closed her eyes, thought of Joni. If this was the sacrifice she needed to make to have saved Joni, so be it.
‘Open your eyes,’ Elliot’s father shouted in her face.
But Anna kept her eyes squeezed shut, felt the crowd close in. Someone yanked off the gauze on her cheek and she felt the cool breeze slice over her wound.
Then her foot was swiped from beneath her and she fell to the ground, darkness descending.
A man pulled her up, the man with tattooed arms. He was in his late twenties, fair hair, stubbled cheeks, fierce blue eyes blinking down at her in the semi-darkness. His fingers sank painfully into her arm.
‘Please don’t hurt me,’ she whispered.
His eyes ran over her scar, brow creasing.
‘Go!’ he suddenly hissed, shoving her away. ‘Get inside, lock the doors, both of you.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Elliot’s father shouted at him. ‘The child killer’s staying and she’s getting what she deserves.’
Elliot’s father tried to shove Anna’s rescuer out of the way but the young man stayed rock still. ‘Just. Fucking. Go. Run!’ he shouted into Anna’s face.
Anna looked into his blue eyes for a moment then she grabbed her gran and stumbled into the house.
Anna sat in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea as Florence talked to a police officer. Her gran was fine, just a bruised leg. She’d been more intent on tending to Anna’s wounded cheek when they got in, placing a new gauze over it.
Anna’s phone rang and rang, no doubt friends and colleagues discovering she was the mother who killed Elliot Nunn. But she ignored it, instead focusing on the sound of the waves sloshing against the pebbles outside, her eyes straying towards the lighthouse in the distance and the pile of rocks…the same rocks her father had died on.
She thought of the rage in Elliot’s father’s eyes, the grief in his mother’s. She thought of the man who’d helped her, felt his fingertips on her wrists still. He’d been among the crowd. Why had he decided to help her? What would have happened if he hadn’t?
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
‘Right, I think that’s everything,’ the police officer said, closing his notepad. ‘Can you stay anywhere else, Mrs Graves? Maybe somewhere a bit more out of the way? What about your mother’s house, isn’t that on the edge of town?’
Anna exchanged a look with Florence.
‘I can’t,’ Anna said.
‘Maybe you should?’ Florence said. ‘I know it’s not ideal. But your safety is important.’
Anna looked into her gran’s eyes. She felt as though she were going back in time, being forced to live at that bungalow after a terrible tragedy. But what choice did she have?
‘What about you?’ she asked Florence. ‘Will you be safe here?’
‘They’re not interested in your grandmother,’ the police officer said.
‘Fine,’ Anna said with a sigh. ‘Any idea how they knew I was here?’ she asked the police officer.
‘No, ’fraid not.’
After he left, Florence helped her pack. ‘Do you think Ben Miller said something? He could have easily seen you walk to the house from the newsagents.’
Anna shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t, he’s a good kid.’
Her gran shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Anna sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right, maybe Ben did tell people. And if so, it’s all my fault everyone found me here. I shouldn’t have talked to him. I put myself in danger, I put Joni in danger. Jesus.’ Anna slumped down on the bed. ‘Is this what it’s going to be like from now on, baying crowds on my doorstep?’
Florence sat next to her, placing her plump arm around her shoulders. ‘The police won’t let it get to that.’
‘I hope not. I really do.’
They both sat quietly for a few moments then Florence clapped her hands. ‘Right, let’s get this finished then get you to your mother’s. Who knows, maybe it will be good for you both to live together for a few days?’
Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
Florence sighed. ‘I can but dream.’
When Anna got to the bungalow half an hour later, her mother disappeared into the kitchen mumbling something about the washing up. So Anna took her bags to her old room. The light from the hallway streamed into the gloom, picking out the shiny red radio taking pride of place on a shelf filled with books and collected shells; the tape recorder still home to the mock news reports she used to make; the photo of her dad taken at the beach, caught by surprise, a smile on his face, his dark hair lifting in the wind. All those smiles disappeared when he was investigating the Ophelia Killer. He’d been so caught up in it all, he hadn’t seen the depression sneaking up on him. It was like Anna earlier, questioning Ben Miller, putting everything at risk to get a few pointless answers. All she’d done was put her and Joni in danger. Her gran too.
‘I made you tea.’
She turned to see her mother standing in the hallway, a flowery cracked mug in her hand.
She walked over and took it. ‘Thanks, Mum. And thanks for letting me stay.’
‘Why wouldn’t I? You’re my daughter.’ Beatrice peered towards the window. ‘There’s a woman hanging around outside, that little blonde friend you used to have at school.’
Anna frowned. ‘You mean Yvonne Fry?’ Her mother nodded. ‘Great, the press are already on to me. Don’t answer if she knocks.’
‘I won’t.’
Anna looked around her. ‘I thought you would have cleared all this out by now.’
‘I keep meaning to.’
Anna passed her fingers over the tape recorder. ‘I used to love this thing.’
‘Your father made me buy it for your birthday. I didn’t like it.’
‘Why not?’
‘I knew what it would start.’
‘Start what?’
‘You following him into journalism.’
Her mother had never been keen about Anna following in her father’s footsteps considering what it had done to his stress levels.
‘I’ve been proved right,’ her mother continued.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your name all over the papers, people targeting you, like earlier.’
‘That
