The third book in the Helen Grace series, 2015
Ruby tossed fitfully in her bed after a disturbed night’s sleep. She seemed to have been in and out of consciousness for hours – not fully awake, but not truly asleep either. Wild anxiety dreams collided uneasily with the odd sensation of her mother carrying her to bed. That had felt nice but was impossible of course. Ruby lived alone and it had been fifteen years or more since her parents had had to do that.
Ruby regretted her session at Revolution last night. Angry with life, she had been in self-destructive mood, unable or unwilling to turn down the free drinks offered by hopeful lads. There had been pills and cocaine too – the whole thing had been a blur. But had she really drunk so much, taken so much, that she should feel this bad?
She turned over again, burying her throbbing head in the sheets. She had important stuff to do today – her mum was coming round soon – but suddenly Ruby couldn’t face any of it. She just wanted to hide away from the world, cocooned in her hangover, safe from the intrusion of family, responsibility, betrayal and tears. She wanted her life to go away – for a couple of hours at least.
Putting her head under the pillow, she groaned quietly. It was surprisingly cool underneath – cooler than usual – and for a moment she felt refreshed and soothed. This would be a good hidey-hole for a litt-
Something wasn’t right. The smell. What was it about the smell of the sheets? They smelt… wrong.
Alarm started to burrow through her hangover. Her sheets always smelt citrusy. She used the same fabric softener her mum did. So why did they now smell of lavender?
Ruby kept her eyes closed, the pillow clamped over her head. Her brain ached fiercely as it spooled back over last night’s events. She had snogged a guy, flirted with a few more… but she hadn’t gone home with anyone, had she? No, she had made it back to her flat alone. She remembered dropping her keys on the table, drinking water straight from the kitchen tap, taking some Nurofen before flopping into bed. That was last night, wasn’t it?
She could feel her breathing becoming shallow now, her chest tightening. She needed her asthma inhaler. Stretching out her arm, she groped for the bedside table – drunk or not, she always left her inhaler within easy reach. But it wasn’t there. She reached out further. Nothing. The table wasn’t bloody there. Her hand collided with the wall. Rough brick. Her wall wasn’t like th-
Ruby pulled off the pillow and sat up. Her mouth fell open, but only a weak gasp came out – her body frozen in breathless panic. She had gone to sleep in her nice, cosy bed. But had woken up in a cold, dark cellar.
The sun was high in the sky and Carsholt beach looked magnificent, a long swathe of golden sand merging effortlessly with the gentle waters of the Solent. Andy Baker patted himself on the back – Carsholt was literally at the end of the road, so even though the beach was beautiful, there was hardly ever anybody down here. Cathy, him and the kids had the place to themselves and were set fair for a perfect Saturday by the sea. Picnic, bit of frisbee, a few beers – already the stresses of the working week were melting away.
Leaving the boys to dig their trench – a prelude to pitched battles between his boisterous twins – Andy set off by himself towards the water’s edge. What was it that was so calming about this place? The isolation? The view? The sound of the sea lapping the shore? Andy let the water run over his toes. He had been coming here since he was a kid. He’d brought his wife – his first wife – and the boys here. That hadn’t ended well of course, but looking over towards Cathy, digging and joking with Tom and Jimbo, Andy now felt blessed.
This place was his sanctuary and he looked forward to it all week. Running a security business sounded good on paper, but it was non-stop aggro. You used to be able to get decent people on your books, but not now. Maybe it was the influx of foreigners or just modern times, but every third employee seemed to have a drugs problem or an eye for the girls. Last month, he’d been sued by a nightclub owner who’d caught one of his guys dealing ketamine in the club toilets. He was getting too old for stuff like that – perhaps it was time to think about retiring.
A noise made Andy look up sharply. It came from behind him. From the direction of the boys. They were shouting. No, they were screaming.
Already Andy was sprinting across the sand, his heart beating sixteen to the dozen. Was someone hurting them? He could see Cathy, but where were the boys?
‘Cathy?’
She didn’t even look at him.
‘CATHY?’
Finally, she looked up. Her face was ashen. She tried to speak, but before she could say anything the boys crashed into her, holding on to her for dear life.
Andy stared at them, confused and fearful. As Cathy clasped the boys to her chest, her gaze remained resolutely fixed on the trench. Was it something in there that had spooked them? A dead animal or…
Andy approached the lip of the trench. He had a sense of what he would find. Could see it in his mind’s eye. But even so, his heart skipped a beat when he peered into the hole. The sides were steep, the trench was deep – three feet or so – and there at the bottom, perfectly framed by wet sand, was the pale face of a young woman.
