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       Chapter Fourteen

      

       Chapter Fifteen

      

       Chapter Sixteen

      

       Chapter Seventeen

      

       Chapter Eighteen

      

       Chapter Nineteen

      

       Chapter Twenty

      

       Chapter Twenty-One

      

       Chapter Twenty-Two

      

       Chapter Twenty-Three

      

       Chapter Twenty-Four

      

       Chapter Twenty-Five

      

       Chapter Twenty-Six

      

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

      

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

      

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

      

       Chapter Thirty

      

       Chapter Thirty-One

      

       Chapter Thirty-Two

      

       Chapter Thirty-Three

      

       Chapter Thirty-Four

      

       Chapter Thirty-Five

      

       Chapter Thirty-Six

      

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

      

       Chapter Thirty-Eight

      

       Chapter Thirty-Nine

      

       Chapter Forty

      

       Author’s Note

      

       Some Thank Yous

      

       Read on for an Extract of Tracy Buchanan’s Twisting, Emotional New Novel…

       Keep Reading …

      

       About the Author

      

       Also by Tracy Buchanan

      

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

       Selma

       Kent, UK

       18 July 1991

      It all started when the boy nearly drowned.

      Queensbay was experiencing one of those summer evenings where strangers smile at each other as they pass on the street, everyone in awe that the temperature could be that warm in grey old Britain. Flip-flops and sandals abounded, the slip-slap of soles on the wooden path and the bark of small dogs a familiar reprise. The seafront café was full to bursting, especially the outside area, with children excited at being out so late on a school night, and parents trying to drink wine and smile with friends in between reprimanding hyper and sunburnt toddlers. On the sandy beach, older couples strolled through the shallow water, shoes dangling from their fingertips as their dogs ran in and out of the caves nearby. And beyond it all, the sun as it set, a fierce orange in the sky, fringing people’s heads with fire.

      I watched it all through my sunglasses, the gin I’d drunk blurring the edges of my mind, just the way I liked it. The curved sandy bay looked particularly pretty that night, bookended by the café on one side and three towering chalk stacks on the other. People could walk beyond the stacks and there they’d find a secluded bay of caves overlooked by an abandoned hotel … the same hotel I once dreamed of buying. I sighed. Not looking likely now.

      My daughter Becky chased her friend around the busy tables and I kept half an eye on her, ready to pounce at the sound of breaking glass, a sob, a crash. Next to me, my husband Mike kept a casual hand on my bare knee, smiling as his friend Greg recounted a difficult client he’d had to deal with. Why did people feel the need to discuss something as banal as work on evenings like this?

      I yawned and stretched, noticing Greg’s eyes slide over my breasts, which strained against the thin material of my floral wrap dress.

      So predictable. So wrong too, considering his wife Julie was sitting right next to me trying desperately to feed their newborn, his crumpled little red face squashed against her bare nipple as she fanned her hot, freckled cheeks with a menu.

      I narrowed my eyes at Greg and he turned away. He was what my mum would call ‘trouble’. I even remember the way my mum said it, sprawled

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