The Runaway Read online

  The Runaway

  by

  Linda Huber

  The Runaway

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2020 Linda Huber

  The right of Linda Huber to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the author.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  Contents

  Also by Linda Huber:

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Part Two

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Fabrian Books chillers

  Also by Linda Huber:

  The Paradise Trees

  The Cold Cold Sea

  The Attic Room

  Chosen Child

  Ward Zero

  Baby Dear

  Death Wish

  Stolen Sister

  Writing as Melinda Huber:

  A Lake in Switzerland

  A Spa in Switzerland

  Trouble in Switzerland

  Christmas in Switzerland

  Wedding Bells in Switzerland

  Dedication

  To my oldest friends,

  Margaret, Carol Anne, James and Pamela,

  and in loving memory of Christine.

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Friday, 6th March

  Nicola Seaton drained her coffee cup and sat back while Ed wielded his credit card for the waiter. What an amazing meal, and wow – how lucky was she? With their daughter at the table tennis club she’d joined a few weeks ago, Friday had turned into date night for her and Ed, and tonight was especially good. Kelly had gone to a friend’s for dinner straight after school. Nicola hugged herself. A whole evening for her and Ed to do what they liked with, and how lovely it was that after seventeen years, they still enjoyed a date as a twosome.

  Ed took her hand as they walked back to the car. ‘We should come back here with Kelly sometime. She loves Italian.’

  Nicola wrinkled her nose at him. ‘Are you telling me it’s boring when she’s not with us?’

  He wound both arms around her. ‘You know perfectly well I’m not. I’ll prove it at home, too.’

  Nicola kissed his chin. ‘I do like a proposition.’

  Anticipation flamed through her as they drove across London and parked outside their terrace flat. Ed kissed her as soon as they were decently inside, and Nicola held on tightly. He was a great guy for a cuddle, was Ed, he loved being held. Which was just fine by her.

  She leaned back to see his face. ‘Why don’t you go and slip into something more comfortable, and I’ll open a bottle of wine?’

  He moved towards their bedroom. ‘Shouldn’t that be my line? But you’re on.’

  Nicola pulled a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge and stabbed in the corkscrew, vaguely aware of Ed’s mobile trilling out then falling silent. Humming, she twisted the corkscrew. Much as she loved Kelly, this was–

  The kitchen door crashed open and Ed stumbled into the room, his mobile pressed to his chest.

  ‘She’s dead!’ His face was grey.

  ‘What?’ The wine bottle fell on its side and rolled against the coffee machine.

  ‘Nic, she’s dead.’

  Nicola’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as the world swam. Kelly. Her beautiful, infuriating, wonderful… She clawed her way along the worktop towards Ed.

  ‘They were having a sherry and she collapsed. Mel called an ambulance, but–’ He grabbed her, squeezing her against his chest.

  His mother. Dear God. Amelia was dead, not Kelly. Nicola’s legs gave way and only his arms around her kept her upright. She stood motionless, her breath as loud as his while her heartbeat slowly returned to something approaching normal. It was a moment before she could speak.

  ‘Ed. Love. Come and sit down.’ She pulled him through to the living room and they fell onto the sofa. Nicola rubbed his back as he sat hunched over his knees while shuddering sobs vibrated through his body. In all their years together, she’d never seen him like this.

  His mouth working, Ed thrust his mobile into her hand. ‘Call Mel.’

  Nicola reconnected to his sister, who was spending a few weeks with Amelia in the family home outside St Ives.

  Melanie’s voice shook down the phone. ‘Ed, for heaven’s sake. Are you–?’

  ‘It’s me. Are you okay, Mel? We’ll drive down tomorrow first thing.’ Nicola listened as Melanie gave details of the sudden stroke, the wait for an ambulance, the last guttural breath. They were still talking when Ed pushed himself from the sofa and staggered through to the kitchen, returning with the wine bottle. He poured a generous glass and swigged it down before refilling it and sipping more slowly, still breathing heavily.

  Nicola ended the call, her thoughts racing. Her job could wait for a few days – post-New Year January wasn’t a busy time as events manager in a gallery near London Bridge. But there was Kelly, too. She’d be upset, and this was the important GCSE year. Nicola planned swiftly. They could all drive to Cornwall tomorrow. Ed would want to stay in St Ives, but she’d come back to London on Sunday night with Kel. How horrible, she was being pulled between her husband’s needs and her daughter’s.

  Ed drained his second glass and Nicola grabbed the bottle before he poured a third.

  ‘Ed, honey. Let me get you a coffee?’

  ‘I can’t do this.’

  His voice rose hysterically and Nicola hugged the thin shoulders. He went on before she could speak.

  ‘I’m going to have to go there, help Mel get things sorted. I can’t, Nic, I can’t stand it.’ He banged his fist on the coffee table.

  Nicola murmured soothingly. Thank heavens Kelly was out; it would be awful for her to see her dad like this.

  ‘Me and Mel in that house.’ His voice was still higher than usual, then he barked, the sudden laughter making Nicola jerk away. ‘That’ll bring back memories.’ He wiped wet cheeks with his sleeve, then grabbed her hand.
r />   Nicola squeezed back. What was going on with him? His father had vanished when Ed was a teenager, so Amelia was the only parent, but… the mother-son relationship had never been what you’d call particularly close. Grief was an odd thing.

  The doorbell made them both jump. Nicola went to answer it, rearranging tousled hair as she went. No matter who this was, it was terrible timing.

  Two uniformed police officers were on the doorstep, Kelly swaying visibly between them, dark blonde hair falling over her face and her eyes half-closed. Nicola’s hands flew to her mouth, then reached out to grasp her daughter. The smell of alcohol was unmistakable.

  ‘We found her on Burn Street, thought it best to make sure she got home safely.’ The older officer grimaced at Nicola. ‘We’ll leave you to deal with it – but another time, you might not be so lucky, young lady.’

  He gave a half-salute as they turned to go.

  ‘What the hell were you doing?’ Nicola bundled Kelly into her bedroom, which fortunately was off the hallway so they didn’t have to trek past poor Ed.

  Kelly giggled, then burped, and a wave of teenage night on the tiles wafted over Nicola.

  ‘Some of us skived off to the park.’

  Nicola’s thoughts were racing again. ‘You’re an idiot, Kel, but we’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’ve sobered up. Now listen. Your gran’s – not well. So you just stay in your room and sleep it off, okay? Dad’s upset enough.’ Plenty of time for bad news when Kelly was thinking straight. She fetched a glass of water and a couple of Paracetamol, and left the girl to it.

  Ed was in the living room doorway. He reached for her and held on tightly, resting his head on hers. ‘I heard all that. Nic, you’re a gem. Kelly doesn’t know how lucky she is to have you.’

  Nicola stood rubbing his back. Normally, their daughter being delivered home dead drunk would have had him reading the riot act. But normal was a long way away tonight.

  Kelly stumbled into the bathroom, grimacing at the smell of sick mingling with disinfectant. Mum had been up early with the bleach, then, and talk about the morning after the night before. Her head was thumping and – bummer, she was going to… She retched over the toilet bowl, but nothing came up. She would never, ever drink that much again.

  She was splashing her face with cold water when her mother knocked on the door. Heck, it wasn’t even seven yet, was Mum going to have a go already?

  ‘Come through to the kitchen when you’re done in here, Kel – something’s happened. Nothing to do with last night, okay?’

  As if. Kelly dried her face and shrugged into her dressing gown before trailing through. This might not be to do with last night alone, but it would definitely be about her friends, hobbies, school marks, behaviour, etcetera. Best get it over with.

  Mum had a mug of tea waiting for her at the breakfast bar, and Kelly perched on a stool and tried a sip. A plate with a piece of dry toast slid across to her.

  ‘Kelly, love, there’s no easy way to say this, but – your gran was taken to hospital last night. She died, sweetie.’

  Oh no. No. While she’d been… Kelly buried her face in her hands as Mum hugged her close.

  ‘It was a stroke, and Melanie said it was all very quick. She was unconscious straight away so she didn’t feel a thing.’

  How could anyone know that? Dying might hurt even when you were unconscious, and it wasn’t as if anyone had ever come back from being dead to let people know. A huge lump rose in Kelly’s throat as the tears came. Her father appeared, and Kelly peeked up, blinking. His face had gone all hollow; he looked a hundred years older. What should she say?

  Her mother went to hug him, and he accepted a mug of tea and sat down beside Kelly. He had tears in his eyes too, which was weird because she’d always thought he didn’t like visiting Gran. The holidays they’d spent somewhere else, he was like a different person. It was Mum who insisted on ‘a week with Gran’ every year, and it had often been longer, too. Now these holidays would never happen again. Kelly grabbed a piece of kitchen paper and blew her nose. This was the worst ever. Her stomach was still on fire after being sick so much; she definitely hadn’t heard the last of that, and wait until they saw her newest lot of test results. And Gran was dead.

  Her father gave her shoulder a pat. ‘She didn’t suffer, Kelly. But I see you are – you made a wrong choice yesterday, didn’t you?’

  God, his mum had died and all he could think about was her boozy night out. Kelly closed her eyes, but he said nothing more, and when she looked again he was leaning against Mum, his shoulders shaking. Kelly took her mug to her room. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

  Nic was making yet more tea, and Ed forced a few sips down. Swallowing was painful; he hadn’t felt this bad since – for years. Decades. Nightmares had chased around his brain all night, black dreams where he’d lost Nicola and Kelly and he was searching, searching, running across fields, up and down deserted streets, calling their names and hearing the answering ‘Where are you?’ without ever finding them, mocking laughter from someone he couldn’t see echoing around his head every step of the way.

  His mother was gone. They would have to sell the house, and the past he’d been avoiding for over thirty years was staring him in the face, jeering. He had a good life in London… but now it was cracking.

  His mobile vibrated, and Ed grabbed it. Mel. He thrust the phone into Nicola’s hands and closed his eyes, listening as she told his sister they’d be in St Ives by mid-afternoon. He couldn’t go back he couldn’t go back he couldn’t – but he had to. They were leaving in half an hour.

  Ed dragged himself into the bathroom, where the mirror reflected a haggard face with panda eyes – this wasn’t Ed from London staring back, the man with a wife and child and a happy home. This was Ed the son, who came from Cornwall and wished he’d never set eyes on the place.

  The drive to St Ives was as long as it always was, and the house looked as grim as ever. Ed’s head was reeling within five minutes of arriving. The moment she opened the door, Melanie opened her mouth too and yakked; there was no escape. She led them into the living room, and Ed flopped down on an armchair. What a lucky girl Kelly was, playing with her phone on the sofa while Mel rattled on about doctors and death certificates and the will, which she hadn’t found yet. Ed shifted in his chair. At Kelly’s age, he’d sat there and – no. No, no. That was a place he definitely didn’t want to return to.

  It was a relief when the doorbell rang. Melanie went to answer it, leaving sudden, shocking silence in the living room. It was Dorothy, Amelia’s neighbour of the past twenty years.

  ‘I’ve brought some scones over, Melanie, and Rob sends his condolences too. Can I do anything?’

  It was talk talk talk at the front door, and in two minutes, everyone, Dorothy included, was sitting round the kitchen table with bloody scones on a plate. Ed’s stomach heaved.

  Melanie was still in full arranging mode. ‘The Anchor would be the best place for afternoon tea after the funeral, but we won’t be able to organise anything until Monday.’

  Kelly’s jaw dropped visibly. ‘How can you talk about funerals when Gran’s only just died?’

  For a wild moment Ed almost laughed. ‘It’s what you do, Kel. As soon as anyone’s dead, we do paperwork and organise funerals. That’s civilisation for you. Friday afternoon would be best for us, Mel. Or Saturday.’

  Dorothy passed round the scones. ‘Are you staying until the funeral, Ed?’

  No way was he staying in this house a single second longer than he needed to. ‘We’ll go back to London tomorrow, and come down again for the funeral.’ He took a bite of fruit scone, but it was like sawdust.

  Nicola put a hand on his arm. ‘It might be best if you stay and help Mel get everything done quickly, love.’

  Exactly what he couldn’t do. ‘No. I need to – to get organised at work. I’ll come back soon.’

  Mel shrugged. ‘I’ll sort through her things, then, shall I?’

  �
�Sort away.’

  He noticed the look that passed between Nicola and Mel, and Dorothy was talking to Kelly as if she was trying to distract the girl from what was going on at the other end of the table. God help him; he was behaving badly.

  Nic went back to practicalities. ‘Mel, maybe you and Kelly can have a look and see if there’s something Kelly could have as a memory of her gran?’

  Tears ran down Kelly’s face at this, and Dorothy gave the girl a hug. ‘You’ll miss her, Kelly. We all will.’

  The women nodded, murmuring in agreement while Ed’s arms ached to hold his daughter and Kelly snuffled into Dorothy’s shoulder. Nic’s eyes bored into his, but Ed remained silent.

  Chapter Two

  The Boy, aged eight

  The bus stopped at the top of the road, and Eddie jumped down and trotted along beside his sister as they headed home. He’d spent the afternoon playing at his friend’s place, and Melanie had come to collect him. They didn’t often go places together, just the two of them, but today Mum had to go somewhere else. A cold north wind was howling in from the sea, making the puddles of water on the road shiver. Eddie zipped up the anorak his grandmother had given him for his birthday yesterday, and stuffed both hands into his pockets, fingers closing around the pound coin Granny had put there for a surprise. January the second was a bad day for a birthday because it was so soon after Christmas and some people sent him a combined Christmas and birthday present. There was nothing to be done about that, his mother had told him. It was what it was.

  His sister grabbed his arm as he stumbled over a hole in the road, and Eddie grinned up at her. This year was funny – all the way from yesterday right up until Melanie’s next birthday in December, she was twice his age and he was half hers. That would never happen again; he’d counted it out. When he was twenty, she wouldn’t be forty.