by Heidi Perks
Charlotte shakes her head, her heart in her throat. “You don’t have to ask, I’m not going to say anything.”
“Thank you,” Harriet whispers. “Oh God, thank you.”
• • •
“MUMMY! I’M HUNGRY.” Alice runs into the room and falls against her mum dramatically, dropping a kiss on her baby brother’s head. “Can I have another piece of cake?”
“No.” Harriet smiles, rubbing her daughter’s tummy. “You’ll spoil your dinner. Will you stay?” she asks Charlotte.
“Thank you, but I need to get going.” Charlotte pushes her plate away and gets up from the table. She’s booked a hotel for the night so she doesn’t have to go straight home, but for now she needs to be on her own.
“Did you know that when you told me you and Tom were splitting up, I was envious of you?” Harriet says as she gets up too and waits for Charlotte to pick up her bag and the flowers Alice had given her. “I know it sounds mad, but it summed up everything I wanted. I was also sad because I knew Tom was a good man, but you weren’t happy and you did something about it. I craved having the ability to make a choice and live with it.
“I’ve started a gardening class,” Harriet goes on.
“Really?”
She nods. “One evening a week. I have an elderly neighbor who watches the children. You gave us this security,” she says. “And I’m sorry for the way I did it, I really am. It was wrong on so many levels, but I won’t ever stop paying for it.”
Harriet steps aside and follows Charlotte into the hallway. “I’m glad you came,” she says. “I miss you.”
Charlotte stops at the door, standing aside to let Harriet open it. “I know you’re sorry,” she says quietly. It would be so easy to tell Harriet she forgives her. Maybe one day she will, but for today she feels—well, a little bit lighter, she supposes. A little bit more like she can go home to those amazing kids she has and give them a big hug. Tell Aud she wants to dress up and go out for a few drinks, and, sod it, she’ll even call Tom and say thank you. Because even though they didn’t make a very good husband and wife, he’s been a wonderful friend to her over the last year. She is lucky, she realizes. She’s always been one of the lucky ones and she doesn’t need more than what she has.
Charlotte bends down when Alice runs into the hallway behind them, allowing the little girl to come crashing into her legs for a hug.
“Alice is doing fine,” she says quietly to Harriet when she pulls herself up. “She’s doing absolutely fine.”
Harriet nods, biting her lip, willing the tears not to start again, though she knows they will anyway.
“Bye, Harriet,” Charlotte says eventually, and steps off the doorstep.
“Charlotte,” Harriet calls out. She wants to ask her friend not to go, but she knows she doesn’t have the right. “Take care of yourself,” she says.
• • •
HARRIET WATCHES CHARLOTTE walk away, knowing she has no choice but to let her go. Just like she did with Jane. When Charlotte disappears around the corner, Harriet closes the door, thinking it’s unlikely she’ll hear from her again, but hoping that one day she might.
She can’t imagine how Charlotte thought she could be living an untroubled life, but then she supposes no one can really understand.
I see Brian watching me from the bottom of the yard, Charlotte.
I see him every time I look into my son’s eyes.
Whenever the phone rings, I expect someone to tell me Brian’s alive, found washed up on some beach.
My father’s dead and it’s all my fault.
Some nights she wakes up drenched in sweat and reminds herself that apart from her children, she’s lost everyone who has ever been important to her. She tells herself that for some reason she must deserve it and hates herself for what she’s done.
Then Harriet creeps into her daughter’s bedroom and sees her blond hair fanned around her on the pillow, an innocent smile on her lips, and knows in a heartbeat that she’d do it all again if she had to.
And now there is George, too. Whose little fingers grab on to her hand, wrapping tightly around her, letting her know she is his world and nothing else is important to him.
She took his father away before Brian knew he’d have the son he’d always wanted—the boy he’d hoped would turn out like him—and she can only hope she’s saved her son in time. That there’s nothing more in George than his father’s brown eyes, but only time will tell her that for sure.
“Mummy?”
Harriet is still standing by the front door when she feels a hand on her arm. She looks down at Alice.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know. What would you like?”
“Pizza. Have you been crying?”
Harriet rubs her sleeve across her face and smiles at Alice. “Mummy’s fine,” she says. “Didn’t we have pizza yesterday?”
Alice looks at her in the way she does when she knows something isn’t right. “Grandpa let me have pizza every day at the cottage,” she says quietly. “Are you happy sad?”
“Yes.” Harriet laughs. “I’m very happy to have such a wonderful daughter.” She crouches down and pulls Alice in for a hug. “I’ll make you a sandwich in a minute.”
“And ice cream too? Grandpa also let me have ice cream every day.” Alice pulls her head away. “You’re making my hair wet, Mummy.”
“I’m sorry!” She laughs through her tears as she tickles her daughter. She hopes Alice won’t ever stop talking about the two weeks she spent with her precious grandpa.
“Mummy, can we paint a picture?” Alice asks. “Can we paint a big seaside to go in my room?”
“My darling,” she says, “you can do absolutely anything you want.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I began writing this book, I had no idea how it would end, whether it would be any good or even if I’d finish it. I just knew I wanted to write it and if no one else liked it, well, then I suppose I would have started something new. It’s been a three-year journey and one that’s had a few bumps along the way, but it’s thanks to many people for helping me reach this point. I know without a doubt I wouldn’t have succeeded without them.
I can clearly remember the day Harriet and Charlotte’s story started as a seed of an idea. Holly Walbridge, that was down to you. Thank you for then endlessly listening on trips to the park as I made you think dark thoughts about how it would feel if your children went missing. I hope I haven’t scarred you!
The idea turned into a first draft and it was then thanks to Chris Bradford, who let me quiz him about all things police related, and for directing me toward an alternative, and much better, ending than the one I’d originally written. Chris, your knowledge is immeasurable, and any mistakes are entirely my own.
I am very lucky to have such amazing friends who not only read early copies of my book but then read subsequent ones and under very tight deadlines! Donna Cross and Deborah Dorman, you’re the best—thank you for reading so quickly and for your invaluable feedback. And as always, Lucy Emery and Becci Holland, who read early copies and who are always there with support. To all my other friends and family who have shown a huge interest in what I am doing—it means so much to be asked how the book is going and to see your genuine excitement when there is good news.
To my wonderful group of writers who have become lifelong friends: you have picked me up when things weren’t going so well and celebrated with me when they were. Cath Bennetto, Alexandra Clare, Alice Clark-Platts, Grace Coleman, Elin Daniels, Moyette Gibbons, Dawn Goodwin, and Julietta Henderson—writing would not be the same without you all.
Then along came Nelle. You picked my book off the slush pile and told me we were going to work hard and yes, we certainly did! It took a year of rewrites until I finally heard you utter those magical words—Your book is ready to fly. Nelle Andrew, I would not be allowed enough pages to harp on about how fantastic you are. I could not have wished for a bigger champion. T
hank you so much for believing in me and for taking me on this incredible journey. And big thanks also to the wider team at PFD, including my wonderful step-agent, Marilia Savvides, and the fantastic rights teams: Alexandra Cliff, Jonathan Sissons, Zoe Sharples, Rebecca Wearmouth, and Laura Otal. You have all worked so hard to make this a success.
When we did finally let my book fly I was fortunate that two incredible editors fell in love with it. Emily Griffin at Cornerstone and Marla Daniels at Gallery—I am thrilled to be working with you both. Your observations and direction are spot-on and between you, you took the story to another level.
Finally my wonderful family. Mum, ever since I was eight you have been telling me I can write and you have never stopped supporting me since. I have never lacked love or encouragement. Whatever choices I have made, you’ve always remained unconditionally by my side and these are things that matter the most. I know how proud you are, and I know how proud Dad would have been too.
My husband, John—five years ago I probably wouldn’t have taken the time to “see if I could write a book” if it weren’t for you. Your belief in me has not once wavered and I needed this more than I’ve probably ever told you. Thank you for reading the book nearly as many times as me and for your editorial input. I’m always telling you you know too much but in this instance I appreciate it! You make me laugh every day and are the kindest man I could wish to have met. Thank you for being you.
And my beautiful Bethany and Joseph. My proudest achievements ever. You have turned my world upside down and I love you for it. My own words don’t do justice to how much I adore you and so I have stolen yours: Bethany, I love you to Pluto and back infinity times, and Joseph, I love you more than infinity more times than the universe. Always follow your dreams, my little ones.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HEIDI PERKS was born and raised in the seaside town of Bournemouth on the south coast of England. After moving up to London for a short stint, she has since moved back to Bournemouth, where she now lives with her husband and two children. Heidi has been writing since she was small, though for too many years her daytime job and career in marketing got in the way. Now she writes full-time and cannot think of anything she would rather be doing.
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COME BACK FOR ME
Coming Fall 2019 from Gallery Books!
Evergreen Island
September 1993
We left in a storm. The sea was rising in sharp clumps of angry waves, rain hitting my feet like bullets. Dad must have known we shouldn’t be making the crossing to the mainland, yet he stood on the boat, one hand frantically flapping for one of us to reach out and take it. The hood of his red raincoat had whipped off his head, the rain now plastering his hair to his scalp. He yelled over the wind for us to get in, but we wouldn’t move from the end of the jetty.
The boat rocked violently as it tugged at the rope that kept it tethered to the dock, and I noticed Dad’s other hand gripping tightly to the steel railing of the steps. “Get in, Stella!” he shouted.
Thunder cracked overhead and the sky lit up with magnificent streaks of light. Behind me our house flashed bright between the silhouettes of our tall pines, making it look like something from a horror film. I pushed my hands deeper inside my sleeves, clutching Gray Bear harder to my chest. I didn’t want to leave the only home I had ever known, but I had never seen my dad so determined. His jaw was set in a flat line, his teeth bared. It wasn’t like him to be so persistent, so unrelenting, and I found myself shrinking farther back.
“I’m not going anywhere!” Bonnie screamed from beside me. “We’ll all die if we do.” My sister held her hood tight against her head, but I could just make out the haunting paleness of her face in the moonlight. Bonnie had yearned to leave the island for years, but this wasn’t the way she wanted to go.
“We will not die, but we need to go!” Dad yelled back. He turned to me and added a little softer, “I promise you. It’s fine. We’ll be safe.” Dad owned the small ferry that he was demanding we board, and he’d run the thirty-minute crossing between Evergreen and Poole Harbor every day for the last sixteen years. If anyone could take us to the mainland safely, it was him, but we’d never dared attempt a crossing in weather like this before. Mum wouldn’t usually let us out of the house when it was this bad.
“Why can’t we wait till morning?” Bonnie was begging.
I stared at the water, its white foam bubbling and spitting in rage. “Because—” Dad shouted. “God, will you both just get in?” He flapped his hand again, his gaze drifting over my shoulder to where Mum was coming down the dock. Her head was low, arms tucked inside a plastic poncho as she trailed a suitcase behind her.
“Where’s Danny?” he yelled, as another flash of lightning lit up the sky, making both Bonnie and me jump. I counted, too quickly, only reaching two before thunder roared overhead. The storm was creeping closer. My brother trailed behind Mum, shrouded in a shapeless black coat that hung over his bulky body, reaching the ground.
Bonnie started shouting again, gesturing at the sea as it rose and dipped, higher and lower than I’d ever seen it go. Another loud crack filled the air and I yelped as the branch of one of the pines fell to the ground beside me. I jumped out of its way as the wind carelessly tossed it along the quay.
For a brief moment, Dad stopped yelling and stared at the branch. My tears were already bleeding into the rainwater that soaked my face, but my heart broke every time at the thought of leaving my beloved island. All I wished was that Dad would realize that whatever we were doing, it wasn’t worth it.
“I do think we should wait, David.” Mum’s voice was high-pitched, her eyes wide as she looked from him to the water. “It wouldn’t hurt to stay another night. We could leave first thing . . .”
We held a collective breath as we waited for Dad to answer. He took his eyes off the broken tree and glared back at her. “No, Maria. We go now.”
“I don’t understand,” I cried. Dad was the easygoing parent. The one who allowed another half hour of playtime or a bite of chocolate even if we’d just brushed our teeth.
“Mum?” I cried, turning to face her. Why wasn’t she doing more to stop him? Mum understood more than anyone how much this island was a part of me, that I wouldn’t be able to survive without it. She loved Evergreen as much as I did.
She stared back at me, the fear I’d seen only moments ago now replaced by a blankness. “Mum—” My voice trembled as I waited for her to demand we go back to the house, but instead she placed a hand against my back and started moving me toward the steps of the boat. I hesitated at the bottom, but she pushed harder until I eventually had no choice but to get on, ignoring Dad’s outstretched hand as I scurried to one of the few benches that sat undercover.
Danny silently followed, sitting behind me, turning his back to stare out of the window. He wouldn’t look at any of us, though there was nothing unusual in that.
“I don’t want to go,” I cried, searching each of their faces in turn. Only Bonnie looked at me as she settled beside me. Her legs shook against mine, and I couldn’t remember a time when we had been so close.
Removing my hood, I looked back at the island through the scratched glass of the boat where the rain still lashed against it. I could have drawn a line right through my heart where it was splitting in two.
Tears continued to trickle down my cheeks as the wind rocked the boat heavily to one side, making Bonnie yelp. I reached out my hands to steady myself, letting go of Gray Bear. Maybe Bonnie was right and we wouldn’t make it to the mainland, but for some reason, Dad was determined to try. Maybe I no longer particularly cared if the sea swallowed me up.
&n
bsp; At eleven, I wasn’t prepared to accept our parents’ hurried reasons for leaving the island. I couldn’t believe that this was for good and I couldn’t understand one bit why they were dragging us away in the middle of a storm. “Will we come back?” I whispered to my sister.
Bonnie’s hand shook as it reached for mine under my mac. “No,” she said. “I don’t think we ever will.”
NOW
Chapter One
My clients sit on the sofa opposite me. Her arms are crossed tightly in front of her chest; he is leaning forward, his hands clasped between his widely stretched legs. I could easily fit in the gap between the two of them, and in each of their sessions they are moving farther apart.
Her jaw is so tense I can almost see it pulsing as she stares at me. I’m surprised she hasn’t cried today; she has in every other session. Her husband keeps glancing over at her, but she won’t look at him. Each time he does, his eyebrows twitch as if he’s either wondering where it all went so wrong or what he should do about it.
“I don’t know what more to say,” he mumbles, and she laughs and shakes her head, mouthing something so quietly I can’t work out what it is. “I’m sorry,” he continues.
“God!” she cries, and looks up to the ceiling. Her determination is so resolute I can see her willing the tears not to fall.
I hate this time of the session, but already the minute hand has ticked past six. Tanya will be waiting for me to leave so she can close up behind me. Manning reception means she is always the last one out the door.
“I’m afraid—” I start, but my client interrupts me as she pulls herself out of the chair and grabs the cardigan that hangs limply on the arm.
“I know,” she says. “Our time is up.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Before you go, is there anything else you want to mention?” I don’t like leaving them like this. I would take them both to the pub and let them carry on talking if it was etiquette.
