What She Saw: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-pounding twist
Page 28
Above our heads, a helicopter circles. The police will be with us soon and our nightmare will be over. But will it? I know that, for as long as Gareth is living, he will be the predator and I the prey.
Beth runs to me and throws herself into my arms, and I hold her tightly, rocking her as I used to when she was a child.
Scott steps to the edge and looks over. In his rucksack, there is the rope he always carries in case any of his group get into trouble. There’s no reason why he would have taken it out. If he threw it over the edge, it would reach Gareth easily. He looks back at me and I see the struggle in his eyes. I don’t move. This can’t be my decision.
Slowly, he takes a step away from the edge. Then another.
He comes to us then, taking us in his arms, his face hidden by his hood. I press my head against his shoulder, not wanting to hear the scream. The sound of a body hitting the water that I know will come. Scott pulls us closer.
It’s how we’re standing when Colin finds us, two uniformed officers bringing up the rear. Colin stares at my red and swollen neck.
‘God, Leona, are you all right? And you… Beth? Scott?’
‘We’re fine.’ Scott jerks his thumb at the quarry edge. ‘But that bastard isn’t. He slipped. There was nothing we could do.’
I’m about to speak when Beth looks up. Her eyes slip over to Scott’s rucksack. ‘No, there wasn’t, was there, Mum?’
She’s challenging me not to say anything. Like Scott, she’s made her choice.
I shake my head. ‘There wasn’t.’
Colin goes to the quarry edge and looks over. When he comes back, his eyes lock with mine. For a moment he says nothing, then turns to the uniformed officers behind him.
‘No one could survive a fall like that. This area is treacherous – it should be closed off. We must just be thankful there weren’t more casualties. Let’s go back and get you into some dry clothes.’
Battling the wind and the rain, we make our slow and careful way back up the slippery path to where the vehicles are waiting. As the flashing lights of the panda car come into view through the trees, Colin turns back to me.
‘It’s finally over,’ he says.
Maybe I imagine it, but I think I see the ghost of a smile on his lips.
Fifty-Five
Leona
Graham Hargreaves holds open the shop door. ‘Afternoon, Leona. Cold today.’
I get into the warm, smiling at the electric heater he has next to the till, and let Graham close the door behind me, shutting out the bitter February wind.
‘Is it in yet?’
Graham smiles. For three days now I’ve been into the shop asking whether the edition of Cumbrian Living I’ve ordered has arrived. Going behind the counter, he takes a magazine from below and slaps it on the counter. ‘This what you’re after?’
I fall on it, swiping through the pages until I see what I’m looking for. The title is ‘Country Haunts’ and the photographs are in black and white, credited with David’s name. It turns out he was a photographer after all – had gone to college after he’d left prison and got his qualifications. He’d thought it would be easy to get a commission, but somehow word had got around about his past and it hadn’t happened. He’d made up the story about working for the magazines to impress Beth.
But he’s certainly talented and has proved that perseverance pays off – for here is my beautiful daughter, her long limbs white against the dark slate of the cairn. The wind blowing her hair and the clouds heavy with rain. Her face is pale, her expression enigmatic – so different from the carefree girl whose art exhibition I have just come back from. It was put on by the school to celebrate her winning the Baxter Prize.
The picture in the local paper showed her with the eagle picture as a backdrop – me and Scott by her side. The name above the picture says Lily-Beth Newman. When Scott and I got married, there was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to share his name too. He was, after all, as much of a dad as she could ever wish for.
She’s happier at school now too. Carina has moved to sixth form college and, with her gone, Beth has found herself some proper friends. We count David as one too. She sees him whenever he’s in the area and we’ve decided to let their relationship play out as it will. After all, she is sixteen and sensible enough to make the right decisions and, despite their difference in age, we can see how he brings a light to her eyes that hasn’t been there before.
‘How are you all getting on?’ Graham pats my hand. People know, of course. After Gareth’s death, it would have been impossible to keep our story quiet, but, with the exception of a very few, people have been kind. Supportive. We could have moved, but decided not to. We like it here. It’s our home.
‘We’re all just fine, Graham. But thank you for asking.’
A muffled cry makes us both look down. George is awake. I bend to the pushchair and take him out, holding him to my chest. He has Scott’s dark hair and my blue eyes; an unusual combination, Fay says, but striking. His middle name is Samuel – Scott’s idea, and I love him for that.
Since Gareth’s death, I’ve had no more anxiety attacks, but last week I saw Lisa again – just to show off my baby. I remember the way she kissed the top of his head and smiled at me. You’ll make a wonderful mother, she said. You’ve proved that already with Beth.
In a few days’ time, Leo will be coming to stay. We’re not having a church christening, just a naming ceremony with a party afterwards, and Scott and I have asked Leo to be George’s ‘special adult’, a role I know she’ll take very seriously. Our reunion was emotional, but full of laughter too, as I always knew it would be, if that day ever came. She’ll be bringing my dad with her and I’ve asked David to take lots of photographs of us all to show my mum when he gets back.
Putting George back in the pushchair, I wheel him to the back of the shop.
‘Need any help to find anything?’ Graham calls after me.
‘No, thank you. I’m just after some frozen peas.’
I go to the freezer compartment and stop with my hand on the sliding door. Ria is looking back at me, but this time there is no fear in her eyes.
You see, I whisper to my reflection, I never really left you behind.
Want to read more gripping page-turners from Wendy Clarke?
Be the first to hear when her next book comes out!
Sign up here!
A Letter from Wendy
Writing a novel is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s also one of the most rewarding. Without readers, though, an author would be nothing – so I’d like to say a huge thank you for choosing to read my debut What She Saw.
If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up-to-date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Sign up here!
* * *
Writing a story set in my favourite part of the country, The Lake District, has given me immense pleasure and it would be lovely to think I’ve inspired you to visit this stunning area if you haven’t already. If you do, you’re in for a treat! Leona’s miner’s cottage is based on one my husband and I have stayed in many times. It’s in a village very much like Church Langdon. I wonder if anyone can recognise it.
I hope you loved What She Saw and if you did, I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it makes such a difference helping new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.
I love hearing from my readers – you can get in touch on my Facebook page, through Twitter, Goodreads, Instagram or my website.
Thanks,
Wendy x
www.wendyclarke.uk
Acknowledgements
Every writer wants to find someone who loves their book as much as they do and I found this person in my editor, Jennifer Hunt. Jennifer believed in me, and my debut novel, from the word go and for that I will always be grateful. Her editorial comments hav
e only made this novel better. Thanks also to Kim and Noelle, who work so hard at marketing and publishing, and the rest of the Bookouture team for their support. I know how lucky I am to be part of this great family!
No writer can travel this journey alone and so my next thank you goes to my amazing writing buddy, Tracy Fells, who has been with me through thick and thin. Without her support and encouragement over coffee and teacakes, I don’t think this could have happened. Thanks also to my RNA writing chums, whose ears I bend every month over coffee.
Also on my list of thanks is Jennifer Young who critiqued my novel as part of the RNA New Writers’ Scheme. She told me this story would one day be published and I’m delighted that she was right.
Not all my friends are from the writing world, of course, and I’d like to thank ‘The Friday Girls’, Carol, Barbara, Jill, Linda and Helen, who keep me sane when I’ve had enough of writing. I’ve tried not to bore you with too much talk of edits and deadlines and hope I’ve succeeded!
Thanks also to Graham Bartlett for answering my endless questions about police procedure (any mistakes are entirely my own) and Simon Whaley for helping me with the photography scenes.
This book couldn’t have been written without the support of my family: my children, Laura and Eve, my step-children and their partners and especially my mum who has cheered me on from the sidelines since the day I started writing.
Finally, the biggest thank you must go to my husband, Ian, for his endless patience when my computer stops working, for helping me with sticky plot problems, for loving the Lake District as much as I do and for being my number one supporter. You’re a star!
Published by Bookouture in 2019
* * *
An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
* * *
www.bookouture.com
* * *
Copyright © Wendy Clarke, 2019
* * *
Wendy Clarke has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
* * *
eBook ISBN: 978-1-78681-817-1
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.