Chapter One
January 1st, 2000. A few minutes past midnight.
The two women hurried down the hill, arms linked. Sophie wrestled a flimsy umbrella that was losing its fight against the driving wind. Tamsin scowled at the pathetic effort, blinking rain from her lashes.
Sophie pulled her along, making her trot to keep up. In her free hand, she gripped a little torch, its thin beam barely cutting through the dark drizzle.
The lane from St. Jude to St. Jude’s Forstal was less than a mile, but tonight, with wind in their faces, alcohol in their veins, and heels sinking into mud, it felt endless. Somewhere beyond the hedgerows, a dog barked once, sharp and abrupt, before falling silent again.
“What’s the hurry?” Tamsin snapped, yanking at her sodden faux-fur coat. Her matching hat had slumped low on her forehead, threatening to blind her. She shoved it back with an irritated grunt.
“I need to get back,” said Sophie. “It’s Nathan’s first time without me. I want to make sure he’s alright.”
“You have been saying that all bloody night,” Tamsin said, her voice thick with exasperation. “Little Miss Perfect is fine. She’s sensible, capable, sings lullabies like an angel. What you need to worry about is dragging me face-first into a ditch. Slow down before we both end up covered in mud.”
“I just have this feeling,” Sophie murmured. The words felt heavy in her mouth.
Tamsin rolled her eyes. “You and your feelings. God forbid you just enjoy yourself for once.”
A burst of fireworks flared behind them, bleeding colour through low clouds. The muffled bangs followed a moment later. Tamsin looked back at them and shook her head. “The party’s only just started,” she said. “I was ready to see the millennium in properly.”
“You didn’t have to come,” Sophie said, her voice tightening. “You could have stayed. Or gone back.”
“In these shoes? Not a chance. Maybe we can carry on the party at yours,” Tamsin replied, giving Sophie a pointed look.
Sophie forced a smile. “Shame about the weather.” She nodded to the rain glittering in her torchlight. “At least it stopped for the kiddies earlier,”
“For what it was worth,” Tamsin said, pulling her collar up and shivering as a stream of rainwater trickled down her neck.
As they reached level ground, a few dim lights from The Forstal pricked the gloom. A handful of old cottages crouched at the lane’s edge, their windows dark. One grudging porch lamp lit only the last steps of its path.
In the hamlet’s heart, the old coaching inn, The Apostle, hunched against the wind. Half-hearted rock music seeped from inside. Sophie caught a glimpse through the window. The place was almost empty despite New Year’s Eve. The beat thumped louder when the door banged open and a young man stumbled out to vomit against the wall.
“Charming,” said Tamsin with a grimace.
Beyond the pub, a terrace of concrete-fronted council houses lined the street. Many still clung to their Christmas decorations as if forcing some cheer into the damp night.
An illuminated reindeer lay on its side in one garden. Beside it, a plastic snowman stared with dead eyes at the fallen beast. Strings of faded lanterns slapped against rotten fascias. One wreath hung limp, its lights long dead.
Sophie’s house stood at the end of the terrace. It was neater than the rest, with freshly painted frames and a single strand of white fairy lights looping evenly along the eaves. A small lit tree stood in the window, its warm glow steady and calm. The front door was hung with a perfect green wreath dotted with tiny red berries and a single gold bow. It should have been welcoming, but tonight it made Sophie’s stomach turn for reasons she couldn’t name.
Her husband’s van sat square in the drive.
A thunderous boom cracked overhead, making Sophie flinch. She quickened her pace and handed Tamsin the umbrella while she dug in her handbag for her keys. The air here felt stiller than it should, the sounds of the wind and rain seeming to dull as they reached the porch.
“How much booze have you got left from Christmas?” Tamsin asked with a smirk as they stepped inside.
Sophie didn’t answer.
The hallway smelled faintly of damp wool and something metallic. The lights were on, but the air felt heavy. A coldness settled in her gut and prickled along her arms. Her fingers tightened around the keys.
“What’s wrong now?” Tamsin asked, her irritation giving way to confusion.
Sophie raised a hand for silence. She moved to the living room and pushed open the door.
The room was empty. The television was off.
A deep red sheen covered the coffee table. A sheet of paper lay in the middle, sodden and smeared with small handprints. Rivulets dripped from the table onto the carpet.
Sophie’s breath caught. Her eyes darted to Tamsin just as a sound came from upstairs.
A moan. Louder now. A cry. Then a scream that ripped through the silence.
Sophie bolted for the stairs.
Lottie sat on the landing, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth. Puddles of water spread around her, footprints trailing from the bathroom. Her clothes clung wet to her skin.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
Sophie’s stomach lurched. She ran into the bathroom. The tub was empty.
“What have you done? Where’s Nathan?” she shouted, shaking the girl.
Lottie’s hand trembled as she pointed toward his room.
Sophie rushed in. Nathan lay in his cot, duvet up to his chest, wearing his favourite rocket pyjamas. Relief flooded her chest. He was safe. Sleeping.
She stroked his cheek.
He didn’t stir.
He was stone cold.
