in her throat and a whooping sob escaped before she could swallow it back.
‘S-sorry.’ She screwed her eyes tight and stuffed everything down as far as she could. There would be time enough for tears. Opening her stinging eyes, she looked at Sergeant Stone. ‘Do Bill and Pat know?’
‘Your in-laws? They’re next on our list. I’m so very sorry, pet. Would you like us to take you over there?’
Unable to speak past the knot in her throat, Mia nodded.
February 2016
Daniel rested his head on the dirty train window and stared unseeing at the landscape as it flashed past. He didn’t know where he was going. Away. That was the word that rattled around his head. Anywhere, nowhere. Just away from London. Away from the booze, birds and fakery of his so-called celebrity lifestyle. Twenty-nine felt too young to be a has-been.
He’d hit town with a portfolio, a bundle of glowing recommendations and an ill-placed confidence in his own ability to keep his feet on the ground. Within eighteen months, he was the next big thing in photography and everyone who was anyone clamoured for an original Fitz image on their wall. Well-received exhibitions had led to private commissions and more money than he knew what to do with. And if it hadn’t been for Aaron’s investment advice, his bank account would be as drained as his artistic talent.
The parties had been fun at first, and he couldn’t put his finger on when the booze had stopped being a buzz and started being a crutch. Girls had come and gone. Pretty, cynical women who liked being seen on his arm in the gossip columns, and didn’t seem to mind being in his bed.
Giselle had been one such girl and without any active consent on his part, she’d installed herself as a permanent fixture. The bitter smell of the French cigarettes she lived on in lieu of a decent meal filled his memory, forcing Daniel to swallow convulsively against the bile in his throat. That smell signified everything he hated about his life, about himself. Curls of rank smoke had hung like fog over the sprawled bodies, spilled bottles and overflowing ashtrays littering his flat when he’d woven a path through them that morning.
The cold glass of the train window eased the worst of his thumping hangover, although no amount of water seemed able to ease the parched feeling in his throat. The carriage had filled, emptied and filled again, the ebb and flow of humanity reaching their individual destinations.
Daniel envied their purpose. He swigged again from the large bottle of water he’d paid a small fortune for at Paddington Station as he’d perused the departures board. The taxi driver he’d flagged down near his flat had told him Paddington would take him west, a part of England that he knew very little about, which suited him perfectly.
His first instinct had been to head for King’s Cross, but that would have taken him north. Too many memories, too tempting to visit old haunts his Mam and Dad had taken him to. It would be sacrilege to their memory to tread on the pebbled beaches of his youth, knowing how far he’d fallen from being the man his father had dreamed he would become.
He’d settled upon Exeter as a first destination. Bristol and Swindon seemed too industrial, too much like the urban sprawl he wanted to escape. And now he was on a local branch line train to Orcombe Sands. Sands meant the sea. The moment he’d seen the name, he knew it was where he needed to be. Air he could breathe, the wind on his face, nothing on the horizon but whitecaps and seagulls.
The train slowed and drew to a stop as it had done numerous times previously. Daniel didn’t stir; the cold window felt too good against his clammy forehead. He was half aware of a small woman rustling an enormous collection of department store carrier bags as she carted her shopping haul past his seat, heading towards the exit. She took a couple of steps past him before she paused and spoke.
‘This is the end of the line, you know?’ Her voice carried a warm undertone of concern and Daniel roused. The thump in his head increased, making him frown as he regarded the speaker. She was an older lady, around the age his Mam would’ve been had she still been alive.
Her grey hair was styled in a short, modern crop and she was dressed in that effortlessly casual, yet stylish look some women had. A soft camel jumper over dark indigo jeans with funky bright red trainers on her feet. A padded pea jacket and a large handbag worn cross body, keeping her hands free to manage her shopping bags. She smiled brightly at Daniel and tilted her head towards the carriage doors, which were standing stubbornly open.
‘This is Orcombe Sands. Pensioner jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds.’ She laughed at her own joke and Daniel finally realised what she was telling him. He had to get off the train; this was his destination. She was still watching him expectantly so he cleared his throat.
‘Oh, thanks. Sorry I was miles away.’ He rose as he spoke, unfurling his full height as the small woman stepped back to give him room to stand and tug his large duffel bag from the rack above his seat. Seemingly content that Daniel was on the move, the woman gave him a cheery farewell and disappeared off the train.
Adjusting the bag on his shoulder as he looked around, Daniel perused the layout of the station for the first time. The panoramic sweep of his surroundings didn’t take long. The tiny waiting room needed a lick of paint, but the platform was clean of the rubbish and detritus that had littered the central London station he’d started his journey at several hours previously. A hand-painted, slightly lopsided Exit sign pointed his way and Daniel moved in the only direction available to him, hoping to find some signs of life and a taxi rank.
He stopped short in what he supposed was the main street and regarded the handful of houses and a pub, which was closed up tight on the other side of the road. He looked to his right and regarded a small area of hardstanding with a handful of cars strewn haphazardly around.
The February wind tugged hard at his coat and he flipped the collar up, hunching slightly to keep his ears warm.
Daniel started to regret his spur-of-the-moment decision to leave town. He’d been feeling stale for a while, completely lacking in inspiration. Every image he framed in his mind’s eye seemed either trite or derivative. All he’d ever wanted to do was take photographs. From the moment his parents had given him his first disposable camera to capture his holiday snaps, Daniel had wanted to capture the world he saw through his viewfinder.
An engine grumbled to life and the noise turned Daniel’s thoughts outwards again as a dirty estate car crawled out of the car park and stopped in front of him. The side window lowered and the woman from the train leant across from the driver’s side to speak to him.
‘You all right there? Is someone coming to pick you up?’ Daniel shuffled his feet slightly under the blatantly interested gaze of the older woman.
His face warmed as he realised he would have to confess his predicament to the woman. He had no idea where he was or what his next move should be. He could tell from the way she was regarding him that she would not leave until she knew he was going to be all right.
‘My trip was a bit spur-of-the-moment. Do you happen to know if there is a B&B nearby?’ he said, trying to keep his voice light, as though heading off into the middle of nowhere on a freezing winter’s day was a completely rational, normal thing to do.
The older woman widened her eyes slightly. ‘Not much call for that this time of year. Just about everywhere that offers accommodation is seasonal and won’t be open until Easter time.’
