by Kate Simants
‘Where my mum paints, when she’s got time,’ Luke says, pointing. ‘She’s at work now though. Cooks lunches at the school up in the town.’
There are a few cars outside, neatly parked. ‘You fixing those?’
He nods, a flash of pride. ‘Bit of a mechanic,’ he tells her, pulling up the handbrake. His voice is different here. He’s not angry any more.
They get out of the car and walk up to the house. Everywhere is dewy and green and there’s a smell of moss, something earthy that she could just stand and breathe in all day long. The house is really old, foot-thick whitewashed walls and the paint peeling from the single-glazed windows. But it’s perfect too, the kind of house a child would draw.
The kind of house her child drew, once upon a time.
Wren hangs back. She tries to find a place for her hands but everything feels wrong, and all of a sudden she loses her nerve. Luke says they’ve had a lot of long conversations since what happened a few months back. That things are different now. That everyone’s ready.
But what if they’re not? What if this just makes everything worse? She shouldn’t have come. What if it’s a mistake?
‘It’s all right,’ Luke says gently, and he loops a long arm across her shoulders. ‘Deep breath.’
She takes a breath, and meets his eye.
‘OK.’
And she lets him take her to the door. The moment they’re on the doorstep, a little girl with paint on her face bowls out. Head down, running comically, straight-legged because she’s not even three years old. Wren laughs, watching her waving her paintbrush, curls of spun gold bouncing round her head.
Then, from inside the house there is a sound, a mother’s call.
‘Leah, wait!’
And for a moment, Wren forgets to breathe. Because the warmth of that voice, the love it holds, winds its way inside her, and pulls her fractured heart whole again.
And then, standing in the door, is Paige.
‘Hello, Mum,’ she says. And she opens her arms.
Acknowledgements
This book has been rattling around in my head for a lot longer than it took to write it. During my former career in TV production, I was tasked with working undercover in children’s homes, investigating bad practice and profiteering at the expense of some of the UK’s most vulnerable children. Although there are still huge problems with social care in this country, the tireless dedication from the huge majority of the foot soldiers in this industry is enough to break your heart. So my first thank-yous are to the real-life Melanies out there, and to the world’s greatest TV producer, Andrew Smith, who gave me the opportunity to meet them.
Nina Whittaker and Noelle Holten deserve a special mention for their help with my research and insight into probation: Wren doesn’t exactly play by the rules here but your help in explaining them was greatly appreciated!
The first draft of this book was written under the unparalleled tutelage of Laura Ellen Joyce and Henry Sutton during my time at UEA, for which I am forever grateful. Heartfelt thanks also to my friends and classmates Merle Nygate, Marie Ogée, Jenny Stone, Suzanne Mustacich, Geoff Smith, Shane Horsell, Stephen Collier and Caroline Jennett, and especially to Harriet Tyce and Trevor Wood, who continued to read draft after draft until the book was finished.
I have found a huge amount of camaraderie and support in the crime fiction community in the last couple of years, without which this would be a lonely profession indeed. Special thanks for laughs, feedback and motivational speaking go to Susie (S.E.) Lynes, Garry (G.D.) Abson, Niki Mackay, and the hilarious and brilliant members of the Criminal Minds alliance.
I was lucky enough to get a giant leg-up by winning the 2019 Bath Novel Award for this book, so a special mention goes to Caroline Ambrose, Hellie Ogden, and everyone involved in the judging – it was such a blast.
Oodles of gratitude go to my ludicrously brilliant agent Veronique Baxter. Your insight, enthusiasm and candour have smoothed the otherwise arduous process of getting this book into print, and I can’t thank you enough. Likewise my editor, the stellar Miranda Jewess, without whom this book would be 300,000 words long, and a lot less coherent. It has been an absolute pleasure and an education working with you. Let’s hope the reading of this book doesn’t cause any further retinal trauma. Thanks also to the rest of the team at Profile, especially Graeme Hall, Hayley Shepherd and Rebecca Gray.
Finally, a word of appreciation to my stupendous family, the greatest cheerleaders a person could have. Thank you, Mum, Faye and Dad for everything. Tom, thank you for your unending patience, your insistence that I tough it out, and for taking up the slack so that I could get this done. Mo and Sid, you pair of plonkers: your pride and enthusiasm about what I do with my time makes it all worthwhile. I love the lot of you very, very much.