’s at home.”
“No church today, then?”
The boy shook his head. “Have you come back?”
The knot of anxiety in Emily’s stomach grew a little bigger.
“Yes, I have,” she smiled. “In fact, I’m going to be teaching at your brother’s school in September. Won’t that be a nice surprise for him?”
Phillip shrugged. “What about when I go there?”
“I expect so.” Phillip had at least another three years before he went to the secondary school over in Bishopstown. Emily wondered if she really would still be teaching there. Immediately, a flood of doubt engulfed her. She wondered if she had made the right decision by coming home. At least her mother would be happy. That was something. And when Lewis Hemmingway had found out Emily was returning, he’d called her up straight away and told her he was happy, too. And if Emily happened to have a free evening once she was all settled in, how would she feel about having dinner with him?
And there was her new post at Bishopstown Secondary School. She was going to be an English teacher, with classes of her very own budding, young students, whom she couldn’t wait to introduce to all the classics, as well as her favourite contemporaries.
Phillip was still staring at her with big, dark eyes.
“Well, you’d better run along now before your mum starts wondering where you’ve got to,” Emily told him.
The boy frowned as he hunched his shoulders. “Don’t want to go home.”
“Why not?”
“Dad’s home. He’s in a bad mood.”
Emily stared at him and chewed her lower lip. She ruffled his hair. “Well, then, how about you help me carry these bags to the door? There’s a Snickers bar with your name on it if you do.”
Phillip grinned. “Okay.”
Emily passed him her shoulder bag and he dutifully carried it in both hands along the garden path. He stopped halfway and looked back. Emily’s mother was in the window again, an ominous silhouette with her hands stuck on her hips. Smiling, Emily grabbed a suitcase from the back of the car, found a smaller bag for Phillip, and stepped onto the garden path.
Phillip returned, his spindly legs moving awkwardly beneath him. Emily handed him the smaller bag and flashed him a smile. For a moment, she was convinced she had made the right decision. After all, the world would still be waiting for her when she was ready, and getting a few years of teaching under her belt would certainly open up a lot of opportunities when she did eventually decide to embark on her travels.
Phillip scurried ahead, the bag swinging from side to side. Emily followed behind, smiling at her mother who had moved from the wind
ow and now stood in the front doorway, peering nervously out.
“Hi Mum,” she said, kissing her on the cheek.
Her mother nodded. “I’ll go and put the kettle on. Get rid of the boy. The last thing I need is Angus Gerard banging on my door, complaining I’ve cast a spell on his son.”
Phillip stood on the garden path, peering curiously into the house. Emily produced the promised Snickers bar from her bag and handed it to him.
“Your reward, kind sir.”
Emily watched him scurry away with a smile spreading across his face. Then she turned back to the open doorway.
She had come home. It wasn’t the plan she had originally intended. But plans could change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes for the worse. Emily supposed she would soon find out which it would be.
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THE EMILY SWANSON SERIES BEGINS FOUR YEARS LATER WITH ‘NEXT TO DISAPPEAR’
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Get it here!
NEXT TO DISAPPEAR
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU GO LOOKING FOR...
“Hair-raising scenes – it had me on the edge of my seat.” – Readers Favorite
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Teacher Emily Swanson made a terrible mistake that ended in tragedy. Now she’s come to London, where she’s desperate to pick up the pieces and start again. But a missing nurse is about to offer her a chance at redemption...
Her name is Alina and she used to live in Emily’s new home. Some say she ran away from her violent husband. Others believe he killed her. Either way, she’s been missing for months and no one is looking for her – no one except Emily.
Because finding Alina could help right the wrongs of Emily’s past. All she needs to do is follow the clues...
But what Emily doesn’t know is that Alina had a deadly secret – one about the care foundation where she worked. And the closer Emily gets to uncovering the truth, the closer she gets to terrible danger.
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READ THE OPENING CHAPTERS ⇨⇨⇨
PROLOGUE
SOMEONE WAS FOLLOWING her. She was sure of it.
Hurrying along the winding lane, her flat shoes slapping on the tarmac, she glanced between the trees of the woodland that grew up on both sides. Long shadows snaked around the trunks, melting into each other, forming one amorphous shape. Only moments ago, she’d heard twigs snapping and branches rustling on her left. Her first thought was that it had been a rabbit or a fox. But then her mind had started whispering terrible things in her ear. Someone’s there. They’re watching you. They know what you’ve been doing.
She quickened her pace. Soon, it would be dark and she would be vulnerable. But if she could make it to the main road and the bus shelter, she could get to someplace safe.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the grand old manor house in the near distance. The gardens lay still. A few vehicles sat on the gravel drive, all unoccupied. No one was coming after her. It was her mind playing tricks, that was all. The conversation she’d had back at the house was planting seeds of paranoia. She’d been warned to stop. To keep her mouth shut. But it was much too late for that.
The path twisted to the left. The woodland shadows reached the treeline and stretched long fingers towards her. Fear pricked her skin. Fresh tears welled at the corners of her eyes.
How had she been so blind? All this time, she’d thought she’d been doing good. Helping. Supporting. Bringing peace. But now all she saw was the horror of it all. She’d been so naïve!
Tears came, spilling down her pale white skin and painting black spots on the blue cotton of her uniform.
A loud snap splintered the air. It had come from the woodland, just up ahead.
Maybe it wasn’t her imagination after all.
She broke into a run. Above her, the sky was bruised purple and smeared with bloody streaks. Up ahead, the path twisted again, coiling like a snake.
She ran faster, risking a second glance over her shoulder, seeing only trees and asphalt and swarming shadows. Her lungs were burning, her eyes stinging. Panic was rising up inside her like an evil spirit.
But there was the mouth of the lane and the road beyond. Her escape. She flung herself towards it, almost tripping over her feet as she stumbled to safety.
Relief flooding her veins, she slowed her pace to a hurried walk and drew in deep breaths. The bus shelter was just up ahead, next to an elevated pedestrian walkway that spanned the road. She glanced up, hoping to see people. But there was no one. Not even a car on the road.
She was alone out here. Alone with darkness falling fast. Or maybe she wasn’t alone at all. She shot a glance back at the mouth of the lane. There was someone there, standing in the shadows. No, it was her eyes playing tricks, just like her mind.
She turned back to the bus shelter, where a single yellow light illuminated like a beacon. Pulling out her phone, she checked the time. 8:48 p.m. Her bus would be here in five minutes. Five long minutes in which anything could happen.
Reaching the shelter, she pressed herself up against the glass, her breaths heaving in and out. Four minutes until the bus arrived. She prayed it would be on time.
Where was she going? She could go home. To him. To another beating. But he might be able to help her put things right. Or she could run, maybe go to her parents. If she could get to an airport.
Three minutes.
Vehicle headlights appeared in the near distance, growing closer with each passing second. She held her breath, hoping that it was her bus. The vehicle came closer, the roar of the engine filling her ears. The car shot past. She watched its rear lights fading fast, dread climbing up her throat. Silence resumed. Until something moved in the bushes.
Blood rushing in her ears, she spun around. Nothing was there. She made a decision; a bad one. Finding his number, she hit the call button on the phone screen, then pressed the phone to her ear.
Two minutes.
He picked up after three rings.
“Where the hell are you?” he growled, his voice dripping with anger.
She glanced at the mouth of the lane, then shook her head.
“I’m at the bus stop,” she said, her accent laced with a Germanic twang. “Are you at home?”
“I told you to stay here, but you didn’t listen. You never do. That big mouth of yours is nothing but trouble.”
“Please,” she said. “I’m scared. I don’t want to fight.”
“You should have thought about that before. I warned you, didn’t I? I told you to mind your own business.”
“Please...I’m coming home and then I think we should leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You dug your own grave. As far as I’m concerned you’re on your own.”
More headlights appeared in the distance. She squinted, trying to make out the vehicle. Her stomach fluttered as it came closer. It was her bus.
“Are you still there?” she said, breathing into the phone.
The line crackled. She glanced over her shoulder at the mouth of the lane, then along the road, where the bus was gradually making its way towards her.
“Are you there?” she said again, panic making her voice shrill.
A sound rustled behind her.
She twisted around. A towering figure burst from the shadows. Before she could scream, a powerful hand clamped over her mouth. An arm wrapped around her waist and hoisted her from the ground.
“I’m right here,” a voice whispered in her ear.
Then she was carried, kicking and squealing, into the trees.
The bus drove past the empty shelter. Then it was silent and dark.
CHAPTER ONE
SHE WAS DROWNING, pulled under by limbs and bodies, swept along by currents of voices, music, and car engines. Dark shadows circled her like hungry sharks. Hands and elbows pushed and shoved. Exhaust fumes clogged her throat. This was the old part of the city. There were no smooth walls here, no towers made of steel and gl
ass. This was all shadows and sculptures, buttresses and winding alleys; Victorian London hiding among the skyscrapers.
The crowd surged and spat the woman out, leaving her at the mouth of a narrow street. She paused for a minute, counting to four as she inhaled through her nose, to seven as she held her breath, then to eight as she exhaled through her mouth.
The early November air chilled her bones as she moved along the street, checking the address she had written on notepaper, until she stood in front of a tall apartment building. A plaque above the entrance read: The Holmeswood. A woman in her early fifties and dressed head to toe in chocolate fur was waiting outside.
“Paulina Blanchard?” The younger woman’s voice was a whisper above the street noise. She was pretty: mid-twenties, pale skin and green eyes, blonde hair scooped into a winter hat. “My name’s Emily Swanson. I’m here for the viewing?”
Paulina nodded, then opened the file she was holding in a gloved hand and took her time to slide her finger down the appointments list.
“Emily Swanson...” she said.
“Sorry to keep you waiting in the cold. I lost my way.” Emily smiled uncertainly as Paulina looked her up and down.
“Yes, well, you should have been here at two. I have another viewing in fifteen minutes with a married couple, financial types. So, I’m afraid we’ll have to make this quick.”
The letting agent pulled open the grand door of the building. As they stepped inside, the outside world fell silent.
“As you can see this is the lobby.” Paulina removed her hat to reveal a head of tight, salt and pepper curls. “Mailboxes are on your left. The lift is on your right.”
The exterior architecture may have been Victorian, but the interior was distinctly Art Deco. Faded red and white tiles made a sprawling grid beneath Emily’s feet, while two great pillars flanked her sides. A stained glass design of birds and flowers filled the space above the lift doors.
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