by Adam Croft
In that moment, everything feels right again. Despite Emma lying dead at the foot of the stairs, my marriage falling apart and the police trying desperately to pin whatever they can on me, none of that matters. I’ll take all that and more just for the fact that I’ve got Ellie back. That’s all that matters. That’s all that ever mattered.
As we head for the door and down the stairs towards where Emma’s body is lying, I pull Ellie into me, burying her face in my shoulder. She doesn’t need to see that. She’s been through more than enough without needing to know how it ended. All she needs to know is that she’s safe and she doesn’t need to worry about anything ever again. I’m going to make sure of that.
When we get outside, the cold night air whips against my skin and I feel spots of rain landing on me. Whereas at any other time this would feel like hell, I don’t mind one bit. For the first time in a long time, I can feel again.
60
Nick
When I got home, I called the police. The walk home gave me plenty of time to think about what I was going to say.
I told them I went over to Emma’s. I said she made a move on me and I heard noises coming from the loft. I said that Emma tried to stop me going up and we fought. She fell and hit her head. Twice. Bizarrely, this was the bit the police had trouble believing. Sometimes it’s weird how the truth can be stranger than fiction.
As far as the police are concerned, that all adds up. They have no inkling that I tried to kill Tasha. The only real chance of that happening was extinguished with the light in Emma’s eyes. I don’t know if the whole Jen Hood thing will ever come to light. I presume not. I can’t see any reason why Emma would have kept those emails on her computer. For all I know, she was using internet cafés, too. She’s had this planned for so long, I’m pretty sure she will have covered her tracks better than I did.
Tasha has been her usual stoical self over the whole thing. I can never really tell what she’s thinking. I doubt if I ever will.
McKenna’s sitting on the sofa opposite me and Tasha, whilst Ellie sits, oblivious, in front of the cartoons on TV. As far as she’s concerned, it’s just another day.
‘We found some old photos,’ McKenna says. ‘Quite a few, actually. One of the upstairs rooms was virtually a shrine, Nick. There were hundreds of photos of you and Emma from your university days, as well as some of the three of you. Tasha’s face was . . . Well, let’s just say removed from most of them. She had a diary, too. Most of it’s about the two of you. Her obsession with you. We still haven’t had time to go through it all yet, though.’
I swallow. ‘She was keeping a diary? Recently?’
‘She stopped about five and a half years ago, it seems. Around the time you would have announced your pregnancy. But I can’t go into any more details at the moment, I’m afraid, until we’ve had a chance to look at it properly.’
‘No, I understand,’ I say. ‘I’m just glad it’s all over. I appreciate you tying up the loose ends, though.’
‘There is one other thing,’ she says. ‘Derek Francis. In Emma’s . . . room . . . we found more. She’d photocopied pages from her diary back when she was a schoolgirl. We haven’t found the original yet, but that’s only a matter of time. In it, she wrote about how Mr Francis had invited her into his house and begun sexually assaulting her over a course of months. To me, that explains why she was so damaged as a person. And she’d been using that to blackmail him.’
My mouth hangs open. ‘That’s why he told you he hadn’t seen me put Ellie in the car. She had him over a barrel.’
‘Exactly. And it explains why he’s been so wary and suspicious of you all these years. He would’ve seen Emma coming and going from yours every now and again and realised how close to the wind he was sailing.’
‘Jesus Christ. Is he going to be charged?’
McKenna raises her eyebrows momentarily and exhales. ‘The problem with that is there’s no-one to bring about a charge or make a complaint. We can’t simply take a dead woman’s diaries at face value. The defence counsel would have a field day if after all this we tried to convince a jury that Emma’s words were those of a sane, rational-minded person. If she were alive to press charges and stand up in court herself, perhaps, but . . .’ She leaves the thought hanging there in the air like a bad smell. ‘And I think it’s only fair to assume that she was behind your mugging, too, Tasha. It’s the only thing we can assume, and without Emma around to testify otherwise that’s going to be the assumption I’ll make.’ McKenna looks at me as she says this. A small part of me thinks that perhaps there’s some hidden subtext behind her words. ‘On that subject, by the way, the phone company were very helpful. They used triangulation to track where your phone had been. It turns out you did take it with you when you were walking through the park,’ she says to Tasha, but looking at me. ‘But it was switched off just after the attack, about forty yards further across the park. Looks as though whoever did it was heading towards the canal.’
I know what she’s thinking, but she also knows that there’s no way it could have been me who attacked Tasha. And as far as she’s concerned, I had no reason to want to. She just knows something isn’t quite right.
I break eye contact with McKenna to look back at Ellie, who’s still transfixed by the cartoons on the screen. I just hope to God that she grows up to forget this whole ordeal and to become a confident, well-rounded person. More like her mother. Because I’ve got to admit it – perhaps being the shy, retiring one isn’t always the best way to be.
Moments later, the cartoon programme finishes and I can sense Ellie starting to get grouchy. I smile a little as I recognise those signs that used to make me groan inwardly. The fidgeting, the tiredness in her eyes. All things that used to drive me mad, knowing I was about to have to deal with a stroppy toddler, but now make me glad to have her back.
I stand and walk into the kitchen, leaving McKenna and Tasha talking. I open the cereal cupboard and take out the Rosie Ragdoll, looking at it for a moment. Its eyes seem to have lost their human sparkle. It doesn’t freak me out half as much as it used to. I close the cupboard door and head back into the living room. When I get there, I crouch down and hand Ellie the Rosie Ragdoll. Her beaming smile melts my heart, and it pains me that anyone could have wanted to harm her in any way.
I think on that for a moment. It’s upsetting that anyone had to die for me to get Ellie back, but I knew that would have to be the case early on, as soon as I got the emails from Jen Hood. It was almost inevitable. I think about how close I came. The radio in the bath. The attack in the park. I think about what would’ve happened. What the ramifications would have been.
I kick myself now that I could have even considered being so stupid. If you’re crazy enough to kidnap a child, you don’t suddenly just become perfectly normal again once your blackmail victim has done what you want. And besides, that wasn’t what she really wanted anyway. She wouldn’t have just handed Ellie over and let us get on with our lives. She made it perfectly clear that she wanted us to be together. That had been her plan from day one. Would I ever have been truly free? No. I would have had to somehow let her down gently – again – and potentially make things even worse. I’m pretty good at making bad situations worse as it is, but that would have been something else.
I’ve got visions of living in the shrine in her upstairs bedroom, handcuffed to a steel-framed bed while she fawns over me and tells me that I’m hers now. I consider myself to have had a very lucky escape. Perhaps the perfect murder wasn’t so difficult after all.
Epilogue
Nick
They say a leopard never changes its spots, but I don’t know about that. I’m certainly not the person I once was, and even Tasha’s spots have started to fade into light smudges. I guess they couldn’t not. How can your priorities not change after something like that?
I almost had the shock of my life when she came to me a few days after Ellie’s return and told me she was going to cut down her working hours an
d only work part-time from the office, doing the rest of her hours at home. I’m not sure I’m keen on her being around the house the whole time, but I know it’s going to be better for Ellie. I’m just grateful that she’s put someone else first for a change. After all those years that I wanted her to cut down her work and spend more time with me and Ellie, I really can’t complain now that she’s doing it – and off her own back, too. Maybe I’ll have to reactivate that gym membership in order to get some me time.
She seems happier just for making the decision. Even though she won’t be working her new hours until the end of the month, it’s almost as if a huge black veil has been lifted from over her head. I can see life in her eyes again.
It feels like a different family unit now. I won’t go as far as to say the world is a bright and sunny place again, but things have certainly changed. The first Sunday after Ellie came home, we went out for an afternoon walk. Just like we always used to. Tasha suggested going to the woods, but I told her I wasn’t keen. Best not to pretend we’re the same people as we were, I said. Better to make a clean break of it. So the woods are out of the equation, which suits me just fine. It works well. Things have never been ideal in the past, and I know we won’t live a perfect life in the future. But it feels as though Tasha and I have both learned things. Many were things we didn’t want to learn, but we needed to.
I don’t want to jump the gun, but I think Tasha’s finally learned that caring for your family doesn’t mean spending all day in a stuffy office in order to add another zero to our bank balance. She never would have had it before what happened, but I really think cutting down her hours and spending more time at home is going to give her a far bigger feeling of self-worth. It’ll bring us closer together as a family, too. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I can only hope.
I think we’ve all been changed by what happened. We couldn’t not have been. Sure, Tasha isn’t perfect. Far from it. But I know I’m not, either. I keep thinking back to that night that I told Emma I was leaving her for Tasha. It was the chain of events that kicked off everything that has happened since, but it also meant I dodged a bullet that night. As much as Tasha pisses me off sometimes, I could have ended up with someone like Emma.
What amazed me the most was how quickly the media attention died down. When Ellie came home, a number of news outlets got in touch to ask us to tell our story, but we were quick to point out that we wouldn’t be doing any interviews now or in the future, so don’t bother asking again, thankseversomuch. Probably not ideal for a writer to be turning down free publicity, but that’s not the sort of media attention I’m after. That chapter is closed.
I’d be lying if I said that book sales hadn’t picked up. My old publisher even did a new print run on Black Tide. It’ll earn me the square root of bugger all in royalties, but there’s the possibility that it might help me land a new deal with another publisher at some point in the near future. At least there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
Tasha’s parents, thankfully, never did make the trip over from Australia. Instead, they suggested that they should come over to us for Christmas this year. They’d love to come back to England again, they said, but as they’re getting old they wouldn’t want it to be a flying visit, so suggested staying for a month. I very kindly said that if they’re worried about the travelling, we’ll go over to them instead. For a fortnight.
We’ve decided we all need a holiday, too. I was really looking forward to lying on a beach for a couple of weeks, feeling the sea lapping at my toes. Sunlight is always good for recharging the batteries. Tasha, though, had other ideas. So we’re off to Switzerland later in the year for a camping holiday. I’ve never been camping in my life, nor has she, but she was convinced that she wanted to do something a little more low-key. I’m not going to argue.
One thing that did surprise me was how accepting she was of my story about the gambling losses. I thought she would have completely destroyed me over it. I was convinced she was going to make me feel small and insignificant. A failure. I would have put money on it. As it happens, it all completely passed her by without so much as a raise of the eyebrows. I guess she’s got other priorities now. Who wouldn’t be happy to lose three grand if it meant getting your daughter back? I almost killed for her. I did kill for her, some might say. Personally I’m keen to keep my conscience clean. I’ve had enough of feeling bad about myself and worrying about my past.
I guess it put everything into perspective for both of us. Life isn’t about the daily grind, the school-gate gossip, the keeping up with the Joneses. Because all that shit will never go away, even if you want it to. The only things you can truly lose are those that are closest to you. And they’re the things you don’t want to lose.
Are we closer as a family now? Yes, undoubtedly. Are there things still left unspoken which are going to crop up at some point? Absolutely. I can almost guarantee it. Once the dust has settled, I know Tasha will have some questions to ask. But I also know that whatever my answer is won’t matter. Because none of it truly matters. Not really.
Derek came over a few days after Ellie came home. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him standing there on the doorstep. I’ve never once seen him cross the threshold at the foot of his drive. He just stood there for a few moments, looking down at the doormat. I could tell something was on his mind, so I asked him what was wrong. All he said was ‘I’m so sorry.’ He looked truly desolate. It’s hard to find sympathy for a man who lied to you and lied to the police and almost had you arrested for kidnapping your own child, and it’s even harder when you later find out the man’s got a history of abusing children.
There was more silence after he said that, but I could tell he had more to say. So I just stood and watched him for a while. I didn’t mind that he clearly felt uncomfortable. Why should I? Eventually, he spoke. He told me that he thought I might like to know that he’d put his house up for sale that morning. He wanted to tell me before I saw the ‘For Sale’ sign go up. I thanked him for coming to tell me and I wished him well for the future. It took a lot of strength and tongue biting to do that, but I managed it. I was proud of myself. I’m not sure how much of a future he has. He looked worn, twenty years older than he did a week before. I guess our pasts all catch up with us at some point, no matter how much we might think we’ve got away with it.
Am I naïve enough to think that it’s plain sailing from here on in? No, of course I’m not. But I’m just grateful that we’ve at least got a fighting chance.
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Acknowledgments
I tend to write books very quickly, but Her Last Tomorrow had me stumped for quite a while.
It began as a nugget of an idea and developed into a plot. One thing I didn’t have, though, was an ending. Rather, I did have an ending but I couldn’t find a way of weaving it into the existing plot in a wa
y which I was happy with.
I spent a few months discussing the book every now and again with my wife (during which time I wrote and published two other novels) until I finally managed to get it right. As a result, primary thanks have to go to my wife for helping this book actually see the light of day. Without her input, it might still be stuck in a drawer somewhere.
I must also thank Lucy Hayward, who did a sterling job on feeding back her views on the story and plot and helping to polish Her Last Tomorrow for the first edition, which was published independently in December 2015.
The book has since been through two revisions: one when it was published by Thomas & Mercer in 2016, and again when the book returned to my stewardship in the summer of 2018.
Huge thanks must go to David Parry, formerly a detective sergeant with Leicestershire Police, for his insightful and in-depth advice on policing methods and procedure. My thanks also go to those police officers and detectives who provided me with additional information and fact checking but would prefer not to be named here.
Thanks also to Dave Whitelegg, one of the UK’s foremost IT security experts, for his information on the dark web.
And thank you to you, the reader, for buying this book and (hopefully) enjoying it. Many people forget that the most important and vital people in an author’s career are the readers, but I’m acutely aware of the fact that I wouldn’t be typing this if it weren’t for you.
About the Author
With more than a million books sold to date, Adam Croft is one of the most successful independently published authors in the world, and one of the biggest selling authors of the past year.
Following his 2015 worldwide bestseller Her Last Tomorrow, his psychological thrillers were bought by Thomas & Mercer, an imprint of Amazon Publishing. Prior to the Amazon deal, Her Last Tomorrow sold more than 150,000 copies across all platforms and became one of the bestselling books of the year, reaching the top 10 in the overall Amazon Kindle chart and peaking at number 12 in the combined paperback fiction and non-fiction chart.
