No Turning Back, page 28
‘Shush,’ her mother said. ‘It’s not been easy for you. And with my mother taking so much of your time, your emotions, isolating you from me in her clever little ways. That’s what she used to do with me, manipulate me so she was my whole world. She’s always been so needy, so desperate to be the centre of my life. Then Peter came along and he showed me how to break away, how to gain some independence.’ Her face lit up. ‘He represented everything I was taught not to love: he was poor, and rough in his ways. He didn’t really have many prospects. But he knew me for what I was and he wanted to be more than people thought he was.’
Anna thought of Jamie.
‘But that’s the past,’ her mother said, looking down at Joni and smiling. ‘Everything’s different now. No more hiding, no more secrets.’
The sound of footsteps had clattered up the steel staircase then. Mother and daughter stood, holding hands.
Detective Morgan appeared at the doorway, face red, breath coming out in spurts. More officers appeared behind him.
Anna looked at him, holding her breath. She knew they would be after her now with her gran dead on the rocks below, there were just too many coincidences. And how would they believe her, a woman who killed a schoolboy? And why would they believe her mother, a woman with a history of depression and anxiety?
Anna stepped towards the detective, putting her hands out. ‘Just take me in. I didn’t have anything to do with my gran’s death. But I know you won’t believe me, just get it over with.’
Detective Morgan frowned. ‘Anna, we’re not taking you in. We found some notes your grandmother wrote to her late husband when we searched her house for you just now. We know what she did. You’re free.’
The media onslaught had been intense after that, the whole family now the target this time, not just Anna. Strangely enough though, the journalist who’d been the most aggressive – Anna’s old friend, Yvonne Fry – had been the most supportive since Florence’s death, writing articles showing Anna in a good light. Those articles played a role in separating Anna and Beatrice from the Ophelia Killings, and with her mother by her side, Anna was able to ride the wave until things died down.
Part of that was trying to come to terms with what Florence had done. As they’d cleared out her house, they’d found a diary she’d written as a child and discovered the horrific abuse she’d endured at the hands of her strict naval father. Children who’d gone through worse didn’t turn to murder, but it went some way to explaining how her mind had become so broken and twisted. Detective Morgan had also let Anna read the notes Florence had written for Alistair, charting how they’d murdered all those boys that summer. It had been the perfect storm, a teacher and a willing pupil drawing on each other’s darkness. Florence had wanted to recreate that with Anna, using the emails she wrote to her and the little sick gifts – the shape cutter in her pocket, the damaged teddy, the comb left in Joni’s nursery – a twisted way of making Anna find the innate darkness Florence thought they shared. And she’d succeeded for a while, Anna had begun to wonder if there was something rotten inside her.
But now Florence was gone, Anna was finally able to see that what she’d done the day Elliot died was inevitable and not the result of some inherited darkness.
‘Look who it is,’ Georgia said now, nudging Anna.
Anna looked up to see Jamie at the studio door. Her heart quickened as he shot her one of his lazy smiles, his jeans covered in oil, his fair hair messy.
She lifted her headphones off her head and went up to him. He pulled her towards him, softly kissing her on the lips.
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Ready?’
She nodded, grabbing her bag and coffee and waving goodbye to Georgia.
Jamie took her hand as they strolled out of the studio. It had taken them a few months to get together, the wounds still raw from everything that had happened. But when they had, it had seemed completely natural, mechanic and radio presenter, the perfect match.
They stepped outside, the wind whipping their hair around their faces. Jamie pulled her close and she smiled. They followed the sea, feet crunching on pebbles.
When they got to the stretch of beach where Elliot had died a year ago, they both paused. Anna watched as Jamie laid some pebbles Joni had painted for Elliot on the beach, then Anna reached into her bag, kneeling down and burying her father’s watch beneath them.
Then they both continued on their journey until they got to the lighthouse.
It had been newly painted, and stood even brighter and whiter against the calm sea. Jamie’s van was outside packed full of his tools. He’d worked so hard on renovating the lighthouse over the past few months, spending weekends and evenings on it.
In the distance, people started strolling over from The Docks, children whizzing towards them on scooters, their shoulders burnt red from the sun. Their mothers shouting out for them to slow down, fathers lifting some onto their shoulders.
Jamie squeezed her hand and they both walked to the front of the lighthouse.
‘Mummy!’ a little voice shouted. Anna looked over to see Joni running towards her in her Elsa dress.
Anna’s mother followed her, rolling her eyes. ‘She refused to wear anything else after I got her from nursery.’
‘You learn to pick your battles,’ Anna said, laughing as she lifted her daughter up and swirled her around.
In the distance, she caught sight of rocks where her father, brother and gran had fallen to their deaths.
‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’ Joni asked, following her gaze.
‘Just remembering,’ Anna said sadly, exchanging a look with Jamie.
‘What you ’membering?’ Joni asked.
‘So many questions,’ Anna said, stroking her daughter’s cheek. ‘One day I’ll tell you.’
‘One day,’ her mother said, squeezing Anna’s hand, her eyes filling with tears.
People started to gather around them and Jamie looked at his watch. ‘It’s three-thirty,’ he said.
Anna felt a thrill of excitement go through her. She stood before the crowds, crowds who had once accused her, harassed her, hated her, but were now slowly starting to accept her. At the back, she noticed a familiar face: Guy. He’d brought his girlfriend Carly, a vivacious woman who had a little girl too. Anna smiled at them both. He’d been a wonderful support after discovering what had happened, and more than ever, Anna felt as though they were a team despite not being married any more, their joint love for Joni making what could be a difficult situation into a bearable one.
‘They’re waiting for you,’ Jamie said.
Anna took a deep breath and turned to the crowds. ‘Welcome everyone! I’m absolutely delighted to be able to welcome you all to the SEL After School Club. I could launch into a long speech but I don’t think many words are needed, for once. All I want to say is this community has been through hell and back.’
She sought Kiara out in the crowds. She was going to run the club with Anna and Jamie. She’d been shocked to discover Florence’s role in the deaths, especially when she learnt Florence had sent some emails to Anna as the ‘Ophelia Killer’ from Kiara’s office, which piggy-backed on the tower block’s wireless.
‘Now it’s time for healing,’ Anna said as Kiara nodded. ‘And I hope this goes some way to helping with that. I know the club’s namesakes my father, Simon, Elliot Nunn and my brother, Leo, would have been proud to be part of this.’
She swept open the door behind her and watched as children filed inside. Jamie put his arm around her shoulders, tears in his eyes as he stared up at the sign above them. As they watched the children, Anna imagined Ben Miller and Elliot Nunn among them, even her gran as a child, wanting some peace and solace from home. She imagined herself too as she walked upstairs with Jamie, Joni and her mother. She imagined herself as she was after her father died, desperate for solace, gripping onto the steel banister and twisting up the winding stairs until she found the room at the very top with its shelves and shelves of books. She imagined curling up in a corner and staring out towards the sea, finding a safe haven from her troubles.
She looked down towards the rocks now, and felt her eyes fill with tears as she thought of all that had happened.
‘No more living in the past,’ her mother said, standing beside her and following her gaze. ‘This is all about the future now.’
Anna turned to watch Jamie lift Joni up to show her a book. ‘No turning back,’ Anna whispered.
Her mother smiled. ‘No turning back.’
As they said that, a seagull swept past them, swooping up into the sky then out towards the horizon, content and free.
THE END
Acknowledgements
Bundles of thanks go to the wonderful team at Avon. This includes Oliver Malcolm and Helen Huthwaite who had such faith I could get this novel written in time when I didn’t have faith myself. I’d also like to say particular thanks to my new editor, Kate Stephenson, who made some fantastic notes and has worked tirelessly to reach intense deadlines. And I want to thank everyone working on publicity including Jo Marino and Kayleigh Ross from Way To Blue and the brilliant Helena Sheffield and Louis Patel at Avon.
My previous editor Eli Dryden doesn’t get away without a thanks too. Thank you, Eli, for giving this idea the green light and continuing to support me from afar.
Big hugs and gratitude as ever to my agent, Caroline Hardman, who reads at the speed of light and makes a great brainstorm buddy when trying to figure out difficult plot points. On the fact-checking front, thank you to Rhoda Nikolay who helped me get to grips with the legal side over a lovely phone chat, and Samantha Young and Amanda Dickson for their advice on the child protection side of things. And of course, my copy editor Jo Gledhill and proof reader.
What would my acknowledgements be without big thanks to my writing buddy Elizabeth Richards and my ever-patient supportive husband, Rob. And finally, thanks to the two most important girls in my life, my mum and my daughter, who motivate me as I strive to make them proud.
Praise for My Sister’s Secret:
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‘My Sister’s Secret is a compelling page turning read about secrets in families and the unwitting consequences thereof. I was completely hooked on this story of love, sacrifice and the things people will do to keep the truth from coming out. A sad, powerful and absorbing story’ Julia Williams
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By the same author:
THE ATLAS OF US
MY SISTER’S SECRET
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tracy Buchanan lives in Buckinghamshire with her husband, their little girl and their one-eyed Jack Russell. Tracy travelled extensively while working as a travel magazine editor, and has always been drawn to the sea after spending her childhood holidays on the south coast visiting family, a fascination that inspires her writing. She now dedicates her time to writing and procrastinating on Twitter.
To find out more about Tracy follow her on Twitter @TracyBuchanan or visit her website and blog www.tracybuchanan.co.uk.
About the Publisher
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Tracy Buchanan, No Turning Back
