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The Killer’s Home
AJ Carter
 Copyright © 2023 by Papyrus Publishing LTD.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
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 Contents

The Killer’s Home

Prologue
1. Present Day
2. Before
3. Present Day
4. Before
5. Present Day
6. The Unfound Diary of a Dead Girl
7. Before
8. Present Day
9. Before
10. Present Day
11. Before
12. Present Day
13. Before
14. The Unfound Diary of a Dead Girl
15. Present Day
16. Before
17. Present Day
18. Before
19. Present Day
20. Before
21. Present Day
22. The Unfound Diary of a Dead Girl
23. Before
24. Present Day
25. Before
26. Present Day
27. Present Day
28. Present Day
29. Present Day
30. The Unfound Diary of a Dead Girl
31. Present Day
32. Present Day

About the Author

 Dedication

For my wife, who keeps my dreams alive.

For my daughter, who inspires me to dream bigger.

For my dog, who farts in her sleep.

The Killer’s Home
by AJ Carter
Prologue
 The Unfound Diary of a Dead Girl

24 th June 2004

D ear D iary ,
It’s hard to write in the dark. Mum and Dad are in bed, and they
don’t like me staying up too late because I’ll sleep in and miss
school. I don’t know why they can’t just give me my independence.
I’m almost sixteen now, so it’s time they started treating me like an
adult.
Just like he does.
It’s normal to fantasise about a man a little older than me, isn’t
it? Someone I barely know who’s handsome and in great shape? I’m
telling you, if those shining brown eyes don’t get my juices flowing,
then his cheeky smile definitely does.
I’d better watch what I say because if someone decides to read
this, then I’ll be in big trouble. So will he, I guess. Although he
hasn’t technically done anything with this minor yet. All we did was
meet and talk. He asked my name, and I told him. I asked for his,
and he told me. I won’t write it here so I can protect him if the
police come sniffing around. Not that I can see that happening, but
it’s better to be safe.
 Anyway, it’s getting late. I just wanted to confess my undying
love before bed. Before I drift into a deep sleep and dream only of
him. My incredibly handsome new friend who, if I’m lucky, will be my
boyfriend as soon as I turn sixteen.
If I’m lucky.

Night-night,
Tiffany
Chapter 1
 Present Day

I gaze around at the sea of impatient faces. They’re murmuring

among themselves, and I can tell they’re talking about him. They’re
frowning as they study their watches, while others start to wonder
why they even bothered attending in the first place. I wonder that,
too.
It’s not like I wanted to disappoint them. I’ve been working at St
George Library for almost ten years now, and not once has an
author missed a signing. Needless to say, this would frustrate me at
the best of times, but I’m already struggling to raise funds for the
new computers – a task that seems impossible when the writers
don’t bother to arrive.
But that’s not even the worst thing.
See, I have a more vested interest in making tonight go
smoothly. The author is my husband, and every last person in this
room knows it. Perhaps that’s why they’re looking at me like I’m the
problem. As if I have any say in what Ben does. And to be honest, if
I had that sort of control, then I might start by patching up some
holes in our marriage. Priorities, eh?
I take another look at the clock on the far wall. We were
supposed to begin twenty minutes ago, starting with a short
reading, then moving on to a Q & A before finally lining up the
hungry new readers who are desperate to get Ben’s tenth crime
novel signed. But five people have left already, and less than twenty
now remain.
‘Excuse me,’ a meek voice says from the front row of seats. It
belongs to someone I went to school with, though I can’t remember
her name to save my life. I just recognise the flat face and the big,
bug-like eyes hidden behind too-big glasses. ‘Should we call it a
day?’
‘No, don’t do that,’ I say, panicking when others sit up to listen
for my answer. Then an idea occurs to me. Not a great one, but
something is better than nothing. ‘Why don’t I try calling him again?
If he doesn’t answer, I’ll just do the reading myself and then hand-
deliver your signed copies. How does that sound?’
There are some semi-satisfied grunts in the crowd but not an
ounce of gratitude. To be honest, it doesn’t bother me. I’m still
worried about where Ben might be – if he’s drunk himself into
another hole or gone out and done something stupid. I’m doing all I
can to bury my anger in the pit of my stomach, but it burns there
like a raging fire.
‘Oh, Ben,’ I mumble into my phone at the back of the room. My
disappointment in him grows with each unanswered ring. Our
marriage has been rocky for a while now, but he promised he would
make it tonight. I even asked for a confirmation when I left for work
this morning, but he just snapped at me for pestering him. Typically,
I’m the bad guy. Now I’m stuck here with twenty impatient
neighbours and a handful of books the library really couldn’t afford
to buy in the first place. I suppose we’ll have to refund their tickets,
too.
 There’s no answer, and I’m trying to tread carefully between
anger and concern. But my husband’s whereabouts will remain
unknown until the crowd is dealt with. For now, all I can do is rub
my sweaty palms down my trouser legs, then head towards them
with the bad news.

I t ’ s a rough evening , but we just about make it through. I read the

excerpts from Ben’s latest novel – something I’ve enjoyed doing
since the day I became a librarian and had to read to the kids. It’s
no different this time, except I put on a heavier, more melancholy
voice. The fans seem pleased with my performance, but no amount
of reading will make them any less angry for being stood up by their
favourite author.
We have to skip the signing itself, but a small group of people do
stick around for the coffee and biscuits. They mingle, clutching
hardback copies of The Dead Speak to their chests and trying not to
rain chocolate finger crumbs into the pages. It’s the perfect time for
me to start clearing up, and I do so eagerly while desperate to get
out of here.
The last two guests leave just after eight. The library is back to
its normal layout by then, so I drop a quick text to my daughter and
let her know I’m going to be late picking her up from her friend’s
house. It’s Ben’s fault, but I’m not going to tell her that. She’s
witnessed enough rivalry in our marriage, so she doesn’t need to
hear the latest in our series of dramas.
I lock up the library and head for the car, knowing I have to be
back here in less than twelve hours for a shift. There’s a whole lot of
arguing to be done, too, but I stow it in the back of my brain for a
better time as I drive to Hanham for a late pickup.
 Parking the car on a dark, quiet street, I reflect on tonight’s
events and realise it could have gone a whole lot worse. I’m actually
a little proud of myself for running damage control so effectively,
even though it was my own husband who dropped me in it. But I try
not to go there, pushing those thoughts aside while I wait for Sadie
to come out of her friend’s house.
Minutes go by, so I drop her a second text. This one goes
unanswered, so I try calling her. Just like her father, Sadie doesn’t
answer her phone. Naturally, the worst possible scenario plays on a
loop in my head as I exit the car and pound on the front door of her
friend’s house.
Tash opens it immediately, smiling as if nothing is wrong. When I
ask her where Sadie is, her acne-scarred face scrunches up with
confusion while she looks up the street for my car.
‘I thought she was with you?’ she says.
‘She left already?’
‘Around thirty minutes ago.’
Sighing, I thank her and go back to the car, my phone in hand
but not having a clue who to call. Getting in touch with my own
husband is out of the question – his absence speaks volumes for his
reliability – so I call the only other person I can think of. The phone
rings and rings. I clear my throat, hoping for an answer because I
need help so badly tonight.
Because my teenage daughter is missing.

T he voice that answers is one of the most familiar sounds in the

world. It has the tone of somebody who loves and wants to be
loved. It has the weight of thirty years behind it, years that were
spent playing and working and laughing and suffering. I went
through all of this with her, and I feel the same way as she does.
Nothing compares to a sister’s love.
‘Heather,’ she says chirpily. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Have you seen Sadie?’ I ask, cutting straight to the point.
‘As a matter of fact, I have.’
‘When?’
‘Right now. She’s sitting right in front of me.’
My body sags with relief. There’s nobody I trust more on this
earth than Fern. Although she’s seven years younger than me, which
led to me adopting a more maternal relationship to her, I always saw
her as a good friend. But she always missed a certain stability. A
stability, she says, that only a good man can provide her.
I miss being that naïve.
‘Where are you?’ I ask.
‘At home.’
‘She came to you?’
‘Yeah, she said she couldn’t get into your house. Are things all
right at home?’
I shake my head in a mixture of disappointment, humiliation, and
concern. What on earth is Ben doing that’s keeping him from his
signing and making him neglect his own daughter? He’s always been
a bit flaky, and his recent dependence on alcohol hasn’t helped, but
surely he wouldn’t just stay at home and get drunk tonight of all
nights?
Telling Fern that everything is fine and that I’ll be there shortly, I
hang up and make the short drive home. She only lives one street
away from me, so I park on my own drive – immediately noticing
the lights are on in the house – and walk the two minutes around
the corner. It’s dark and eerie, the spring air moist and cold, but I
don’t care. All I want is Sadie.
 My sister lives in a cramped flat above a bakery, which sits on the
end of a small industrial estate. It has its own exterior set of stairs,
which I take two at a time before banging on her door. I can hear
laughter inside, and both chuckles sound familiar.
The third one is new.
It’s a man who answers, and I’m immediately taken aback by
how handsome he is. He towers over me, with a strong jaw and
thick muscles that fill out his Nirvana T-shirt well. He’s dark of skin
and is a movie star kind of rugged. But there’s a gentle kindness in
his eyes that makes me momentarily forget what I came here for.
‘You must be Heather,’ he says with a voice as smooth as butter.
‘Where’s my daughter?’
The man puts up no resistance, and I’m glad he doesn’t waste
my time. Still smiling, he opens the door wider and steps aside,
allowing me a generous view of Fern and Sadie on the sofa. They
both have their backs to me, but Fern spins around when I enter.
‘Thanks for taking her in,’ I say, then quickly shift my attention to
Sadie. She’s still facing away, her long, red hair spilling down her
spine. Her arms are crossed, and she’s hunched over as if she’s
feeling sick. ‘What happened?’
‘She’s had a couple of drinks,’ Fern tells me with a knowing smile
that says I shouldn’t berate my own daughter because I was that
age once. I don’t like being offered unsolicited advice, but she’s
right. It’s something we can deal with later.
‘How long has she been here?’
‘An hour, maybe.’
‘Have you heard from Ben?’
‘Sadly not. Can’t you find him?’
‘He’s probably at home sleeping or something.’
 The room goes quiet with a kind of awkwardness. I’m suddenly
aware of the man who let me in, who crosses the lounge and rests a
hand on Fern’s shoulder. Fern smiles, touches his hand, then smiles
dreamily. I wait for an introduction, but it doesn’t happen.
‘So… who are you?’ I ask bluntly.
The man laughs – a warm and wholesome sound – then extends
a hand. ‘Rook Taylor,’ he says with a beaming smile that makes my
knees a little weak. ‘Your sister and I are something of an item. I
was hoping to meet you under better circumstances, but here we
are.’
I take his hand and shake it lightly, already feeling such strength
in his grip. There’s no way this man is interested in my sister. Don’t
get me wrong, she’s a wonderful person and looks like a beautiful
version of me, but I just get a feeling she’s not his type. Rook seems
like he’d be right at home with a glamour model. It would fit his
sporty appearance well.
As soon as he lets go, I approach Sadie and drop to my knees,
checking her over. Her eyes are bloodshot, and they’re having
trouble zoning in on me. She stinks like a brewery, and the
realisation hits me that I may have to deal with two drunks tonight.
‘Rook has been helping take care of her.’ Fern tucks a strand of
blonde hair over her ear and gazes up at him like he’s the best thing
in the world. ‘She’s going to be okay. Maybe just get her into bed
and let her sleep it off.’
I don’t say anything because I’m a little sore that she let a
stranger take care of my drunk teenage daughter. Sadie is sixteen,
which is a dangerous age when it comes to trust and confidence. If
Rook was that way inclined, he could have easily taken advantage.
And what would Fern have said about it? Nothing, probably, because
she never wants to upset the men in her life. It would increase the
chances of them leaving her.
The coat slides right off my shoulders, and I wrap it around
Sadie. Rook steps forward to help her up, but I hold out a palm to
stop him. Thankfully, he respects my wishes and stays put while I
get my girl up and to the door.
‘Thanks for taking care of her,’ I say without looking back.
‘I’m here if you need me,’ Fern says.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Rook adds.
It makes me feel incredibly rude, but I just nod and focus on
getting Sadie safely down the steps. She groans and burps like a
cartoon drunk, stumbling around even with my arm around her.
Navigating the steps is like trying to balance a puppy on a ball, but
we make it down eventually. In one piece, more or less.
Sadie doesn’t talk the whole way home, which is good. It gives
me time to process this mess of an evening. Not only do I need to
find my husband, but I also have to figure out what exactly was
wrong with Rook. He seemed like a nice guy, which Fern doesn’t
tend to attract. I hate to be negative, but his presence in her home
begs the question.
What is he up to?
Chapter 2
 Before

T he day I met Rook was the worst in many years. Not because I met
him, but until I met him. You could say fate drew us together, hitting
me with a big old dose of misery to make the sweet stuff taste
better. And that night? It really was misery.
Caleb and I had been together for a whole year, and although I
can’t say it was going perfectly, we loved each other so fiercely that
our incompatibility barely mattered. He was a contractor, and I was
living off some savings, but that wasn’t the only thing that made us
a bad match. For instance, he liked to go out drinking a lot with his
friends. I had to stay at home, of course. And by home, I mean his
home so he could stumble in late at night and prove how much he
loved me by way of physical affection. Caleb was gorgeous, so I
wasn’t going to complain. At least, not until I found the text on his
phone that morning.
‘What the hell is this?’ I asked, catching him off guard when he
returned from the bathroom. When he remained in stunned silence,
I shoved the phone into his chest and recited the words as he read
them. ‘Need you here in my arms… and between my legs.’
Caleb rubbed his eyebrow as he studied the message,
presumably to buy more time. I let him have it because – honestly –
I couldn’t bear a life without him. I stood there praying he’d say the
right things to make it better. That he’d give some excuse that would
make me feel foolish, so then we could carry on maintaining the
illusion that we were happy.
‘This girl,’ he finally said with a dry, raspy voice. ‘She wants me. I
don’t want her.’
‘Then why don’t you tell her that?’
‘I will.’
‘When?’
‘Later. When I have time to think.’
I jerked my head back and crossed my arms, suddenly noticing
the perspiration in my armpits. ‘What’s there to think about? Show
that you’re loyal to me. You’ve said it so many times, but I’m yet to
see any proof of it. Go ahead.’
Caleb’s eyes widened. It was as though he couldn’t believe the
brave soul in front of him, willing to end the entire relationship due
to some random text message. To be honest, I could hardly believe
my own actions. I was so used to letting men walk all over me that it
didn’t feel right to actually provoke a reaction of any kind.
‘Fine,’ he said, then started typing back.
Shamefully, I moved to his side and looked over his shoulder,
watching every tap of his thumbs on the screen. He told the girl that
he already had a woman in his life and that she would have to find
somebody else to have between her legs. As soon as he sent it,
Caleb put away his phone and took me in his arms. He thought I
didn’t see his Adam’s apple nervously bob up and down, but I did.
Heard the dryness of it, too. But I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I
was happy knowing he’d done the right thing and that I was his only
lady again.
 The next red flag came shortly after. Caleb said he wasn’t feeling
well and that I should leave. It hurt my feelings to know he wanted
me gone, but I wasn’t about to argue. Doing as I was told, I left his
place and went around the corner… where I stayed for hours.
It paid off when I found what I was looking for. A young woman
in her mid-twenties found her way to his doorstep. She was tall and
slender, with exposed cleavage and lipstick as red as the Devil. She
looked exactly like the kind of person who might want someone
else’s man on top of her, and when Caleb opened the door to her,
taking her in his arms, there was no denying what was happening.
My boyfriend was cheating on me.
Well, that was the last time I was going to be played like that. I
walked right over to his house, pushing them both aside as I went
inside. Caleb called out to me, but it was like water off a duck’s back
as I went around his living room and collected some of my things
that were lying around: my hoodie, a spare phone charger, and a
twenty-pound note off the coffee table that didn’t belong to me. But
heck, I needed the money.
I didn’t say anything as I left. They had what they wanted, and I
was going to get mine. There was nothing for me in this dive of a
town anyway, so I put all of my things from my studio apartment in
a suitcase, ended my tenancy that very day, and spent a tenner on a
bus ride to the only place I truly felt like I belonged.
But it wasn’t all bad. I was about to meet Rook.
And my whole life was about to change.

I should have known I was in trouble from the moment I got on the
coach. It was pretty quiet, as the late-night transfers usually are, but
there were two loud guys sitting in the back. I took a seat in the
middle, where the stench of beer wafted over from behind. Pulling
my shirt up over my nose and mouth, I put my head back and tried
to sleep.
Some time passed – it’s hard to say how long, as it could have
been ten minutes or two hours – but movement on my right startled
me. My eyes flung open. I shot up, my heart racing when I found
one of the guys was sitting next to me, leering.
‘You’re gorgeous when you sleep,’ he said, the foul scent of beer
and stale smoke blowing my way as he spoke. It was hard to make
him out in the dark, but just from the passing lights outside the
window, the deadness of his eyes was clear to see.
‘Thanks,’ I said, not knowing what else I could possibly say.
The man twisted in the seat and looked back at his friend, who
snickered like a mischievous schoolboy. I used this opportunity to
peer over the seats, scanning the frontmost rows to see if anyone
could come to my rescue if something bad happened.
The nearby rows were empty.
‘I was just saying to my mate that you’re my type of girl,’ the
man explained, leaning a little too close to me. When I didn’t
respond, he went on. ‘Where are you from?’
‘London,’ I told him.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Bristol.’
‘Yeah, so are we. Want to go for a drink when we get off?’
‘Sorry, I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have somewhere to be.’
‘So?’
The tension made my stomach rock hard. Cold sweat formed on
my temple. I felt so vulnerable, and all I could think about was Caleb
and his new woman. Would they laugh if they saw this? Would they
think I deserved it for walking out on him?
I turned in my seat and watched the world go by. Deep down, I
was hoping the man would take a hint and leave. The breath caught
in my lungs as the seconds passed, but his reflection stubbornly
remained in the glass.
Then I felt his hand on my leg.
He wasn’t leaving.
‘No,’ I said, knocking it aside.
Before I even found time to regret it, the man put his full weight
against me, crushing me against the window. His hand clamped
around my neck, but as a new idea registered, he let go and slid his
snaking fingers down my chest. He found his way to my breast and
touched it while fear froze me like the world’s smallest statue. I even
forgot to breathe.
‘You don’t get to say no to me,’ he said through gritted teeth.
I couldn’t find my voice, and I lost all control of my body. My
heart was about to burst from my chest as my deepest fears came
to life. The man leaned in with his stinking breath as if to kiss me. I
scrunched up my face and turned my head to the side, battling
against it as he pressed harder into me, groping so hard it hurt. His
fingers moved down, down…
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Although deep and booming, the voice sounded like heaven to
me. The man let go of me and shot to his feet, lunging at the
newcomer. All I saw was two shapes wrestling in the darkness as I
caught my breath, but the man who touched me was soon shoved
back. He paused as if to think about giving it a second try – his
friend even came running from the back of the coach – but they
retreated when they saw what I saw.
 My saviour was tall, muscular, and frighteningly confident.
The drunks returned to the back, chuckling like kids. I found
myself swaying, feeling dirty and weak. My voice had vanished, my
pitiful attempt at gratitude coming out as a mere croak while I gazed
up at this beautiful human being.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
All I could do was nod.
‘Want to come and sit at the front with me? I’ll make sure they
don’t come near you.’
I should have said no because being touched by a stranger didn’t
exactly inspire confidence to go and sit with a different one. But
there was something good about this man. It wasn’t just obvious in
what he’d done, but there was a sweetness to his voice that
entranced me. It was like there was no safer place to be than in his
company. So I accepted, grabbed my handbag, and moved to the
front of the coach for security.
Little did I know, I’d found love.

I f there was one stroke of luck that night, it was that the two drunks
didn’t get off at my stop. My guardian waited with me until the
coach was out of sight, then walked me to the nearest taxi rank. It
was a short walk but long enough to learn his name was Rook and
that he lived very close to where I was heading. I kept thinking it
was too good to be true.
We took a taxi together. After a twenty-minute drive through
brightly lit Bristol, we climbed out onto a dark street that was only
vaguely familiar to me. I’d been here a small handful of times, but
not for years and rarely at night.
 ‘Is that your house?’ Rook asked, pointing towards a nice-looking
three-bedroom new build right on the corner.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s my sister’s.’
‘You’re living there?’
‘It’s temporary. I’ll look for somewhere to live in the morning.’
Rook lowered his head as if deep in thought. ‘Sorry it’s been a
rough day for you. But hey, look, if there’s ever anything you need,
I’m right across the street.’ He waited a beat, the cold wind picking
up and whistling through the silence. It wasn’t until he pointed at a
house opposite my sister’s that I realised he was being literal.
‘You’re joking?’ I said with a small giggle. ‘What are the chances
that we live so close?’
‘Slim, because you said you’re only living there temporarily.’ Rook
laughed a pleasant, hearty laugh. It was the kind you couldn’t help
but laugh along with, even if you didn’t find it particularly funny.
Then he took my hand, and my goofy laugh turned to pure joy.
‘Fern, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Do come and say hello when
you get the chance.’
‘I will.’
Just like that, he crossed the road and disappeared into the
house with a small suitcase in tow. I grabbed the handle of my own
suitcase and headed for Heather’s house, where one downstairs light
was on and a key was waiting for me under the mat. I scooped it off
the dirty concrete, then took one last look across the street.
I couldn’t wait to see him again.
Chapter 3
 Present Day

T onight ’ s real struggle is getting my daughter through the door

without letting her topple over. She’s swaying in my one arm while I
reach out the other to try sliding the key into the hole. It takes a few
false stabs, but I open the door just in time to catch Sadie and haul
her upright. She groans as I do so, mumbles something, then goes
semi-lifeless again.
Inside, the sound of an action movie rings up the hallway. I can
picture Ben in the living room, lying on the couch, having drunk
himself into a deep sleep while watching Predator or something
equally brainless. It reminds me how truly alone I am as a parent.
As a wife. But there’s no time to dwell on that now.
My daughter needs me.
Sadie wraps her arms around herself and leans against the wall
while I lock the front door. I drop my handbag and get it done
quickly, then rush back to her side as she groggily looks up at me, a
mixture of shame and gratitude lurking in her bloodshot eyes. I give
her a thin smile and then take her in my arms again, working our
way up the stairs. I can see into the living room from five steps up,
and I was right – there Ben is, his feet up and his head back. A beer
can rests in his hand at an angle, threatening to spill as soon as he
moves. It’s not nice to wish something like that on your own
husband, but I can’t help thinking he deserves it.
When we finally make it to the top, I manoeuvre Sadie into her
bedroom and lower her softly onto the bed. Her weight activates the
button on a teddy bear she’s had for years, and a lullaby starts its
melodic loop while I clear off the decorative cushions and stop the
bear. Then, I raise the duvet and wrap Sadie up nice and tight. She
gives a little sigh of exhaustion and rolls her head to one side, out
like a light.
It’s a shockingly hard thing to watch. My little girl is all grown up,
and it happened so suddenly. I know it’s a cliché, but it feels like
only yesterday I was changing her nappy and letting her crawl
around me as she excitedly played with her toys and explored the
world. That same sense of wonder is still there, I suppose. Except
rather than wanting to learn about shapes and colours and farm
animals, she now wants to experiment with alcohol and boys and
staying out until the stupid hours. My job as a mother hasn’t
changed though.
I’m still the protector.
Sadie begins to snore, and I feel like my job is done for the night.
I’ll check in on her before I go to bed, but for now, I simply go to
the door and watch her for a little longer. When she rolls onto her
side and I’m confident she’s not going to choke on her own vomit, I
pull the door shut and head downstairs.
Hopefully, she won’t hear what happens next.

I t ’ s funny how quickly one’s priorities can change. Until now, my

main focus was getting Sadie home safely. There was no time for
anger or bitterness because I had a job to do. Now that job is done,
and I can already feel furious heat rage through me.
I head downstairs, ready to deal with whatever comes next. It’s
hard to believe, but I really don’t want an argument. All I want is to
wake up my husband and encourage him to go to bed. There’s no
point in bringing up tonight’s events when he’s like this because
alcohol makes him very easy to agitate. That’s not something I’m
necessarily scared of, but exhaustion has worked its way into my
bones, and my capacity for patience is past its peak.
As I enter the living room, I’m immediately assaulted by a blaring
TV and the overpowering stink of beer. Ben hasn’t moved since
Sadie and I went upstairs – he’s out cold and will be a nightmare to
wake. I think about just leaving him here, but the caring side of me
suggests I should at least try encouraging him to bed. Despite his
downfalls, he’s still my husband. The man I fell in love with as soon
as I saw him in that university library.
Before waking him, I stand there for a minute, just watching.
He’s now a mere shadow of the bright, optimistic young man I met
at university all those years ago. The full head of thick, dark hair has
now receded to the point he just shaves it once a week. There are
crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, which crease even further
when he smiles. Right now, he’s sporting a bit of a belly. The
alcohol’s fault, no doubt. And yet, I’m still physically attracted to this
man. He has that sort of quality about him – almost like superiority
but without the arrogance. It makes him seem unobtainable, even
though I obtained him.
The question is, will I keep him?
‘Ben,’ I say gently, kneeling at his side. I take the beer can from
his hand and place it on the side, but then I notice a wet patch on
his jeans. There’s no way to tell if it’s spilled beer or urine, and I
have no intention of finding out. ‘Ben, it’s time to wake up.’
Even though he stirs, it’s like I’m not there. He simply clears his
throat and rolls his head to the other side, shifting his shoulders ever
so slightly to get comfortable. I think about bringing him a blanket,
but he needs to get cleaned up. I may be livid right now, but that
doesn’t mean I won’t take care of my husband.
‘Come on,’ I say, louder this time. ‘Wakey-wakey, eggs and
bakey.’
Finally, his eyes creep open. A small smile parts my lips as I
remember the number of times I’ve woken him up with the promise
of fried food. Now is no different – he looks at me like he hasn’t
seen me in forever, and it’s hard to stay angry at him for much
longer.
‘Where’s the bakey?’ he asks, a croak lacing his voice.
‘There is no bakey, but you need to get up.’
‘Oh.’ Ben sits upright with a groan of tremendous effort, looks
around the room, then reaches for the remote and turns off the TV.
I’m grateful because the sound of Arnold Schwarzenegger yelling
was driving me crazy. ‘I missed your thing, didn’t I?’
‘It wasn’t my thing. It was yours. But yes, you missed it.’
‘Damn. How did it go?’
‘Badly. I’m not sure the library will give you another chance.’
His body sags, and he rests his face in his palms. Tonight’s failure
was his own doing, but I won’t make him feel any worse about it.
Like I said before, I love this man with every ounce of my being. The
problem is, I’m not sure how much longer we can go on like this.
He’s not even an alcoholic – he just uses it now and then to escape
responsibility.
‘I really am sorry,’ he says, but it’s muffled behind his hands.
 ‘It’s okay.’
‘No, it’s not. You set that up for me, and I embarrassed you.’
‘Well, you can make it up to me by signing their hardbacks and
hand-delivering them.’
‘Sure, I can do that.’
‘And then you can treat me to some Chinese food.’
‘That, too.’
Ben lifts his head from his hands and looks at me with an
innocent smile. It warms my heart somewhat, but I’m wary. He’s let
me down too many times – left Sadie in trouble far too often. I
sometimes scare myself by wondering what will happen one day,
when she really needs him there but he’s passed out on the sofa.
Would it be like tonight, where I had to pick up the pieces, or will it
simply be too late? As far as our daughter’s safety is concerned, he’s
doing a terrible job as a father. He’s earned my resentment on that
alone.
‘How drunk are you?’ I ask bluntly.
‘Not enough that I can’t make it upstairs.’
‘Need a hand?’
‘Maybe not,’ he says but reaches for me anyway.
I stand up straight and use all my strength to lift him. Before he
can get too close, I point to the mess on his jeans and try not to
make a big deal out of it. Even if it’s not urine, I don’t want to
embarrass him. Ben seems to appreciate this because he takes a
step back and then awkwardly looks around the room.
‘Mind if I clean this up in the morning?’ he asks.
‘As long as it’s done before Sadie wakes up. I don’t want her
waking up with a hangover and smelling stale beer as soon as she
comes downstairs.’
‘She got drunk again?’
 I shoot an impatient glare at him as if to tell him not to be a
hypocrite. He holds his hands up in surrender and starts to leave the
room. Only he stands in the doorway, pausing like he’s deep in
thought. When he turns around, he doesn’t look drunk to me. He
just looks sad.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
Then I want to tell him that I’m running out of excuses for him.
That I really want to just peacefully break away from our marriage
and start fresh. I’m getting older and wiser, but I’m also less willing
to put up with unnecessary difficulty. If his problem was with the
alcohol itself, I would stand by him until the day I die, just like I
promised at our wedding. But this isn’t about the booze. It’s about
his complete inability to function as a parent and husband. Only I
can’t tell him that. Not right now, because there’s still alcohol in his
system, and I don’t want to make this some kind of screaming
match. So I say the only thing I can.
‘It’s fine,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s just go to bed.’

W hile B en takes a shower in the en-suite bathroom, I’m lying in bed

and forcing the pressures of today into a mental compartment. It’s a
technique I stole from some hypnotherapy course a couple of years
ago, and it’s worked out pretty well for me.
Until now.
Something about the dark is making me very uncomfortable.
Despite the warmth of the room and the comfort of the bed – even
hearing the water splash off Ben’s body and trickle down the drain
so I know he’s nearby – I can’t help but control the shiver that runs
through me. That mental compartment I spoke of is full to burst,
stuffed with worries about Sadie and my marriage. About work and
how the locals feel about me after I was the face of Ben’s mistake.
But there’s something else clawing its way out of that proverbial
closet.
I just can’t put my finger on it.
Ben smells a whole lot nicer when he returns to the bedroom.
He’s clean now, having made an effort to wash his hair and wear a
nice cologne. It’s the one I bought him for his birthday two months
ago, and I’m grateful he’s making good use of it. When he climbs
into bed, he kisses me on the cheek and apologises once more for
his behaviour. He’s trying – I can see that – but it might not be
enough. Who knows?
It’s going into the mental closet along with everything else, as if
there’s any room for it. In my mind, the pressure behind the door is
causing the wood to creak and splinter. It takes at least an hour
before my heart slows down enough to realise what’s causing
concern.
It’s Rook.
I hate to be cynical about somebody I met less than an hour ago,
but something is seriously wrong. I know Fern in a way only a sister
can, and to say she recklessly dives head first into relationships is an
understatement. As for Rook himself? He’s just too good to be true.
There’s a catch somewhere. There has to be. There always is with
men like him.
I just need to find out what.
Chapter 4
 Before

T he morning after I met Rook, Heather woke me up on the sofa with

a steaming cup of coffee to lift my spirits. To be honest though, I
didn’t really need cheering up. Okay, so Caleb cheated on me, and
my relationship was over, but for the first time in my life, a break-up
had actually left me feeling liberated rather than… well, victimised.
Of course, that had something to do with Rook. A flash of him
popped into my imagination for a spell; his rugged handsomeness
and downright perfect body made me grin from ear-to-ear. Heather
raised an eyebrow at me as she handed me the mug. She wanted to
know more, I could tell, but I was going to keep this to myself.
Anyway, I knew exactly what she would say, and I could do without
the condescending guidance.
‘Something has you chirpy,’ she said, ‘and I want to know what it
is.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I told her, taking a sip of the molten coffee and
sitting up. I blew across the rim of the mug in an effort to hide my
smile, but my sister was onto me. I reverted to one of my favourite
tactics: pinning the attention on her. ‘Where’s the family?’
‘Oh. Sadie’s out on her apprenticeship.’
‘And Ben?’
 Heather lowered her head, allowing me a peek at the first signs
of grey. She was doing okay at thirty-seven. Aside from those few
lonely wisps and a slight creasing around her dazzling green eyes,
she still looked pretty young. She used to look even younger, until
her husband started acting like a fool. But I wasn’t supposed to
know about that.
I didn’t bring it up.
‘Do you have any food?’ I asked, changing the subject.
‘What do you need?’
‘Anything at all. If you can spare it.’
‘You’re my little sister. You can have whatever you like.’
As Heather got up and went into the kitchen, I followed with the
hot brew in hand. It was so nice to admire her home and know she
was doing so well. Even if times were tough in her marriage, at least
she’d landed on her feet with a nice house and a husband who made
a fair chunk of cash with his writing career. Plus, there was being the
wife of a local celebrity.
It was the life I could only dream of.
Heather started zipping around the room, pulling ingredients
from multiple shelves and throwing them together in a pan. I took a
seat at the long dining table, which occupied the centre of the
enormous kitchen, watching her whip up whatever it was she was
making.
‘What are your plans for today?’ I asked.
‘I have work in a few minutes. Ben has a new book coming out
soon, so I need to organise a signing at the library. Plenty of things
to arrange, a lot of moving parts for a good release.’
‘That’s great news. Are you excited?’
‘I’m exhausted, but it’s for Ben, so how can I say no?’
‘True.’
 ‘What about you? Got much going on today?’
‘Actually, I’m looking for somewhere to live.’
The frying pan hissed, and Heather spun around to look at me
with narrowed eyes. All of a sudden, she was a spitting image of our
mother, who’d died ten years ago. Neither of us missed her. ‘You
know you can stay here for as long as you like.’
‘Thank you, but it’s time I stood on my own two feet for once.’
She didn’t have to say it. The look spoke for her. Besides, we
both knew what she was thinking – that it was so unlike me to
actually get off my backside and do something by myself. To be
honest, I expected a little more. Some pride or maybe some
encouragement. All I got instead was a sceptical frown.
‘Are you staying close?’ she asked.
‘I hope so.’ My gaze drifted through the kitchen window and
across the street. I could see Rook’s house from here, and I
desperately wanted to know more about him, so I nodded at his
home and said, ‘That’s a nice house. Who lives there?’
Heather took a quick glance, then threw some blueberries into
the pan. ‘That one across the street? I’ve absolutely no idea. Haven’t
seen anyone come or go in years.’
‘You don’t look out of your own window?’
‘I don’t have the time. Anyway, I spend most of the time in the
living room, and that looks into the back garden. Why so curious?’
‘Oh, I’m not.’
‘If you say so.’
I drank more coffee, becoming more alert with each sip. As soon
as it was gone, I set down the mug, but it barely touched the table
before Heather took it and replaced it with a plate of blueberry
pancakes. My stomach groaned as I reached for the cutlery, and
Heather refilled my mug and put it next to the plate.
 ‘If you’re serious about heading out today, you’ll need some
energy,’ she said.
‘Thanks, sis,’ I said, then tucked into the food with frightening
speed. I had no idea I was that hungry, but my eagerness to get
started with the day also came as a surprise. Maybe it was because I
wanted my own home and job so I could impress Rook. It lit some
kind of fire under me, spurring me on to turn my pathetic, childish
existence into something more adult. It was good for me, really, but
I wouldn’t tell Heather just yet.
I could live without the apprehensive warnings.

I t ’ s scarily easy to get a job, as long as you’re not fussy. Maybe I

just got lucky, or it could be that I dove into it with the right
mentality, but I went into only five different establishments to
enquire about employment before an independent bakery owner
offered me a job on the spot. Apparently, her teenage part-timer had
suddenly decided to travel and had left without warning, so the lady
who employed me was grateful for the hand… starting immediately.
I probably don’t need to explain how hard that was. It was a six-
hour shift with on-the-job training in a high-pressure environment.
Because the bakery was situated on the corner of an industrial
estate, we had to power through the lunch break, where all the
factory workers gravitated towards us in search of sausage rolls and
bacon baps. The biggest struggle for me was to make sure I didn’t
sweat into everyone’s food. Gross, I know, but it was hot in there.
The owner, Janet, rewarded me with cash in hand and invited me
back the next day to run through the legal bits. It was executed with
an I-won’t-tell-if-you-won’t attitude, to which I was more than happy
to agree. I needed the money, so who cared?
 The sun was going down by the time I finished, and I still
needed somewhere to live. Janet must have figured it out from
looking at my suitcase because she stopped me at the door and
informed me that the flat above the bakery was vacant. It wasn’t
much, she said – and a quick tour proved it to be a tiny, grimy little
place – but the rent was cheap, and I could move in that same night
if I wanted to. It had a sofa bed and a working shower, so I didn’t
hesitate. Apparently, we could figure out a way to deduct the rent
from my wages.
I couldn’t believe my luck.
The very next morning, before my shift started, I went over to
Heather’s with the good news to share. I should have known she’d
be working, and maybe I did because I secretly wanted to see Rook.
That was exactly why I was dressed nicely and had bothered to do
my hair. There was nothing subliminal about it. Just plain excuses.
When Heather didn’t open her door, I crossed the road and
knocked on Rook’s. There was a beautiful silver Porsche on the
drive, but I hardly got time to admire it before the door opened.
Rook appeared in the gigantic doorway, wearing a navy sweater that
hugged his immaculate body. He beamed a bright-white smile.
‘Fern,’ he said.
Naturally, my own smile met his. ‘You remembered my name.’
‘How could I not? It’s not every day a woman like you crosses my
path.’
‘A woman like me?’ I teased. ‘What does that mean, exactly?’
‘Smart. Beautiful. Don’t act like you don’t know.’
I was certain I was blushing. Heat rose to my cheeks, but I was
determined not to get distracted. I stood up straight, pushed back
my shoulders, and looked deep into his eyes. ‘I wanted to thank you
for helping me the other night, but I also want to invite you out for
dinner. It’s my way of saying thank you.’
‘No.’ He shook his head, and my heart sank for all of a second.
‘You can’t buy me dinner, but you can let me buy you dinner. And
not as a thank you but as a date. If you don’t want to, that’s fine,
but I like you, Fern. I’d like to know you better.’
Stunned, still blushing, I laughed out loud. The right words
wouldn’t quite form in my mouth, and all that came out was a bunch
of awkward noises. I felt like a little girl with her first crush, unable
to speak because my stomach was in excited knots. By the time I
could think of what to say, the only real answer escaped my lips
without control.
‘Yes.’

I spent that whole night worried I was going to say or do something

to put him off me, but it didn’t work out that way. If anything, Rook
only seemed more interested in me. As you can probably guess, that
was an unusual experience for me. I’d been the pursuer my entire
life. It felt excitingly wrong that a man was making the effort for
once.
We ate in the heart of Bristol, enjoying steak in a beautiful
restaurant by the harbour. I had the wine, but Rook decided not to
drink as he wanted to drive us home safely. Being that my father
had died in a hit-and-run by a drunk driver, I appreciated his
maturity.
Although my heel did snap off on the way back to the car – Rook
carried me on his back the rest of the way, making me giggle
hysterically and bringing us closer together. People laughed as we
passed, which only made it funnier. When we reached his car and he
put me down, Rook didn’t wait for even a second before kissing me.
It was one of those hard, deep kisses that somehow lasted forever
but was also over in a few seconds.
Either way, I wasn’t likely to forget it.
When he stopped the car outside the bakery, I hesitated. Now,
I’m not a hussy, and I’m not proud of putting out on a first date, but
Rook was different. It was like he had his own gravitational pull, and
I couldn’t get away from him if I’d tried.
‘What if we went to yours instead?’ I asked with a nervously dry
mouth.
Rook didn’t say a word. He simply put the Porsche into first gear,
and we went straight to his house. It was late when we arrived. The
lamp posts were off, and so were all the lights from Heather’s house.
That was beneficial, however.
Like I said before, I didn’t want the questions.
Within seconds of getting in the door, Rook and I were tearing off
each other’s clothes. Still kissing and touching me all over, we
stumbled into the bedroom and enjoyed the most passionate night
of my life. Nobody had ever treated me like he had, which was both
respectfully and aggressively… but the good kind. It was raw and
animalistic.
And then we slept like babies.
The problems started that same night. At least, I think it was a
problem. I’d always had a hard time sleeping, and Rook was out like
a light. For a spell, I lay there watching him, enjoying the rise and
fall of his muscular chest. I wondered how I could get so lucky, then
glanced around the massive bedroom, comparing it to what little of
the other rooms I saw on the way up here. He was a man of money,
and that was yet another reason to consider staying with him for as
long as humanly possible. I revelled in that fantasy for a few
minutes.
But then he started to talk.
‘Stay,’ he mumbled in his sleep, his breathing becoming faster,
deeper. More desperate. His nose twitched, and his hand reached
over to me. Everything inside me tingled, enjoying even the weirdest
sensation of his skin on mine, but then he grabbed fiercely at the
sheet. ‘Not a chance. Stop fighting it.’
I sat upright, wondering if I’d heard him right. I waited for him to
speak again, but he never did. Looking back, I wonder why I didn’t
take the warning and get the hell away from him, but Rook was a
captivating man, and I was… captivated, I guess.
Like an idiot, I pretended everything was fine, then put my head
back on the pillow.
It took two hours to get back to sleep.
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