Safe from Harm

by Leah Mercer

Genres: Literary Fiction; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Ali turned towards the cottage, anger flooding through her. She’d believed she and Meg were friends; that they’d bonded over a vision of motherhood… a world where your baby deserved everything you could give it. She’d pulled Meg’s words – Meg’s life – around her, like a comfort blanket. But that shared vision had never existed. And Ali was alone now, with nothing to protect her.

When Ali Lawton flees her broken marriage to spend the last months of her pregnancy in her late grandmother’s seaside cottage, all she wants is to be alone. Then she meets Michael and Meg, the couple next door, and she’s drawn into their idyllic family life – a vision of what she could have had if things were different.

When Michael suddenly leaves for a work trip, Meg invites Ali to move in. The women form a close bond, but the more time Ali spends with Meg and her baby daughter, the more she notices her friend’s erratic behaviour. As time passes and Meg spins further out of control, Ali begins to wonder where Michael actually is and why he hasn’t returned. Is it possible he’s not on a work trip at all?

When Ali gives Meg a beloved childhood toy as a peace offering, she hopes it will give the friends a chance to heal. But Meg becomes distressed when she sees the toy and it’s clear that something far darker lies behind Michael’s disappearance.

Ali had always thought returning to her childhood safe haven would be the start of a hopeful future for her and her baby. But is she about to expose a past secret which will threaten everything she has ever known?

From the bestselling author of Who We Were Before comes an unputdownable and heartbreaking read about how far we will go to protect those we love the most. Perfect for fans of The Silent Daughter, Diane Chamberlain and Kerry Lonsdale.

Release date: June 24, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

May 2018

Shouts pull me from my sleep – at least I think I was asleep. The older I get, the less certain I am of the difference between dream and reality. I sit up slowly, the bones in my back grudgingly creaking into gear, and listen. Yes, there it is again: a cry ringing through the night air. What on earth is happening?

I throw aside the duvet and slip into my robe, shivering as I pull it tightly around me. It might be spring, but here on the coast the air is damp and cool. I slide open the back door of my cottage and stand on the worn decking, staring out into the night. The house next door is dark. The string of summer homes and empty cottages clinging to the top of the land lie silent and dormant, as if in hibernation.

The moon is high in the sky, clouds scudding across like they’re in a hurry to head home to sleep. I’m lost in watching them when another shout pulls me back, and I cross the lawn to the edge of the cliff, where the land drops away to the beach below… a beach I haven’t set foot on for years. I walk towards the edge gingerly – after the last big landslip, I can never be sure when more might give way – and squint at two shapes undulating in the water.

For a second, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. The moonlight on the waves and the wind roaring in my ears make me feel like I’m in some strange hinterland, a place not tied to past or present. As I keep staring, the two shapes turn into people, one bigger than the other, ducking and diving under the surface. They pull at each other, then move away, as if performing an elaborate dance they’ve choreographed over time. Their shouts spin around them in perfect pirouettes before the wind whips them off.

I watch their performance, unable to look away; unsure whether to be horrified or entranced at the way they’re grabbing at each other… unsure whether one’s trying to drag the other down or pull them up again. Are they all right? Do they need help? And what are they doing in the water, anyway? The beach is popular in the summer, but it’s only May and hardly a soul visits this time of year. Not to mention it’s the middle of the night and the water is freezing.

Are they real? Or are they something from my memory – a scene unravelling, projected from my mind’s eye as if I’m at the cinema? As the years pass, the memories clamour louder and louder inside of me, like they’re afraid of being forgotten.

You don’t need to worry, I want to shriek when they press in on me so hard I can barely breathe. I will never forget. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.

As I watch, one swimmer starts moving out to sea, struggling to swim even faster or break free from a current… it’s impossible to tell. The other comes into the shallows and stands on the sand, stock-still. I can only just make out the swell of her very pregnant stomach, and I shake my head. That cold water can’t be good for her or the baby. What are they doing?

The cries have stopped now, and all seems fine as the lone swimmer moves towards shore, then staggers through the waves to the sand where the other is waiting. They face each other, as if frozen, before finally turning to make their way back up the cliff. I catch my breath as they near me: it’s the young couple from next door. I had no idea she was pregnant… not that we’re close. I see her swimming almost every day from my perch up here, but I escape into my cottage before she gets out of the water. I’m not one for small talk.

I go back inside before they see me, uneasiness lingering as my brain tries to make sense of what I saw. I lie on the bed and draw the duvet over me, reminding myself that when it comes to life, making sense of anything is impossible. Whatever that couple gets up to, it’s none of my business, anyway.

I came here to be alone, and that’s how I’ll stay.

Thirteen months later

‘I’m sorry, Ali. I can’t.’

Ali Lawton stared into her husband’s eyes, pain circling through her. His face was every bit as familiar as her own, and yet now he seemed a stranger. It was difficult to believe that just yesterday, they’d sat in the waiting room of the antenatal ward, full of anticipation and expectation. She’d squeezed Jon’s hand, love gushing through her for him, for their child and for their future. Everything was perfect. Soon, she’d have the family she’d always longed for. The family they’d always longed for, because Jon had spent years saying he couldn’t wait to be a father. And then…

Then everything had changed.

Ali cradled her belly, as if she could shield the child inside from what had happened – what was happening still. Ugly words, unbearable words. Words that even in her worst nightmare, she never thought she’d hear. Words she couldn’t grasp.

Words she’d never have imagined her husband could speak aloud.

I don’t want this baby.

She hadn’t believed Jon the first time he’d said them. It was only a knee-jerk reaction after seeing the ultrasound. He’d been so quiet since they’d viewed their baby on the screen, turning inwards away from her. Everything was real now; he was overwhelmed. She could understand that. She’d held him close, anchoring her body to him as if she could make the three of them one solid mass. ‘We’ll be okay,’ she’d told him over and over.

But the night went by, and then the day, and his words remained the same. Endless hours passed, where Ali felt as if she was drifting in dark water, suspended in an ocean of uncertainty and horror. Jon had always been the one to lift her up, but now… now, he was a heavy weight threatening to drag her down.

I can’t be the father you need me to be. I can’t be the father this baby deserves.

She struggled against him, trying to remind him of everything he’d said to her – all the promises he’d made; how he’d never let her down. But Jon would only shake his head, and she’d sink further into the black brine. Panic gripped her throat so strongly she could barely take in air – barely move. She was tired, so tired. How much more could she take?

She had to go, she realised suddenly. She had to get away from him – away from his words – before the water sucked her under and she could never escape. She had to leave now, before it was too late. Without even thinking, Ali knew where she’d stay: the run-down cottage she’d inherited from her grandmother Violet after her death last year.

‘Jon…’ She held his gaze, still unable to believe that any of this was happening. ‘I’m going to my grandmother’s. To give us space.’ Space for her to breathe. Space to absorb everything; space for him to come around because she was sure he didn’t mean what he’d said. ‘Just… just take some time to think, okay?’ Think about our child. Think about me. Think about love because surely that trumped everything. ‘I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just call… call me when you’re ready.’ Ready for the baby and their life ahead.

She rushed into the bedroom before he could respond. Tears blurred her vision as she pulled her holdall from under the bed. With every item she threw into the bag, she prayed that Jon would tell her to stop. That he’d say he didn’t need space or time. That he’d wrap his arms around her and tell her of course he’d be there, this was their child, and he loved them both no matter what. But all he did was watch as she zipped the bag closed and picked up her keys.

Ali turned to face him one final time, stunned by the pain and exhaustion on his face. They stared at each other, each waiting for the other to speak. But finally, after hours of talking, there was nothing left to say.

Nothing but the horrific words clogging the air like poison, slowly suffocating her and the child inside.

She had to get out of here.

She grabbed her bag and closed the door behind her, then got into the car. Her heart pounded and her hands shook as she started the engine, but a tiny bit of calm descended as she drove away, as if her toes had touched the sand after struggling in choppy waters. As she headed towards the motorway, an image of her very first trip to Seashine Cottage came to mind. She must have been… ten, maybe, right after her parents’ divorce? She’d sat silently in the car with her father, full of hurt and anger that instead of spending the promised holiday with her, he was dumping her with an old lady she barely knew – an old lady who, judging by the hurried conversation at the front door – had no idea Ali was coming and wasn’t best pleased. One glance inside the dilapidated cottage and Ali had wanted to take off, but after her father had driven away, Gran had sat her down with a cup of camomile tea.

‘I have a feeling this place may not have been your first choice,’ she’d said with a gentle smile. ‘But sometimes in life, things don’t go as we planned.’ Her face had twisted, and Ali had wondered what she was thinking. ‘But you’re here now, so let’s get through this, all right?’

Ali had nodded, staring up into her grandmother’s grey eyes. Despite the years between them, she’d felt a connection… a feeling that somehow, her grandmother understood. And although Ali had been far from keen at first, that summer had been one of the best in her life. After listening to her mother’s endless stream of bitter and angry words, the quiet of the cottage wrapped comfortingly around her. Staring out to sea, she’d felt all the whirling emotions and confusion still; the fog inside her clearing. Gran had just let her be, and that was exactly what she’d needed.

Ali had spent the next few summers there, too, the sound of the sea the backing track of her memories. She’d loved racing across the grass in her bare feet, making her way down the cliff path at the back of the garden, then streaking across the sandy beach below. The sense of freedom after hemmed-in London was exhilarating, even if Gran did have a fast and firm rule about never being on the beach without her watching. The cottage – and Gran – had been a refuge during the turmoil of those years after the divorce. When her dad had told her the place was hers, she’d been shocked but thrilled. It had been so special to her, and even though she’d never said anything, it seemed Gran had known that too.

A couple of hours later, Ali pulled into the cottage’s grassy drive and turned off the engine. She yanked open the car door and inhaled the salty air, feeling her lungs expand for the first time in days. The sound of the crashing waves washed over her, drowning out everything else. She closed her eyes and let herself float on the gentle swell, her emotions quieting the way they had when she was young. This place was exactly what she needed now too. In a way, it felt as if Gran had led her here.

Lifting her bag from the boot, Ali crossed the dewy grass, shivering in the cool air. Although it was June, the wind whipping in off the water made it feel more like October. She tipped up the flowerpot and slid out the spare key her grandmother had always kept underneath, ignoring her family’s protests that was the first spot burglars would look.

‘There’s nothing valuable inside, anyway.’ Gran would shrug, brushing aside objections that it was her they were worried about. The population of Fairview was mainly geriatrics and holidaymakers, and Ali could hardly envisage a thief targeting the dingy, cramped cottage, but she knew Gran could take care of herself. She’d lived here for years on her own, and although the place may not have monetary value – it was impossible to sell, thanks to the looming threat of subsidence – her gran had treasured its silence and isolation.

She unlocked the door and snapped on a light, shaking her head at the damp-stained walls. The cottage had been practically falling down when Ali was young, only getting worse with each passing year. During one of Ali’s rare visits – maybe ten years ago now? – she’d offered to help her grandmother paint the tiny open area to freshen things up a bit. But Gran had simply shaken her head and said these scarred walls were beyond brightening and anyway, she preferred them this way.

Ali dropped her bag on the sagging double bed squeezed into the small bedroom off the kitchen, then filled the kettle and flicked it on, desperate for a warming cup of tea. Waiting for the water to boil, she threw open the back door and crossed the faded decking into the garden. From here, she could see the black hulks of cottages and houses strung out along the clifftop. Most, including the huge house next door, were dark and silent; cottage season had yet to begin in earnest.

Stars garlanded the black sky with pinpricks of light, moonlight shimmered on the water, and Ali slowly exhaled. As she stared out to sea, the wind carried the sound of a baby crying towards her. For a second, it felt like her own baby was reaching out to her, and a fierce rush of love swept over her. She cocked her head and tried to listen, wondering where the noise was coming from. But before she could trace it, the cry faded into the dark night, merging with the crash of the waves.

Whether it had come from inside her or not, it didn’t matter. She and her baby were safe here, miles from any torment or pain.

Miles from anything or anyone who would threaten them.

Sunlight blazed through the window so strongly that Ali could see the red glow through her closed eyelids. For a second, she thought she was back home in North London and Jon had done that annoying thing she’d thought she’d trained him out of: yanking up the blind first thing every morning when he got up for his job as music teacher at the local secondary school. He was such a morning person, greeting the day with a little tune and a jig down the corridor to the loo, while she preferred to laze about in bed and wake up slowly, letting consciousness roll over her.

‘You won’t be able to sleep in when the baby comes,’ Jon had liked to remind her. ‘We’ll be on call, 24/7.’ He’d rubbed his hands together gleefully, as if he couldn’t wait to experience sleep deprivation. In fact, he couldn’t wait for anything to do with this baby, that’s how excited he’d been. The strength of his anticipation had taken Ali by surprise – as a dedicated bachelor until they’d married, she’d assumed at first that there might be a little persuasion involved when it came to having a child. But Jon had told her soon after they’d met that he wanted not just one child but several, eager to recreate his idyllic but crazily chaotic childhood.

‘The more kids, the more love,’ he’d said, smiling that wide grin of his. And although their upbringings couldn’t have been more different, Ali loved that they shared the same vision for the future. Jon’s eagerness couldn’t be further from her own absent father, and the thought of a house bursting with kids clambering over him as they vied for attention filled her with warmth. Every child would be loved no matter what – every child would know they were loved, beyond a doubt. Jon had promised nothing would change that.

Her insides twisted, and she let out a cry. How could he say that he wouldn’t love each of their children, no matter what? How could he stand there, in the middle of the life they had been making together, and tell her that?

How could he let her leave?

Her mind raced back to the moment she’d found out she was pregnant, as if by remembering his excitement, she could negate the awful words still ringing in her ears. Not wanting to disappoint Jon if the test was negative, she’d waited until he was asleep. She’d crouched over the sink in the bathroom, heart pounding as she tried to make out the result with only the light on her phone.

When she’d seen it was positive, a mix of love and determination had filled her, so strong she’d started shaking. She’d wrapped her fingers around the stick as if she was cradling her child and whispered a vow that she would never let it down, not like her parents had with her. She’d give it all the love, the time and the dedication it deserved. She’d give it everything… and more. They both would – she and Jon. She’d never been surer of anything in her life.

Then she’d burst back into the bedroom and screamed that they were having a baby, too full of emotion to even think of waiting until morning. Jon had hugged her hard, and they’d talked all night, making grand plans of how they’d decorate the nursery, dreaming of the future ahead. Jon had even grabbed his phone and ordered a mini-guitar and Rock Hits for Babies album. Ali hadn’t even known such a thing existed, but it was amazing how peaceful Guns N’ Roses could be on acoustic guitar.

Her mobile alarm started ringing, and she sat up slowly. Right now on a normal day, Ali would be getting ready for her job as a data analyst. But today was hardly normal, was it? She bit her lip, thinking she needed to call her boss Sarah and tell her she wouldn’t be in again today or for…

How long? How much time would Jon need? Unless… unless maybe he had already called? Hope darted through her, and she picked up the mobile, her heart dropping at the empty notification screen. She breathed through the pain as she typed a message to Sarah saying that she had an emergency and wouldn’t be at work for a few days. Surely, Jon wouldn’t need longer than that?

Ali put down the phone and wandered into the lounge, desperate for something to help keep the pain at bay; something to fill the hours ahead. Gran’s voice floated into her mind, bearing words from those long idle summer weeks: ‘There’s always work in the garden that needs doing. The outdoors never rests.’

God, how she wished her grandmother was still here. Sadness flowed through Ali as she realised that she hadn’t actually spoken to her grandmother for months before she’d died. Gran had never been one to reach out, and Ali, well… she’d never been great at keeping in touch either. Ali’s mum filled her ears with a litany of complaints and demands on the off-time Ali did call, but Gran was different. She always listened, but she never expected anything in return, and there was something so restful about that. She barely even spoke about herself unless prodded.

Ali nodded, as if Gran was here now. Work outdoors was exactly what she needed – something to keep her mind focused and body busy – and God knows the gardens could use some TLC. The rose bushes by the front door had grown so much that they were almost level with the small lounge window, their prickly tentacles reaching out to snag anyone who dared stray from the steps.

She padded back into the bedroom and tugged on jogging bottoms and a shapeless T-shirt, then grabbed the pair of rusty garden shears Gran kept hanging by the front door and went outside. After an hour or so, her arms were aching, and her lower back was on fire. When was the last time she’d actually done something physical? She and Jon were less of the exercise kind and more of the gluttony kind.

‘Hello!’ A cheerful voice cut into Ali’s thoughts, and she turned from where she was crouched under a troublesome thorny branch. A man and a woman were smiling down at her, the sun creating halos around their heads as if they were glowing.

Ali groaned to herself. She dreaded small talk at the best of times, and right now, all she wanted was to be left alone. She stood and ran a hand through her hair, conscious that she must look an absolute mess – and even more so, compared to this woman. Copper-coloured hair fell in perfect waves down her back, and she was dressed in a crisply pressed yellow summer dress. The man beside her was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but somehow, he managed to make the casual clothes look stylish and cool. And beside them was . . .