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From Elisabeth Carpenter comes a debut psychological thriller guaranteed to take your breath away. Perfect for fans of Broadchurch and The Missing.

 

‘An intelligent, taut and compelling thriller that throws you right at the end’

-       SAM CARRINGTON, bestselling author of Saving Sophie.

 

Two girls go missing, decades apart. What would you do if one was your daughter?

 

When eight-year-old Grace goes missing from a sweetshop on the way home from school, her mother Emma is plunged into a nightmare. Her family rallies around, but as the police hunt begins, cracks begin to emerge.

 

What are the secret emails sent between Emma’s husband and her sister? Why does her mother take so long to join the search? And is Emma really as innocent as she seems?

 

Meanwhile, ageing widow Maggie Taylor sees Grace’s picture in the newspaper. It’s a photograph that jolts her from the pain of her existence into a spiralling obsession with another girl – the first girl who disappeared…

 

This is a gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist that will take your breath away.

Extract

Chapter 18 p.92-94

‘I was in the newsagent’s this afternoon,’ he calls from the living room. Can he not wait until I’m back in there? Why does he have to shout so much?

‘And?’ I come back in and sit down in the armchair. I should offer a brew, but my manners have taken leave.

‘Mrs Sharples said—’

‘Oh, here we go with the old gossip-mongering. You could tell them anything and they’d believe it.’

‘Don’t be like that. They care about you, that’s all.’

I fold my arms.

‘Well, anyway. She said you seemed out of sorts. And I haven’t seen you myself in a few days so I’ve come round to see if you want taking out.’

‘Are you going to shoot me?’

‘Eh?’

‘It was a joke.’

He still looks confused. I don’t blame him; I’m not usually one for jesting. I’ve probably still some sherry in my bloodstream.

‘Anyway.’ He’s rubbing his hands. ‘They’ve got bingo over at the Hills at six. I’ve ordered a taxi. It’ll be here in a few minutes.’

Orange Tree Hill he means – the retirement home in the next village. Over the Hill, Ron used to call it.

‘That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘What if I say no?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Then I’ll go on my own, won’t I? Come on, you used to love bingo.’

He must be getting me mixed up with someone else.

On the coffee table, the little photographs have blown with the draught from the front door. Some have escaped to the floor. What was I thinking?

‘Go on then,’ I say. ‘Wait while I put on my face and my coat.’

Yes, that sherry must still be working.

I’m in the bathroom, dabbing my face with powder, when the phone rings.

‘I’ll get it. You get yourself ready,’ Jim shouts.

A bit of blusher and a touch of lipstick. I look at myself in the mirror. I’ve not worn make-up in ages. I peer closer. How long have I looked so old? My eyes are the same, but those wrinkles . . . I zip up my cosmetic case. Bother it. No one looks at me now anyway.

Jim’s waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

‘What’s with your face?’ I say. ‘You haven’t seen my resident ghost, have you?’

‘No, Maggie.’ He’s not even smiling. ‘I picked up the phone and he started talking before I could say hello.’

‘He? Who’s he? What did he say?’

‘I don’t know what he meant.’

‘Spit it out, Jim. What on earth did this man say?’

‘He said . . . Maggie, it’s me. I did it for you.’

 

About the author

Elisabeth Carpenter lives in Preston with her family and has been awarded a Northern Writers' Award bursary from New Writing North, and she was long-listed for the Yeovil Literary Prize (2015) and the MsLexia Women’s Novel award (2015). Two of Libby’s flash fiction pieces were shortlisted on Mashstories.com – where she is now part of the judging team.