by Sarah Flint
On she went, ignoring the coloured lights, the holly wreaths, the flashing reindeer and the sounds and smells of festivities in full swing behind windows covered in condensation.
She came to a plain wooden door, with broken locks, a splintered frame and no decorations. As she approached, she heard a shout and saw the door open wide and a figure emerge, beckoning her to join him with a bony finger. For a moment she hesitated, reading again the words of camaraderie from the girls on the card, hoping afresh that Caz just might be inside. Hope was all she had. Her friend would turn up back at her old haunts, wouldn’t she? She would forgive her and forget what had happened. The other street girls would become her family again, just as Caz and Dutch and Redz had been.
DK was grinning now as he held the door open and ushered her inside, his fingers brushing her buttocks lazily as she stepped forward into the vapid smoky air. She wafted her hand to better see who was there, scanning each and every one of the bodies lying comatose along the settee and against the filthy carpets, but Caz was not there.
Ayeisha stood silently staring, tears stinging the corner of her eyes, at the gradual realisation that this was to be her destiny. The room was full, but inside she was empty.
The door slammed shut behind her and an arm circled her waist, pulling her slightly off balance. The same bony finger as had beckoned her in was drawn through her hair, slipping steadily down inside the neck of her jacket. She heard the rasping of his breath, warm, stale air filling her nostrils as his lips grazed her bare shoulder.
‘Happy Christmas, Ayeisha,’ DK murmured. ‘So glad you could join us.’
*
Ben sat at the head of the table, a paper hat clinging heroically to the side of his head. At his feet, Casper lay curled into a ball, sleeping soundly, his belly full with Christmas treats. To his side were Lucy and Beth, both red-cheeked and bright-eyed, singing along raucously to the words of ‘White Christmas’ on the compilation CD, their wine glasses already half empty.
Meg staggered through, weighed down with a tray laden with roast potatoes, roast parsnips, bread sauce and the obligatory Brussel sprouts. She slotted the various dishes into gaps spaced down the centre of the table before hurrying back out to the kitchen to gather more.
‘Are you ready?’ Meg shouted breathlessly to where Charlie stood gazing out across the still frosty lawn, over the frozen birdbath and naked trees, towards London. Charlie tore her eyes away, waiting for her thoughts to follow, before turning to prepare the turkey platter for its grand entrance. For a few seconds her mind was transported to a time long ago and the story of Christmas, a tiny baby swaddled in a manger surrounded by onlookers, its mother and father standing proudly to the side. The reality of life as she had seen it crowded in, trying to push away her imaginings, but this time she wouldn’t allow the horrors to take precedence. There was evil in the world, but today she would be concentrating on the goodness in humanity, the Hannas, the Michaelas, the Maria Simpsons, the Annas, even the Cazs. Today she would be celebrating family, friends and the future.
She hoisted the serving tray up in readiness, pausing for a second to gaze at her mother’s giant bronzed bird, resplendently displayed amongst the seasonal stuffing and pigs-in-blankets. It was a standing joke that Meg always chose the biggest turkey in the world for the Stafford Christmas dinner.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie pushed through the door into the dining room and was met with a loud cheer. Lucy and Beth stood to salute the entrance of the turkey, while Ben cleared a large space in front of him, clashing the carving knife and fork together in preparation for its first slice. Charlie edged around the table to where he sat, her eyes passing over the empty seat opposite her sisters that would forever remind them of their missing brother. Carefully she bent over, depositing the precious load on to the table in front of Ben, before moving to the seat between him and where Jamie should be.
Christmas Eve had brought her and Ben together for the first time, but not without the odd nightmare bringing her doubts to the fore. Was he really ready to throw himself into a relationship yet? She didn’t know, but she had to give it a chance.
Ben was grinning from ear-to-ear as he leant forward and placed the knife against the turkey breast, but Charlie could still see the glimmer of a tear in his eye. His childhood had not been the happiest, and his adult life too had not been without pain. Suddenly she realised how much today would mean to him. Reaching under the table, she gave his knee a squeeze, leaving her hand resting against his leg. Automatically, he put the knife down and cupped her hand in his, tracing his fingers over each of hers. For once there was no sign of a reaction as his finger passed over the scar on her ring finger and drew the shape of a heart against the back of her hand.
‘Come on, get on with it. We’re all starving,’ Beth shouted, bringing Ben’s hand shooting out from below the table to grab the knife again, his cheeks burning red.
‘Aw, poor boy,’ Meg admonished, laughing. ‘He’ll wish he hadn’t joined us all.’
‘There’s no chance of me ever feeling like that,’ he smiled back at Meg, his face suddenly becoming serious. ‘I know this isn’t what a rufty-tufty old soldier is meant to say, but I really do appreciate you inviting me here. This is shaping up to be the best day of my life.’
He bent across to plant his normal reserved kiss on the top of Charlie’s head, but this time she lifted her head and allowed herself to dream about the future. Christmas Day had brought the best present she could have wished for.
*
Caz leant back on the settee in her new apartment and looked at the recently unwrapped presents. A small hamper of Christmas food, several scented candles and a box of assorted smellies lay on the coffee table. Not since her mother had died had she been given gifts at Christmas and the sentiment had moved her deeply.
Anna had only recently left, promising to return later when the kids had fallen exhausted into their beds, full of turkey and chocolates. For the first time on Christmas Day, Caz would be on her own. This year though she didn’t mind. This year was to be the start of her new life. The studio flat was everything she could have hoped for. In it she would find safety. In it she would find stability.
Her body felt rested and the doctor’s prescription was holding her crack dependency at bay. She got up and slowly walked around the living space. A rug lay on the floor next to the bed and she curled her toes in the wool, feeling its softness and depth. The texture stirred a familiar feeling inside her. Her handbag lay on the bed. As she opened the zip, Anna’s phone number fluttered down on to the covers. She smiled and placed it carefully on the bedside table.
Climbing up on to the thick duvet, she pulled Goldilocks tenderly from the bag. She came out with difficulty, the new stuffing filling the inner emptiness of her precious doll. She was clean and fresh now, but her short blonde hair would always be a stark reminder of Tommy and her mother; a time of her life that was gone, but never forgotten.
Caz held her breath and stroked Goldilocks across her face, revelling in the familiar texture and softness. She lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes, brushing Goldilocks slowly against her cheek again. As she did so, she thought of Anna, her face smiling out from the confines of her family photograph. She thought of Anna’s little daughter, her hair so beautifully long and curling, her arm draped protectively around her younger brother’s shoulder. So many times when she’d lain on the couch in Anna’s office, she’d stared at those photos, admired them and coveted the family bond.
She frowned. Something wasn’t quite perfect. As she stroked her doll’s plump body with her fingers, she felt something sharp and bristly. Looking down, she saw a few strands of the new stuffing sticking out from her doll’s belly. She pulled at the strands, extricating them carefully from Goldilocks. Lifting them up to the light, she saw two hairs, one long, glossy and red, the other shorter, coarser and black.
People around me always seem to die. The warning had been given calmly and explicitly to Anna
just a few days earlier.
Caz smiled as she released the two hairs, watching mesmerised as her two precious mementoes floated down on to the rug.
Anna was hers now… and nothing or no one would ever come between them.
Or else…
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Sarah Flint’s next book is coming in 2019
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Acknowledgements
Sometimes an image stays with you for a lifetime. Sometimes you do nothing with it, allowing it to fade into the background, though it never quite disappears. Sometimes you try to forget it, but it rears up and reminds you of its potency, motivating you to write, or draw or just simply remember.
The image of a young girl, lying on a hospital trolley, has remained with me since around 1986, when I first started work at Streatham Police Station and became aware of her plight. I got to know her and her family over many years. I still remember her name. Her life is not one that I would want for myself, my family or indeed any girl on this planet and the memory of her decline comes to me on almost every occasion that street crime, drugs or prostitution is discussed on TV or in radio debates.
I do not know whether drugs or prostitution should or should not be legalised. I don’t know whether legalising drugs would take away at least some of the dangers surrounding their purchase and use, or whether properly controlled brothels would afford women in that occupation at least a little more safety. What I do know is that both drugs and prostitution, to my mind, are dangerous and degrading and I say this only from my experience in working the streets of Lambeth, as a police officer for many years, and getting to know many of the women, and sometimes men, caught up in the vice and drugs trade. I make no judgement of the rights or wrongs because I have been lucky enough to avoid the pitfalls.
This young girl did her best, but without the support she required it wasn’t enough to save her from a lifetime of drug dependency. For quite a few years, she tried to escape its clutches, but ultimately she was too damaged. I fully acknowledge her efforts and I wish I had been able to do something substantial to assist. She is regularly in my thoughts, however, and even though there was little I could do, that image has been a driving force in my quest to help people and seek justice.
I also would like to acknowledge my sister, Dee Yates. It was the fact that Dee had written a published novel that got me dreaming and it was she who encouraged me to set my early memories about the young girl into prose. She, more than anyone else, initiated my love of writing crime fiction and has encouraged and motivated me ever since. Dee herself writes beautiful historical family dramas and has recently seen her third book, A Last Goodbye, published. She remains my inspiration, and though we don’t see each other often due to living at opposite ends of the UK, I love to talk to her and hear her news and we will regularly swap writing manuscripts for each other to critique. I have to also acknowledge her tenacity in doing this, as our subject matter and style is very different and I know she finds some of my storylines challenging to read. Perhaps I was a police officer in London for too long?!
I also would like to say a huge thank you to my friends and family for their faith in me and the encouragement and patience they continue to show. My partner Trish and daughters Suzie, Jen and Jackie are always on hand to offer their thoughts and cast their votes on my ideas for plotlines, straplines or titles.
My siblings, Rosie, Malc, Phil, Katie and Chris in particular are my greatest supporters, pushing my efforts onto their own friends and relatives in all parts of the UK and Australia, as well as to book clubs and anyone else they happen to meet. I thank you all very much.
Combined with my thanks, I also send my apologies to the above. When I have a deadline, I have to say that everything else gets set to one side and I disappear into the cavern of my study, grim-faced and demented, only reappearing every now and again to top up the mugs of tea – an action that I repeat quite liberally in my characters’ lives.
And now, to my great agent Judith Murdoch and inspirational editor and publisher Caroline Ridding, whose job it is to keep me writing. A massive thank you for continuing to believe in me, and for your words of wisdom and advice in the editing and publishing processes, both of which are gradually becoming a little less daunting as time goes by. I believe you both go way over and above what would be expected and I cannot thank you enough.
Caroline, you are a legend. Thank you for your endless enthusiasm and sound judgement as well as your ability to see through my worries and get the best out of me, whatever the time of day or, certainly, late evening. Thank you too for heading the exceptionally close, enthusiastic team at Aria and Head of Zeus. The whole team is a joy to work with, providing boundless energy, endless updates and a huge amount of additional work ☺.
Extra thanks too go to Nick Walters and Rebecca Winfield who continue to work hard with Judith on my behalf in Europe, with Mummy’s Favourite, The Trophy Taker and Liar Liar now being rolled out in Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic and Italy. I love seeing the new covers and translations of my books by Weltbild, Amber and Omega and continue to be amazed and excited at their popularity.
Finally, many, many thanks to every reader who takes the time to read, review and recommend my books. It makes a huge difference and I can’t tell you the pleasure I feel at reading that someone has stayed up all night to finish my novel or couldn’t put it down – although I’m not sure their family or boss would think the same. To all the bloggers who have been part of blog tours or have conducted a ‘cover reveal’, I send my heartfelt thanks. We authors would be nothing without those of you who give us your support or pass on the word. Thanks also to everyone at Goodreads, Amazon, Kobo, Netgalley, Sainsbury’s, Facebook, Twitter and Bookbub for getting my name out there. Please continue to message or like my pages and I will continue to reply where and when I can.
Last, but by no means least, thank you to Lynda Kelly for your detailed reviews. I love your hugely positive comments about the content and will continue to concentrate on parts of the English language I struggle with – and I do mean that sincerely. Don’t give up on me yet!
Thank you so much to everyone,
Sarah xx
About Sarah Flint
With a Metropolitan Police career spanning 35 years, SARAH FLINT has spent her adulthood surrounded by victims, criminals and police officers. She continues to work and lives in London with her partner and has three older daughters.
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Addictive Fiction
First published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Sarah Flint, 2018
The moral right of Sarah Flint to be identified as the author of
this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
9 7 5 3 1 2 4 6 8
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781786690722
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