‘I will.’
Sally walked around the front of the camper-van as Nial started it up. She leaned in the window and kissed Millie on the cheek.
‘Yeah, OK, Mum,’ Millie said, rolling her eyes. ‘Respect the makeup.’ She pulled down the sun visor. Checked the mirror and rubbed the place she’d been kissed. Then, in a sudden rush, she leaned out of the window and threw her arms round Sally’s neck. ‘I love you, Mum. I love you.’
‘I love you too. You’re going to have the best time. The time of your life. Never forget it.’
Nial revved the van. Sally stepped back. A plume of smoke came out of the exhaust pipe. Steve came out of the garage and stood, his arm around Sally, to wave the teenagers goodbye. The van jolted once, then the tyres bit and off it went, out of the driveway, past the hedgerow where the first tea roses were coming out. Millie stuck her arm out of the window. It was long and slender. By the time she got back from Glastonbury it would be burned to a crisp, Sally thought, folding her arms. That suntan lotion would stay in the rucksack.
Steve put his arm round her. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Didn’t I say it would all work itself out in the end?’ He kissed the top of her head, and murmured into her hair, ‘I told you there’d be no punishment.’
The van turned left. Not right, the way she would have gone. ‘You’ll never get to Glastonbury that way,’ she wanted to shout. And then she caught herself: trying to interfere. She had to smile. Leave them alone, she thought, dropping her head against Steve’s chest as the van disappeared over the hill, going in completely the wrong direction, the strains of Florence and the Machine fading until there was nothing but birdsong left in the garden. You just can’t go on worrying about your children for ever.
Acknowledgements
Years ago Transworld Publishers went to great lengths to assure me they were a happy, committed company, faithful to their authors and readers – with the love of reading firmly rooted in their ethos. At the time, if I am honest, I suspected it was a lot of puff to impress me, and I didn’t believe a word of it. Over the years they have proved me wrong – one hundred per cent wrong – and for that I’d like to thank everyone there: Selina, Larry, Alison, Claire, Katrina, Diana, Janine, Nick, Elspeth, Sarah, Martin (the list goes on).
Jane Gregory is my agent and my rock and how can you express your gratitude to someone who is always there when the world threatens to crumble (which it does frequently, believe me)? The same goes for everyone in her team – Claire, Stephanie, Terry and Virginia.
The following allowed me glimpses into their worlds and without those glimpses I couldn’t have done justice to some of the scenes: Alex ‘Billy’ Hamilton talked me through a lot of the super-sleuthy telephony stuff and Colonel Len Wassell, Deputy Provost Marshal, RMP, gave me huge insight into the workings of the Special Investigations Branch. Others who helped were Corporal Kirsten Gunn (Signals Regiment), Dr Hugh White (HM pathologist) and Jeremy White. A little thank you to the Green and Black’s gang, especially Sarah and Michael for letting me borrow Peppercorn Cottage as a name, and Marc Birch for gleefully painting all those lurid gamekeeper stories. Also Hazel Orme and Steve Bennett – two people who never ask for or expect thanks and praise, but absolutely deserve it.
A big apology goes to the City of Bath for playing merry havoc with your geography – intertwining Hanging Hill and Freezing Hill. Bath, you are old and wise, and I believe you will forgive me.
Above all, a little whisper of gratitude and affection to my family, my amazing, patient friends and, last but certainly not least, Bob Randall for his continuing help, support and miraculous, inexplicable faith in me.
About the Author
Mo Hayder has written some of the most terrifying crime thrillers you will ever read. Her first novel, Birdman, was hailed as ‘a first-class shocker’ by the Guardian, and her follow-up, The Treatment, was voted by The Times as ‘one of the top ten most scary thrillers ever written’. Mo’s books draw on her long research with several UK police forces and on her personal encounters with criminals and prostitutes. She left school at fifteen and has worked as a barmaid, security guard, English teacher, and even a hostess in a Tokyo club. She has an MA in film-making from the American University in Washington DC, and an MA in creative writing from Bath Spa University. She now lives in England’s West Country.
Birdman
The Treatment
Tokyo
Pig Island
Ritual
Skin
Gone
For more information on Mo Hayder and her books, see her website at
www.mohayder.net