by Daniel Hurst
This is definitely the end of an era. For the first time in decades, there will be no one with the Stone surname occupying a desk at that bank. Nor will there ever be a painting of me to adorn the wall in the corridor where all the previous managers’ images hang, but that’s okay. It’s only a painting. Just an artist’s interpretation. It doesn’t really mean anything. Just like being a boss doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just a word that can connote all sorts of different things. Power. Respect. Fear. Prestige. Greed. Achievement. Control. Dominance. And corruption.
But what does the word ‘boss’ mean to me now?
It means only one thing these days. It means something to be wary of because there can be good bosses, and there can be bad bosses.
I’ve had more than my fair share of the bad, and now it’s time for the good.
I’m going to be a boss in my own business, and I’m not going to make the same mistakes as the others.
At least I hope not, anyway.
But I guess time will tell.
The Boyfriend
What if your exes were being killed off one by one?
Adele has had a colourful romantic past but has finally found her soulmate, Tom. They are engaged and she is looking forward to a future of blissful happiness.
Until she realises her ex-boyfriends are turning up dead.
At first the deaths seem accidental, but soon a sinister pattern emerges. All of Adele’s former partners are being killed off - in the order she dated them. As the body count grows, Adele has to figure out who is doing this and why.
Otherwise, it’s only a matter of time until the killer gets to Tom…
The Boyfriend – the stunning psychological thriller from the author of The Passenger and The Broken Vows.
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PROLOGUE
These old trees have seen a lot over the years. Forming the woods that loom large over this town, they are just as much a part of the local area as the shopping centre, the cinema and the cosy Italian restaurant where diners can get fifty percent off on a Tuesday. And just like those places, they make an excellent choice for lovers to visit and spend time together.
Many couples have come here over the years, walking hand in hand amongst the tall trunks, laughing and joking about the future and what it might bring. Some have even stopped to scratch their names into the bark, two sets of initials surrounded by a love heart, a tradition to declare that this is a love that will stand the test of time.
Ten minutes in these woods, and you would think that the world is full of lovers.
But you would be wrong.
It’s full of exes too, those unlucky few who weren’t blessed with everlasting love and instead suffered the pain of their relationship ending when once it had seemed like it would go on forever. Many of those initials remain on the trees, their removal hardly a priority for broken-hearted people who find themselves single once again. While once the existence of the engravings proved that the world was a beautiful place, now they are simple reminders that not everything goes to plan, and pain and misery are just as much a part of love as happiness and contentment.
There are too many trees and too many love hearts in these woods for walkers to pay attention to them all. But one day, one of these trees demanded attention, and it was impossible to ignore.
The body hung from a rope that was tied around the branch of an ancient oak tree. It was a male, mid-thirties, and although he would be easily identified in good time by the local police and his grief-stricken family members, there was rather a large hint just behind him.
It was on the bark of the tree that he was suspended from where a message had been carved into the wood. There were two initials framed by a love heart, faded over time but still readable.
SG & AD 4eva.
SG was this man, hanging from the branch.
AD was his former lover, who would be shocked by the news of his death, as well as deeply saddened.
But there had been somebody else at the scene, a person who had been far too smart to leave clues to their name lying around in a place like this.
This wasn’t a tree where a man had committed suicide, even though that was exactly what it had been made to look like.
This was a tree where a murder victim hung.
And the killer was only just getting started…
CHAPTER 1
‘Hi. I have a table booked for eight o’clock under Adele Davies.’
I wait patiently for the pretty waitress to double-check the screen in front of her before she gives me a smile and grabs a couple of drinks menus.
‘Follow me, Adele.’
She leads me away from the front door and deeper into the venue, which is already full of thirsty patrons who are seated and enjoying their beverages amongst the low lighting and elegant sounds of a piano player in the far corner. This is my first time here, and the booking was a result of my best friend’s suggestion, but I can already tell that it was a good idea. It’s certainly a classy establishment, and not just because there is a guy in a tuxedo tickling the ivories. Everything from the dress code of the waiters and waitresses to the presentation of the colourful drinks is immaculate, and the flickering candles, wood-panelled bar and plush leather seats only add further prestige to this cosy venue in the heart of Manchester city centre.
Whoever said it was grim up north had obviously never been in here.
I smile at the waitress as she shows me to my table, accepting the menus and settling down into my luxurious seat before checking the time and wondering how long Nicola is going to be. It’s not that I mind her being late – I’ve certainly been guilty of such a sin several times in our friendship. But I am eager for her to get here because we do have rather a lot to talk about, and the sooner we get started, the less chance there is of me being late home again and drawing the ire of my fiancé.
Tom isn’t a strict partner by any means and is more than happy for me to go and enjoy myself with friends whenever I like. What he doesn’t like so much is when I tell him that I won’t be late home or that I’ll be limiting myself to one or two drinks, only to stagger through the front door at midnight, singing loudly while carrying some disgusting box of takeaway food.
Especially on a weeknight when we both have to be up at dawn.
Tonight has been another one of those times where I have perhaps rather stupidly told him that I would be home at a decent hour and in an appropriate state, although now that I’m here with a tempting menu of cocktails in my hand, I can easily see myself staying for a while. And the later Nicola is in getting here, the later I will be in getting home.
I’m considering going ahead and ordering a drink without her, because I can see the waitress hovering nearby, when Nicola enters the room and gives me a wave as she rushes past all the tables in the direction of our own.
‘Sorry I’m late! Got stuck in a meeting! Thought it would never end!’
I tell her not to worry about it as I stand and give her a hug before retaking my seat and feeling my body sink back into the comfortable material.
‘If I’d known it was going to be this posh, I’d have worn something a little more fashionable,’ I say, referring to the plain blouse I have on after a day in the office at the accounting firm I work for.
‘Don’t be silly. You look gorgeous as always,’ Nicola tells me rather kindly before running her fingers through her dark hair. ‘I look like a bloody gargoyle next to you.’
I laugh at my friend’s self-deprecating joke, although I wish she wouldn’t put herself down. But she’s always been like that ever since I’ve known her, which has been twenty-five years now, mind-bogglingly enough.
We met on the first day of secondary school, although it was actually the ‘misfortune’ of a clerical error that led to us doing so. Before starting at the school, pupils had been able to nominate one other person who they wished to be paired with so that they could ease into the new surroundings with their best friend by their side. I had nom
inated a girl called Rachel Evans, who had been my best friend at primary, but it was only when I walked into class on that first day when I realised there had been a mistake. Instead of Rachel, I was seated beside Nicola, a complete randomer. It turned out that somebody else from another primary school had the same initials and date of birth as me, so there had been a mix-up in our nominations. Annoyingly at the time, the school did nothing to rectify this, meaning I was stuck with Nicola while Rachel was stuck with some other girl who shared my birthday. But in the long run, it ended up being a blessing in disguise.
Rachel and I drifted apart as the school years went by mainly because she fell in with the wrong type of people whereas I grew closer to Nicola until we became bona fide best friends, which we still are to this day. I still have Rachel on my various social media channels, but we don’t speak, and we certainly don’t go for catch-ups on weekday evenings like Nicola and I like to do. It’s funny how life works out in the end. Maybe it was fate that I met Nicola, just like how I met Tom. Or maybe it’s all just a load of good and bad luck jumbled up together.
‘I recommend the espresso martini,’ Nicola says after we have spent a few quiet seconds browsing through the cocktail list.
‘I like the sound of that,’ I reply before we get the attention of the waitress who seated me, and give her our order.
As our drinks are being prepared, we waste no time getting down to business, or more specifically, my business.
‘So, any news on the wedding?’ Nicola asks me, wriggling in her seat with excitement, as if it was her partner who had proposed to her on a beach in Greece last month and not mine. Sadly for her, she is single, although she will be my maid of honour for the big day, tentatively scheduled for some time next summer if Tom and I can find a place to have it.
‘We’re seeing another couple of venues this weekend,’ I reply, thinking ahead to the beautiful hotels I will be shown around in the coming days while Tom follows behind me, no doubt baulking at how much it might cost us. ‘Slater’s and Church Lane.’
‘Very nice! Slater’s is amazing. A girl in my office got married there. I only went to the evening do, but it was lovely.’
‘It looks stunning. I just hope we can afford it.’
‘Yeah, it’s not cheap. What about Heron’s Barn?’
I shake my head. ‘I thought about it, but Rachel is the wedding planner there, so it might be a bit awkward.’
‘Oh,’ Nicola says, pulling her face, which makes me laugh because she always grimaces comically when I mention my ‘ex-best friend’. ‘How do you know?’ she asks.
‘She posts stuff all the time on Facebook about it. You know, things like Come to our open day this weekend. Book your summer wedding now. I think she’s worked there for years.’
‘That doesn’t mean you can’t get married there.’
‘I know, but I just want to enjoy every part of this, and having someone I used to be close to organising my wedding might be a bit weird.’
‘Fair enough,’ Nicola says just before the waitress returns with our drinks.
‘Cheers,’ I say, raising my glass. ‘Here’s to hopefully finding the perfect venue this week.’
‘Cheers,’ Nicola replies, carefully touching her cocktail against mine so as not to spill any of the precious liquid.
‘I still can’t believe you’re getting married,’ Nicola says with a wry grin after we have taken a sip. ‘Hearts will be breaking all over town when you walk down that aisle.’
‘I doubt it,’ I reply, chuckling at her comment.
‘All the boyfriends you had?’
‘I didn’t have that many!’
‘Are you kidding? I lost count at ten!’
‘Oi, cheeky!’ I say, playfully slapping Nicola’s arm as she reaches for her drink again. ‘Tom is only my sixth, I’ll have you know. And my last.’
‘I’m joking,’ Nicola replies with that scampish grin of hers. ‘But I’m going to have some serious fun when I make my speech at your wedding.’
‘You are not making a speech!’
‘Why not? Because it’s not tradition?’
‘No. Because you know too much about me!’
We both laugh loudly, and it’s enough to attract the attention of the couple sitting at the table nearest to us, who turn and give us a stern look. It seems to say that we are bringing down the ambience of this classy establishment, but it only makes us giggle even more.
After we have composed ourselves and taken another sip of our drinks, I move on to the next important topic of discussion.
‘How’s the planning for the hen do going?’
‘Good, all the names you gave me are on board, so now I just need to pick a venue for it,’ Nicola replies, seeming confident about the part of the wedding planning she is involved in. As my maid of honour, one of her many roles is to organise my hen do, which gives me heart palpitations if I think about it too much.
Before we know it, we have drained our first cocktail and are ready to order more, so I grab the menu and prepare to pick again. As I do, Nicola takes out her phone to check her messages, and that’s how I find out about the body in the woods.
‘Oh, my god, Shaun Gibson is dead,’ Nicola says, staring at her phone screen with wide eyes.
‘What?’
‘He hanged himself!’
None of what my friend has just said to me makes any sense, so I hold out my hand for her phone, and she gives it to me, aware that if this is true, I need to know all the details. Sure enough, it seems she has got her facts right.
Shaun is dead. He was found hanging from a tree in the woods just outside our hometown of Blackburn. It’s all over Facebook. Old school friends are talking about it. Paying tribute. Expressing shock. Handling their grief. There are several old photos of Shaun in his school uniform posted, along with various love heart emojis and sad faces. But I don’t need to see all these photos to remember what Shaun was like back then. I remember well enough.
That’s because Shaun was my first boyfriend.
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About the Author
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Daniel Hurst writes psychological thrillers and loves to tell tales about unusual things happening to normal people. He has written all his life, making the progression from handing scribbled stories to his parents as a boy to writing full length novels in his thirties. He lives in the North West of England and when he isn’t writing, he is usually watching a game of football in a pub where his wife can’t find him.
Want to connect with Daniel? Visit him at his website or on any of these social media channels.
www.danielhurstbooks.com
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Also by Daniel Hurst
INKUBATOR TITLES
THE BOYFRIEND
(A Psychological Thriller)
THE PASSENGER
(A Psychological Thriller)
THE PROMOTION
(A Psychological Thriller)
Published by Inkubator Books
www.inkubatorbooks.com
Copyright © 2021 by Daniel Hurst
Daniel Hurst has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.
THE PROMOTION is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Promotion: A psychological thriller with a killer twist
