Sleep: The most suspenseful, twisty, unputdownable thriller of 2019!
Page 26
Trevor’s not the only one who’s getting help. I’ve only seen my counsellor a handful of times since I returned to Mum and Dad’s house but the weight is slowly lifting from my shoulders and last night I fell asleep before midnight for the first time in a long time. And I slept all through the night with no dreams and no night terrors.
‘You know it’s not your fault.’ Mo gestures towards his legs. ‘This. The others. None of it was your fault, Anna. I hate myself for going there, I really do.’
‘You were angry and in pain.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘Don’t make excuses for me. How I felt, what I said, it was wrong. And I’m sorry. I’m really, really fucking sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ I reach for his hand and squeeze it. ‘Mo, it’s okay. It’s over. It’s done. What matters now is us, learning from this, putting it behind us and getting on with our lives.’
‘Is it?’ He returns my squeeze. ‘Is it all over?’
‘Yes.’ As I smile at him there is a warmth and lightness in my chest that hasn’t been there for a very long time. I think it’s called hope.
Chapter 55
Katie
Katie Ward creeps along the hall, stepping lightly, cringing at each tiny creak and groan of the wooden floorboards. Her mum was in a bad way when she got back from school. She’d had a terrible headache all day and vomited all over herself. She’d managed to pull off her top and change into something clean she’d swiped off the radiator but, with no energy to get up the stairs to the bathroom or into the kitchen, the smell of sick still clung to her skin and the pale pink lounge carpet. Since Katie arrived home two hours ago she’s cleared up vomit, fetched and administered medication, bathed her mum and read to her and now, finally, she’s asleep in her chair. But for how long?
Katie quickens her pace as she reaches the end of the corridor and swipes her school bag from the hook by the door, then crouches to scoop up the post. She sorts through it, tossing the junk mail back onto the mat. Three letters: one for her mum from social services and one that looks like a bank statement. And – Katie raises her eyebrows in surprise – one for her. She deliberates between her school bag and the letter. Two of her mates are going to Alfie Bauer’s party and she wants to check her phone so she can at least Snapchat her friends about what they’re wearing. She was invited too but there wasn’t any point asking if she could go. She looks back at the envelope. She never gets mail, particularly not mail with her name and address written by hand. It’s too intriguing.
She slips into the kitchen and drops her bag onto the table, then rips open the envelope. Inside are a thin black book and a large, lined piece of paper. Along the top of the letter it says, ‘When writing to Members of Parliament, please give your previous home address in order to avoid delays in your case being taken up by the MP.’ Katie frowns. What the hell’s that about? Whatever it is, it’s been sent to her by mistake. Her eyes flit down the page:
Number: A6837CC
Name: Christine Cuttle
Wing: D-B107
What? She’s got no idea what all the numbers and letters mean but she recognises the name. It’s the old woman who was at the hotel with them. Something went wrong with the car when she and Anna were going to get help and she flew through the windscreen because she wasn’t wearing her seat belt. That was what Auntie Mel said anyway. Auntie Mel’s said a lot of things, most of them complete bullshit, like how she’s going to get a carer in so Katie won’t have to spend every weekend with her mum and she can actually get to go into town with her mates once in a while.
Anyway, Katie knows the truth about Christine Cuttle because she’s been on the news. Every time she turns on the TV for her mum, there she is on the screen with her white woolly hair and her glasses and her tight little mouth. The Killer Nurse, that’s what they’ve been calling her at school. Some of the Year 7s who still play tag (but pretend they don’t) have made up a new game where whoever is ‘it’ has to try to poke everyone else with a biro and kill them. It pisses Katie off whenever she sees them doing that. Christine was really nice to her when they were on the Isle of Rum. She’d make her hot chocolate and bring her extra blankets and talk to her, really talk to her, not down at her like some of the other adults. She can’t imagine Christine killing anyone. She’s old. Old people aren’t scary. They’re weak and doddery and a bit boring, always going on about what life was like in their day.
Her eyes flick to the start of the letter and she begins to read:
Dear Katie
I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you and your predicament and how tough it must be, looking after your ailing mother when you’re so very young and full of life and ideas and excitement. I wanted to let you know how very much I enjoyed our little chats during our very eventful holiday on Rum and I’m so glad you gave me your address so we could keep in touch once it ended. You are a very bright, insightful and charming young woman. You are also marvellous at keeping secrets (as demonstrated by your ability to keep your chats with Trevor to yourself). That shows not only a very caring nature, but also that you are able to keep your own counsel. I don’t know if you’ve thought about what you might do for a career but I think you’d make a marvellous nurse. You certainly have all the qualities one might need. You have probably heard lots of horrible stories about me in the media but what they all fail to mention is the fact that what I did was inspired by love, not hatred. I only ever wanted to end people’s suffering, dear Katie. There is little a woman of my age and a woman of yours have in common but we are bonded by the fact that both of our mothers are (or in my case were) very ill indeed. No one likes to see the mother they love suffer, not me and certainly not a lovely, kind, caring girl like you. I would very much like to talk to you on the telephone about the struggle you are going through and ways in which you might ease your mother’s pain. I think a friendship such as ours (and I do hope you don’t mind an old lady considering you a friend) could bring us both a lot of comfort.
With best wishes and fondest thoughts,
Christine Cuttle (Mrs)
P.S. I am enclosing a book of poetry about sleep. It’s such a special book – I always carry a spare.
Katie stares at the letter, trying and failing to make sense of it. The old lady was nice, sure, but she’s not sure she wants to be friends with her, not the sort of friends that have long phone conversations anyway. She’s hardly got time to talk to her own friends as it is. She crumples the letter up and throws it, and the book of poetry, into the bin, then snatches up her bag. She digs through it until she finds her phone, then keys in her password. Her face lights up as she clicks on the Snapchat icon and sees the photo her friends have sent her of them with their arms around each other’s shoulders, massive grins on their faces and the words WE LOVE YOU in a neon font scrawled across the top. As she continues to stare at the photo, her smile slips and a hard stone forms in her belly. She should be there, with them, going to what everyone in her year is calling ‘the party of the year’. She clicks out of Snapchat and walks out of the kitchen. She might just go up to her room, try on a few outfits and take some selfies. It’s not the same as going out but she can pretend.
‘Katie!’ her mum calls from the living room. ‘Katie, love. I’m really sorry but I’ve been sick again.’
Katie stands stock-still, then she turns, walks back into the kitchen and fishes Christine’s letter and the book of poetry out of the bin.
‘Shall I bring you your medicine, Mum?’ she calls as she shoves them into her pocket. ‘It’ll help you to sleep.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Huge thanks to Phoebe Morgan, who stepped in when my editor, Helen Huthwaite, went on maternity leave and did an absolutely brilliant job; not just with the structural and line edits for this book, but also for supporting me every step of the way and patiently answering every question and query I threw her way. You are a star, Phoebe. Thank you too to the rest of team Avon who work their socks off to produce, sell,
market and publicise my books, particularly Henry Steadman, Sabah Khan, Elke Desanghere, Dominic Rigby, Anna Derkacz, Molly Walker-Sharp, Rachel Faulkner-Willcocks, Oliver Malcolm and Kate Elton.
I couldn’t do this job without the support of my superstar agent, Madeleine Milburn, and her stellar team: Giles Milburn, Hayley Steed and Alice Sutherland-Hawes. Thank you for spreading the word internationally and for ensuring that as many people as possible get to read my novels. Thanks also to all of my foreign publishers for believing in me and my books.
I would also like to thank everyone who gave me invaluable advice when it came to researching this book: Sharon and Steve Birch who answered my questions about how the coroner’s office works, Stuart Gibbon for his police procedural expertise, my go-to pharmacist, Andrew Parsons, Trudi Clarke who is a Ranger on Rum and very patiently answered every single question I threw at her, Sam Carrington for talking to me about prison routines, Angela Clarke for sharing her experience of shoulder dislocation and putting it back in (ouch!), and Torie Collinge, Hazel Amanda and Sarah Chequer for their nursing know-how. If I’ve missed anyone I am truly sorry.
On a much sadder note, I couldn’t write these acknowledgements without mentioning my friend Heidi Moore. Heidi was one of my best friends at school and we spent a huge proportion of our thirties together, drinking, chatting, travelling and having fun. She was a force of nature – kind, energetic, fun, generous, clever, silly and caring, and she was my biggest champion, especially when it came to my writing. To the outside world she seemed to have it all – friends, success, happiness and financial security – but she spent most of her life battling Borderline Personality Disorder and only her very closest friends knew about the demons that haunted her whenever she was alone. I was about two months into the writing of this book when Heidi took her own life. To say I was, and still am, devastated is an understatement. I thought long and hard about whether or not it was appropriate to dedicate this novel – a book about death and suicide – to my very dearest friend but the truth is my grief at losing her is trapped within the pages. I explained to Heidi’s family why I wanted to dedicate this book to her – how I want her to live on in every copy – and they gave me their blessing.
I miss you, Heidi. I always will.
It’s been a tough year, in more ways than one, and it was made easier thanks to the love and support of my family and friends. A big thank you to my mum and dad – Reg and Jenny Taylor – and my brother and sister, David and Rebecca Taylor. Thanks also to Sami Eaton and Frazer and Oliver, Sophie and Rose Taylor, Loubag Foley, Ana Hall (I got it right this time, Ana!), James Loach, Angela Hall, Steve and Guin Hall and Great Nan Joyce Hall. The biggest hugs to Chris and Seth who are my whole world. None of this would mean anything without you two. Thank you to my friends Rowan Coleman, Julie Cohen, Kate Harrison, Tamsyn Murray and Miranda Dickinson for keeping me propped up with wise words and, more often than not, gin. Kisses to the Bristol SWANS, the Knowle Wine/Book Club (particularly Joe Rotheram), the Ellerslie Girls, the very naughty Crime lot (you know who you are), the Story A Fortnight alumni, the 17 Rothbury Terrace reprobates, the Brighton gang and my ex-kickboxing buddies, Laura Barclay and Amanda Haslett.
Finally, a big thank you to you, the readers. Whether you’ve never read a book of mine before and you liked the look of this one, or you’ve bought every book I’ve ever had published – thank you! This is my dream job and I hope I’m writing books for a very long time to come.
To keep in touch with me on social media follow me on:
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CallyTaylor Author
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/CallyTaylor
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/CLTaylor Author
And if you’d like to receive quarterly updates with all of my book news then do join the free C.L. Taylor Book Club. You’ll receive THE LODGER for free, just for signing up:
http://www.callytaylor.co.uk/CLTaylorBookClub.html
READING GROUP QUESTIONS
1. One of the central themes in Sleep is guilt. How far does this influence the characters and do you think all the guilt Anna feels is deserved?
2. The book is set on the remote Scottish isle of Rum. How big a part do you think the setting plays in the book? Would the storyline have been as impactful if it had been set somewhere else?
3. Sleep contains a lot of very complex, damaged characters. Who stood out to you as the most engaging character and why?
4. What do you think the future holds for Anna and Joe?
5. Did you find the ending of the book satisfying?
6. To what extent did you empathise with Katie by the end?
7. To what extent did you find Anna a relatable character?
8. Melanie and Malcolm have a difficult relationship. Do you think they are right to think about divorce by the end of the novel?
9. Do you think there’s a relationship between sleep and mental health?
10. Would Christine still have been obsessed with sleep and death if her father hadn’t been a doctor?
Keeping this secret was killing her …
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She trusted her friends with her life …
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You love your family. They make you feel safe. You trust them.
Or do you …?
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What do you do when no one believes you …?
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Sometimes your first love won’t let you go …
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About the Author
C.L. Taylor is a Sunday Times bestselling author. Her psychological thrillers have sold over a million copies in the UK alone, been translated into over twenty languages, and optioned for television. C.L. Taylor lives in Bristol with her partner and son.
By the same author:
The Accident
The Lie
The Missing
The Escape
The Fear
For Young Adults:
The Treatment
About the Publisher
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