by Tara Lyons
‘Happy birthday,’ Elizabeth said, and extended her arms skywards.
‘But it’s not my birthday until next month,’ he replied with a smile.
His wife punched him on the arm. ‘Well, it wouldn’t have been a surprise if I brought you here on your exact birthday. Are you surprised?’
‘Yes, it’s a great treat. I just don’t understand why we need to celebrate me turning forty … like it’s a good thing.’ He smiled again, not wanting to dishearten Elizabeth’s kind gesture, but he’d wanted to stop celebrating his birthday many years ago. It wasn’t an age-related issue, but more because it reminded him of what he’d lost.
Elizabeth slipped her arm through his and led him to the entrance of the building. ‘I know you’ve been through a lot at work, and we still haven’t managed to have that chat, but sometimes, you just need to slow down and enjoy what you’ve got … and that includes celebrating birthdays, mister.’
His wife made him smile and he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t complain or scold today. He would enjoy himself — just as he’d been told to. Hamilton was usually the one giving the orders, but in his personal life, he was happy to be led for a change. He pecked her on the cheek and continued to follow her.
Elizabeth flashed their printed tickets to the woman standing at the glass door, who instructed them to take the stairs and turn right. His wife was surprised to find security and metal detectors awaiting them, and the fact they had to shed their coats and empty their pockets into a tray, just like at an airport. But Hamilton knew only too well the precautions tourist attractions like these needed to take against terrorists. Once they’d collected their belongings and posed for the obligatory photo in front of a green screen — he wondered what image they’d magic-up behind them in time for their expensive exit — they headed to the first of two lifts which would soar them to floor sixty-eight.
After exiting the lift, walking around and then taking the stairs to seventy-two, Hamilton and Elizabeth gazed out of the windows to point out Wembley Stadium in the distance and The Gherkin building much closer. Despite the cloudy November day, tourists filled the floor of London’s highest viewing platform to take in the panoramic sights of the city.
Elizabeth waved a piece of paper in front of him. ‘This trip comes with a couple of glasses of bubbly. Let’s order them now and grab that table by the window.’
Once seated, they talked about the beauty of The Shard’s architecture and how, as Londoners, they so often missed out on the beauties it had to offer; it wasn’t the done thing to act like tourists in your own home. They chatted and skirted around the subject until they had run out of things to say, and Hamilton suddenly felt awkward.
‘I don’t like this, love,’ he admitted. ‘It’s not like us to bother with small talk. Jesus, we’ve been together way too long for that crap.’
Elizabeth sighed and took a sip of her drink before she spoke. ‘I know, you’re right, but now really isn’t the time.’
‘And if we keep saying that, we’ll never say what we really want to say.’ She looked around, as if worried the people around them would be eavesdropping on their conversation, but it soon became clear the Thames had hold of their attention more than anything else. ‘Talk to me.’
‘I don’t want to be a childless family any more,’ she finally blurted out. ‘I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been told I can no longer get pregnant, or if it’s something I’ve always wanted, but I just couldn’t tell you—’
‘Hey, what do you mean you couldn’t tell me?’ Hamilton asked, put his champagne flute on the table and pulled his chair closer to his wife’s.
‘We lost our daughter, Denis,’ she said, placing her finger under his chin to force him to look at her again. ‘I haven’t even mentioned her name yet and you look away from me. Why can’t you talk about her?’
‘I talk about Maggie all the time,’ Hamilton said, and took his wife’s hand from his face, but kept it entwined with this own.
‘Yes, we talk about Maggie in the comfort of our own home, in the privacy and security, but you never talk about her with other people. It’s as though you’re still ashamed or … guilty that you didn’t save her.’
‘Of course I am, Elizabeth,’ he whispered, though he didn’t care about the people milling around them now; they had all blurred into white noise. ‘I always will be.’
She smiled, but it was a sad smile which didn’t reach her eyes. ‘So will I, but Denis, we’ll have no life if we continue to live it like this. We couldn’t help Maggie, our daughter, but we can’t blame ourselves for that forever.’
Hamilton looked out the window to London Bridge and inhaled deeply. In his wife’s words, he heard the same piece of advice he had tried to give Fraser just a few days ago in the hospital. He thought over the case they’d finally closed, and the book he’d read by Doctor Emine, and wondered if his own daughter had faced a stranger within. He couldn’t deny his thoughts constantly went back and forth to Maggie during the investigation, and he wondered if it was because he saw elements of her in Grace Murphy. He didn’t save either of them, but then, did they want to be saved? Could they have been saved? Hamilton asked himself.
He downed the remaining bubbles in his glass and squeezed his wife’s hand. While tracking down Murphy, he had let his mind wander to the idea that Maggie had also suffered with mental health problems, and now he knew that was a certainty, not a possibility. She had suffered, had felt alone and had felt she had no one to turn to — just as Murphy did — and while the way they dealt with their pain was polar opposites, they ultimately both took their own lives. Although Murphy developed various personalities as a way of coping and his daughter harmed herself in the lead up to her death, was there really a difference when they were tortured as young teenagers?
‘What about fostering?’ he announced unexpectedly and turned to face Elizabeth.
She drew her head back and frowned. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘Well, you said you wanted to adopt … but if we’re being honest, I don’t know if I could replace Maggie.’
‘Denis, it’s not replacing her, it’s—’
‘Wait, hear me out.’ Elizabeth nodded and he continued, ‘Maybe replacement is the wrong word, but I know it would feel that way to me. But, you’re right, there are so many kids out there who have faced tragedy in their already young lives; be it bullying, or abuse, or the death of a loved one. It’s those kids who need the most help. It’s those kids who grow up to be confused and lost adults in a world that is crying out for them to turn to the dark side.’
A small giggle escaped Elizabeth’s lips. ‘I feel like I’m speaking to the Detective Inspector now.’
He smiled, a rush of warmth and excitement fluttered in his stomach. ‘Maybe you are … but that’s only because of what I’ve seen in my line of work. By the time we get to the criminals, it’s too late to help them, either because they don’t want to be helped or they literally can’t be because of what they’ve done. It’s frightening, the monsters I see every day in my job. But imagine those very people were given more of a chance when they were younger. Christ, not that I’m saying all foster children are potential criminals.’
His wife laughed again. ‘Don’t worry, I get what you mean … help those who have faced tragedy and maybe you set them up for a smoother ride in this world. You sound very passionate about it, Denis.’
‘I actually didn’t know I was,’ he admitted. ‘I’d also need to do a bit of research into the whole process of fostering, but I know the local councils are crying out for foster parents in London, especially for older children. So many couples want to adopt and foster babies, which I can understand, but we can’t forget about the teenagers who need a safe place to live and people who can guide them before a permanent home is found for them.’
‘I was not expecting this from you, Denis. Where’s my sensible, no-nonsense and predictable husband gone? Perhaps the champers has gone to your head.’
&
nbsp; Hamilton tutted. ‘Less of that. I’m not predictable.’
‘Okay, that was below the belt … grouchy is probably a better word.’
His mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water until Elizabeth erupted into hysterics that now did attract the attention of the tourists around them.
‘Calm down, I’m kidding,’ she said and raised her glass. ‘Here’s to our future, Denis.’
He clinked his empty flute with his wife’s and smiled as she delicately sipped the remaining drink. Hamilton would never really understand why his daughter committed suicide, but after everything that had happened this weekend, he finally felt he could find some peace and finally write the next chapter of his story.
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Acknowledgments
Firstly, I would just like to say a huge thank you for finishing this book. I know the themes of alter-personalities and dreamlike states can be difficult for some people to read about, however I’ve learnt a lot about dissociative identity disorder while writing this book and I wanted to share that with you all. I hope you found something in the story that you could enjoy.
When my grandad passed away, I felt at times that I had become two people. There was the Tara I presented to the world — I smiled at people and told them I was fine, so not to make them feel uncomfortable with my grieving — and there was the Tara who cried at night and grew an unnecessary temper with my family. It was then I started to wonder about our personalities and how fragile our minds really are. And so, the DI Hamilton series began with In the Shadows, and I hope this book delivers more answers for you.
Mum, for your support, friendship, time and encouragement, I will never be able to thank you enough.
Acknowledgements are always hard to write, especially as it seems the list of people and groups to thank grows with each book — and I never want to miss anyone. But to all my dear friends who have helped me get here, and to all the online book clubs and readers who have championed what I do, I salute you and thank you from the bottom of my heart. Special mention must be made to all those in Crime Fiction Addict, Crime Book Club, THE Book Club and Book Connectors online Facebook groups.
Bloodhound Books, thank you for continuing to believe in DI Denis Hamilton and publishing the series. The whole team — Betsy, Fred, Sumaira, Alexina, Sarah and Heather, and all the authors in the kennels — are true gems. To my editor, proofreaders, Katherine Everett and Maria Lee, huge thanks for helping to make this book the best it could be.
To my JLBX coffee crew (despite never drinking a cup of coffee in my life!) you are always there when I need you. A fierce group of women who could run this world. Thank you for always believing in me, for the banter and for the good vibes only.
Finally, to Daniel and Leo, who kept themselves entertained, ate without me and stayed quiet when I needed peace to write this book, I love you both.