Single

by K.L. Slater

Genres: General Fiction; Thrillers; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

"I keep feeling like I’m being watched – dropping the boys off at school, choosing wine at the supermarket – but when I turn around there’s nobody there…"

When single mother Darcy’s son falls from a rope bridge at a local playground, life stands still. She clutches his small, limp body, frozen, until a pair of strong hands push her aside, and she watches as George, a local doctor, saves her son’s life.

George is a single parent too, and with his twinkling hazel eyes, easy charm, and lack of wedding band is almost too good to be true, but coffee becomes lunch, lunch becomes dinner, and soon they can’t go an evening without seeing each other. When he invites her to move into his beautiful home with its sprawling garden for her boys, Darcy doesn’t hesitate.

But as Darcy is settling in, she receives a bunch of flowers with a chilling message. George says they’re from an obsessed ex-girlfriend, Opal, and days later Opal turns up at Darcy’s son’s football match. She claims to have shocking information that could threaten George’s custody of his daughter.

Darcy doesn’t know who to trust, but she’s starting to suspect that, whatever the truth, she might have put her beloved boys into terrible danger …

From the million-copy-bestselling author K.L. Slater this utterly gripping psychological thriller will make you gasp out loud as you race towards the unforgettable twist. If you loved The Girl on the Train and The Wife Between Us this book is for you.

 

Release date: November 25, 2019

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 388

Sample

The day of the hearing, it was mid-July, scorching hot and I’d dressed in jeans and a thick cable-knit sweater with a roll neck.

I stood, staring at the front door waiting for my social worker, Audrey.

The house was silent, the boys’ rooms empty.

Rivulets of sweat ran down my back, pooling at the waistband. The eczema on my hands and neck was the worst it had been, so I’d slipped on a pair of olive-green leather gloves.

I’d wrapped Joel’s old striped college scarf around my neck and topped it all off with a pair of red plastic sunglasses I found in the kitchen drawer that I’d got free once with a magazine.

It seemed the right thing to do at the time.

‘Have you taken your medication?’ Audrey looked me up and down when I opened the front door.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Let’s go back upstairs and find you something to wear that’s a bit more comfortable, shall we?’

‘I am comfortable,’ I said. The thick fabric felt safe and reassuring on my skin, like a coat of armour. It helped keep all the pain inside.

Inside the family court, the air-conditioning whirred above our heads.

People stared as I walked through the corridors with Audrey and I wondered if it was because they knew me. Knew everything that had happened and why we were here.

Then I remembered the sunglasses, scarf and gloves.

‘This is the room where the judge will hear your case,’ Audrey said before we went inside. ‘Everyone will already be in there. Sure you’re OK and this is what you want?’

‘Yes,’ I said, thinking about all the meetings, all the talking we’d done in the last few weeks.

Audrey opened the door.

I thought there would be a judge wearing a wig, a witness box and a public gallery but it was just a regular room with regular-looking people sitting in it.

The walls were white and there were two framed prints on the wall of sailboats on water. I stood and stared at them until Audrey tapped me on the shoulder and said I should sit down.

Joel’s family were in there and they all sat opposite me and Audrey.

I’d seen them glance at each other when I first walked in. Dave stared with his mouth open until Steph nudged him.

I took off the sunglasses and put them on the table in front of me but I didn’t meet their eyes.

A woman with short grey hair and wearing a light grey suit walked in. She sat next to a man wearing navy trousers and a white shirt and striped tie.

‘I’m Judge Myra Stevens,’ she said, looking at me and then at Joel’s parents. ‘We’re here today to formalise custody arrangements for…’ She consulted her paperwork. ‘Kane and Harrison Hilton. Is that right?’

‘Yes,’ Brenda and Leonard said together as if they’d been rehearsing. Their voices rang out loud and clear in the small room.

The judge looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

‘Yes,’ I whispered, looking down at my gloved hands.

I listened to all that was being said in fits and starts. It was a tsunami of words, all serving to describe my chaotic life, my breakdown, my inability to care for my sons.

I imagined a giant eraser in my head that had the power to make the worst parts of my life disappear.

‘Answer the judge, Darcy,’ Audrey whispered and I realised everyone was looking at me again.

‘I need you to state that you are in full agreement with what has been discussed here.’ The judge addressed me directly. ‘Your sons’ grandparents will assume full custody of the boys with immediate effect. This is because you are unable to care properly for your children yourself. Do you agree?’

‘Yes,’ I whispered.

‘Louder please, so the court can hear.’

‘Yes,’ I said loudly. ‘I agree.’

My boys’ faces appeared in my mind. Kane was almost three years old and his hair was wiry whereas seven-year-old Harrison’s hair was as soft as silk. Their differences always amazed me. Kane loved broccoli and Harrison hated it so much he once hid some in his shoe and forgot about it and the house stunk to high heaven.

It took us ages to find out what the stench was.

I smiled to myself and when I looked up, I saw the judge was frowning.

More was said then, something about monitoring the boys and the continuation of my own treatment. Truthfully, I didn’t pay much attention. I was too busy thinking about how easily some polite talking and a few signatures could take something so precious away from me so swiftly in such an ordinary room.

‘Well done,’ Audrey whispered, handing me the pen. ‘You’re doing the right thing for the boys.’

Afterwards, everyone stood up together. The chair legs scraped on the floor and hurt my ears.

They all came over to our side of the room. Brenda’s face looked sad but up close, I saw the worry had gone and her eyes sparkled again.

She gave me a hug but I just left my arms hanging by my sides.

‘We’ll look after them while you get yourself well and can cope again,’ she said softly in my ear. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘And when you’re feeling better you can come over any time and see them.’ Leonard smiled and I thought, for the first time, how much his incisors looked sort of wolfish, just like Joel’s had.

‘I’ll pop over tomorrow,’ Steph said to Audrey. ‘Check how she is.’

Then she touched my arm and walked away with Dave.

Audrey led me outside, back into the fierce heat of the day.

Underneath my clothes, every inch of my body felt slick with sweat and I was starting to feel a bit light-headed.

I thought it would be all right, that I’d done the right thing. But the ball of iron in my stomach told me it wasn’t going to be all right after all.

I peeled off the gloves and Joel’s scarf and let them drop to my feet. I threw the sunglasses on the pavement and crunched them under my boot. When I started to pull my jumper up over my head, Audrey grabbed my arms.

‘Not here, Darcy, not in the street. Let’s get you home.’

I threw back my head and started to howl.

Much later, when it was dark outside, I woke up in a very quiet, very white room.

There was a machine beside me with red digital figures on a screen and lots of tubes leading over to my bed.

When I tried to move my arms, I found I could not.

The door opened and a nurse came in. She had fair hair up in a bun and she wore a light blue uniform.

‘You’ve woken up,’ she said. ‘That’s good timing because the tea trolley is on its way.’

‘Where am I?’ I said.

‘You’re in Edge House Clinic,’ she said, smoothing the bed covers with the flat of her hand. ‘You’re quite safe, there’s no need to worry.’

I’d been here before for a couple of weeks, when Joel had just died.

Little did I know back then that this time, I wouldn’t come out again for nearly two months.

‘Can we go on the rope bridge next, Mum?’ Harrison asks as his brother, six-year-old Kane, scoots past me towards the simulated rock-climbing face.

‘Yes, but wait… Slow down, Kane!’ I’m practically yelling as my ears catch the telltale wheeze on my younger son’s chest as he runs by. I draw one or two disapproving looks from nearby parents. ‘Keep an eye on your brother,’ I tell Harrison.

He nods and runs to join his sibling.

‘So… have you made a decision about Saturday then?’ Steph, the boys’ auntie, cranes her head around me to watch as they both race towards the rope-climbing area. ‘If you want to come over to mine instead, it’s just an informal bring-a-bottle-type supper… just a few close girlfriends.’

I’m slightly irked that she’s returned to the subject we were discussing before the kids interrupted us. I was daft enough to mention to her that one of the ladies who attend my yoga class had invited me out on the town on Saturday evening.

‘You’ll never meet anyone holed up at home all weekend,’ the woman had joked.

Steph frowns when I relay this to her. ‘I thought you were happy it being just you and the boys right now?’

‘I am,’ I say quickly, suddenly finding something to root in my bag for. ‘And that’s what I told her, that I’m happily single.’

She nods. ‘Like Dave said the other day, you don’t want to go rushing into dating again, Darcy. You’ve got the boys to consider now.’

‘Nice of him to worry about me,’ I say tartly, the sarcasm lost on her. I think about Steph and her long-term boyfriend, Dave, who’s been between jobs for six months now, hunched over a glass of wine discussing me. ‘I’m old enough to make my own decisions, you know.’

‘Fine.’ She stands up straight, squares her shoulders and folds her arms. ‘Forget the invite, OK? Subject closed.’

My shoulders drop an inch now the conversation is moving on at last, but Steph looks downcast. I know she’s coming from a good place of caring about me and I need her onside. Maybe I was a bit sharp. I try and soften my earlier snappiness, and change the subject.

‘Shall we grab a coffee in the café when the kids have finished on the rope bridge? I’m parched.’

She turns and looks at me pleadingly.

‘Me, Dave, Mum and Dad… we only want what’s best for you and the boys, we always have. Please remember that.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m fully recovered now but life is far from normal. My late husband’s family still sort of run my life, sometimes so subtly, it’s hard to explain.

Steph is my late husband Joel’s sister and she knows everything about my life. She’s like a best friend and auntie to the boys all rolled in one. She and Brenda, Joel’s mum, were there to help me pick up the pieces after his death, when I found out the truth of who he really was. Though their support kind of backfired on me, because it became apparent very quickly that their main priority was to sweep the whole distasteful business firmly under the carpet.

In my fragile state, suspended between grief and betrayal, they convinced me not to tell another soul about what I’d discovered.

‘For the boys’ sake,’ they explained. ‘That’s the only reason. You know how people gossip around here. They’ll be so affected by it, might even be bullied at school.’

Having been at the mercy of school bullies myself for years – mainly for the crime of being poor, not having the right brand of trainers, or wearing a skirt that was slightly frayed at the hem – I found the thought of my sons suffering through no fault of their own unbearable.

I decided back then that pushing the truth aside was a price worth paying. What did it matter now that Joel had gone, anyway? That’s what I told myself.

But it’s been tougher than I thought. As time has passed and I’ve recovered from the breakdown, I have found it harder and harder not to talk about what happened.

But I’ve had the boys back for ten months now and although Joel’s family watch me like a hawk, the three of us are getting on just fine.

‘The three musketeers’, Harrison calls our little family unit.

Steph continues, encouraged by my silence. ‘I know you’ve always said your focus will be on the boys for the foreseeable, but—’

‘Ahem. What happened to subject closed? Look, I’m fine as I am, Steph. I can’t even imagine trusting another man again, so it’s just me and my boys for now.’

She smiles then, and breathes out what sounds very much like a sigh of relief.

To some people, learning of someone else’s stoic determination to remain single is an irresistible enigma that must be challenged. A bit like making a conscious decision not to have children. It’s an open invitation for perfect strangers to pass comment. Mere acquaintances will have no problem in bluntly asking what led to you making such a decision, and may even follow up by trying to change your mind. But that’s certainly not a problem I have with Joel’s family.

I take out my phone and idly check my emails and immediately wish I hadn’t.

‘Oh, great. That’s all I need!’

‘What is it?’ Steph cranes her neck to look over at the screen.

‘Email from the lettings company.’ I hand her my phone so she can read the short message. ‘The landlord is selling our house.’

‘It says here there might be no impact on your tenancy though.’ Steph hands me the phone back. ‘Sometimes the new buyer wants to keep existing tenants on, don’t they?’

‘I suppose.’ I frown, dropping the phone back into my handbag. ‘It’s a worry though until they confirm it. It could mean moving in the new year. Nightmare.’

‘Oh well, it could take months to sell it. Worst case scenario, there’s a spare room at ours… and several at Mum and Dad’s,’ she says lightly.

Like I said, nightmare, I grumble silently to myself. I’m trying to get a bit more space from Joel’s family, not become more enmeshed.

Just as Steph opens her mouth to say something, sounds of collective alarm carry on the air. It sounds a bit like a football crowd’s roar of disappointment, heard from a distance. Frantic shouting from the region of the rope bridge quickly follows, and grabs our attention. My worries about our house being sold are instantly forgotten as our heads jerk this way and that, and we frown at each other, trying to work out what’s happening.

Without speaking, we start to walk quickly towards the area, our eyes searching out the boys. A staff member rushes by us, her lanyard thrashing in front of her chest.

‘A little boy is having an asthma attack in the climbing area!’ she shouts over to another uniformed figure up ahead. ‘Ambulance is on its way.’

‘Kane!’ I hear myself say faintly.

Steph and I both start to run towards the area where we know Kane and Harrison are playing. I’m frantic, pushing through the crowd of onlookers, ducking my head this way and that, desperately trying to get a better view of the small figure on the ground.

Kane’s asthma has got steadily worse over the last year, and he knows not to push himself too hard physically. He knows when and how to use his inhaler, plus he has his brother with him to help if need be.

Maybe it’s not Kane who’s in trouble.

Then Harrison is in front of me, wringing his hands, his expression one of dread and panic. ‘He just fell on the floor, Mum. I couldn’t help him.’

I turn to Steph. Her hands are glued to her mouth as she squeezes her eyes closed against the horror. I look down then and see Kane’s stricken little face. Eyes bulging, skin pale and taking on a bluish hue in front of my very eyes. He’s lying on his back, clawing at his chest and throat in a desperate bid to drag in air.

Everything slows down as I lurch towards him. My head swims, the faces around me merging into each other and starting to spin. Harrison takes his brother’s hand, jiggles his arm as if it might help him recover.

‘It’s my boy… Somebody help him!’ Inside my head, my own voice sounds like a slowed-down record, slurred and deep. I bound forward and everything speeds up again.

I snatch up Kane’s small Marvel rucksack from his side and plunge my hand in the front pouch to retrieve the inhaler I packed in there this morning before we left the house. I pull out two toy cars instead.

His inhaler isn’t in there.

‘He must’ve taken it back out when he packed his toys.’ I look at a frozen Steph, my hands shaking so violently I drop the rucksack.

Steph snaps to life, snatches up the bag and rips open the side pockets, turning it upside down and emptying out his packed lunch. She shakes it until the bag is completely empty of every last item.

‘I packed it, I know I did!’ I cry out. I look after my boys, I’m a good mum now. This makes me look… negligent.

Steph wraps her arms around Harrison and he buries his face in her side.

Kane’s face is properly blue now, his mouth stretching wide as he tries in vain to pull in enough air. I know his windpipe is swollen, closing up. The muscles in his chest have seized up, locking out the oxygen he needs so badly.

I stare down at him, hardly able to breathe myself. My skin feels slick and damp, the voices around me swimming as one through my mind.

My boy is going to die. He’s going to die.

I let out a wail as I bend forward to cradle his head in my hands.

He’s gasping… these are his last breaths. He’s slipping away from me. I’m losing him all over again.

‘Please… no!’ I screech up at the sky. ‘Somebody help him.’

The crowd shrinks back slightly, and I recoil in shock as a pair of strong hands grasp my shoulders from behind and push me gently but firmly aside.

‘I’m a doctor,’ a deep, authoritative voice says in my ear. ‘Let me see your boy.’

I collapse back onto my bottom, suddenly unable to keep upright, and sit speechless, making no effort to move. I simply watch as this man, this guardian angel, takes command of the situation, and my throat relaxes a touch, allowing my breathing to deepen.

‘His name?’ the doctor asks me.

‘Kane,’ I whisper hoarsely.

He doesn’t look like your average angel. He is dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned checked shirt with a black T-shirt underneath. His face and arms are tanned, and he has short brown hair and good teeth. His amber-flecked green eyes are kind when they meet mine.

A pretty girl of about five or six with strawberry-blonde hair shadows him. She steps back and bites her lip, calmly watches the proceedings as if she’s seen it all before.

‘Sit him up,’ the doctor briskly instructs the two members of staff who are hovering around. ‘Hold him there; he needs to be upright. That’s better.’ He turns to the crowd. ‘Can someone run for a first-aid kit from the reception? We need a relief inhaler. And someone else get him a hot chocolate or a sweet tea. Hurry!’

As if by magic, people instantly respond to his natural authority. The remaining crowd willingly parts to allow people through, as his orders are followed without question.

I watch, helpless, as he pulls off Kane’s grey fleece top and loosens the neck of his T-shirt. His long fingers are slim and nimble; his hands are square. Competent.

‘It’s going to be fine, Kane,’ he murmurs to my son. ‘Relax. The air is flowing in now, can you feel it? Breathe in, one, two, three… breathe out, one, two, three. Nice and slow, control it. That’s it, champ, you’re doing brilliantly. It’s going to be OK.’

Minutes later, a breathless park ranger appears at his side with a green backpack featuring a large white cross. ‘Spare inhaler.’ She hands over the small grey apparatus.

The doctor lifts it to Kane’s mouth and my boy pulls in precious air.

A serious-looking young woman in her twenties appears with a steaming plastic cup. ‘I put plenty of sugar in it, like you said.’

A few more puffs of the inhaler, and then the doctor brings the cup to Kane’s lips.

‘It’s sweet tea and it’s quite hot, but you can take a tiny sip,’ he encourages him. ‘And another. That’s it.’

Kane’s eyes are not bulging quite as badly now. He’s still very pale, but the blue tinge has given way to a less frightening-looking pallor. A couple more sips of tea and another puff on the inhaler, then he turns to me and gives me a tiny weak smile, and my heart is fit to burst.

A reassuring hum of relief rises in the crowd, and people step aside as two paramedics in green overalls appear.

‘Coming through, everyone,’ the taller one says as she plonks down her case of equipment. She addresses the doctor. ‘We can take it from here, thanks.’

‘George Mortimer.’ He introduces himself to the paramedics as he gets to his feet. He lowers his voice, but I’m standing close enough to hear. ‘Surgeon in urology at the City Hospital.’

The paramedics’ demeanour immediately turns deferential, and they briefly confer in hushed voices, glancing down at Kane and nodding as the senior medic advises on his condition.

The doctor turns to me and gives a quick smile. He seems completely unflustered, and waves people away as they step forward to pat him on the back.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper as he extends a hand to help me to my feet. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done today.’

I look into his eyes, and a rush of emotion has me suddenly embracing him a little too zealously, like he’s a long-lost friend. He flinches momentarily, and then relaxes into the hug, patting my back.

Totally illogical, I know, but I feel like I never want him to let me go. I feel like I belong there, safe in his arms.

Over his shoulder, Steph takes in my expression and gives me a tight smile. She’ll be thinking about the last thing I said to her.

I can’t even imagine trusting another man again, so it’s just me and my boys for now.

But this is not just another man, is it?

This is the man who saved my son’s life.

Finally George Mortimer manages to politely extricate himself from my limpet-like embrace.

Against the embarrassing backdrop of me thanking him incessantly, he reaches for the hand of the small girl and together they melt back into the crowd.

The onlookers are dissipating fast, keen to resume their day at the park now that the drama has passed.

‘Your son is going to be fine,’ the tall paramedic tells me kindly. ‘We’ll need to take him to hospital just to get him checked over. You’ll be able to take him home when he’s been given the all-clear.’

I feel reassured by this. My hands are still trembling from the realisation of how badly today could have turned out. They’re going to make absolutely sure my boy is one hundred per cent fine.

‘We’ll wait for you at home,’ Steph murmurs, and with the minimum of fuss, she leads Harrison off to a nearby refreshment stand.

I travel to the City Hospital in the back of the ambulance with one of the paramedics. I hold Kane’s hand, never taking my eyes from his pale little face.

He’s still got an oxygen mask on and can’t really speak, but I make up for that by rabbiting on non-stop about all the great things we’re going to do and see and…

‘Take a breath, Darcy, or I’ll be putting an oxygen mask on you too,’ the paramedic jokes, winking at Kane.

‘Sorry.’ I give her a little smile but feel my cheeks burning.

I’ve always got through the drama of life by vomiting out words, throwing meaningless promises about the future out there to anyone who’ll listen. Fantasising.

I did it when Joel died, even after I found out how he’d deceived us.

In the days after his death, I ran myself ragged planning camping holidays with the boys, a new career, moving away from the area… The list went on as I tried in vain to drown out the noise of the unspeakable truth I had discovered just before he died. All my ridiculous little stories of how everything would be just fine.

Looking back, I can see now it was the manic stage before the full meltdown and it didn’t work, of course. Didn’t make the terrible deeds of the man I’d loved so much go away.

What he did cut so deep, even now, I’m not sure I’ll ever quite get over it.

As Kane has arrived at the hospital by ambulance, we skip the chaos of A&E and he’s whisked through to see a doctor.

Without the oxygen mask, he’s looking a little more like himself. Not quite as pale now, and there’s even a ghost of a smile when the doctor jokingly starts to inspect a non-existent foot injury before listening to his chest and taking various observations.

‘I don’t need to tell you he had a close shave.’ The doctor turns to me, releasing his stethoscope to hang around his neck again. ‘I think we can safely say this attack was brought on by a combination of too much vigorous exercise, overexcitement and eating a dry biscuit, which brought on a coughing fit.’ He wags his finger at Kane in mock disapproval. ‘Don’t ever leave the house without your inhaler, young man. Even if it means there’s no room for your toy car collection. Understand?’

Kane grins and nods, self-consciously patting the arms of the child-size wheelchair he’s sitting in.

Once they discharge him, I insist we’ll be fine making our own way back to the exit. I just need some space to get my head straight. It’s quite a walk, so we keep the wheelchair, and Kane seems to enjoy the novelty of being pushed through the glossy pale-green corridors, the drama of the asthma attack already fading fast.

But the trauma is still very much with me. My heart continues to race too fast and when I used the bathroom on the treatment ward, my cheeks looked bright pink in the mirror and were hot to the touch.

None of that stuff is important now, of course. Kane is fine, and that’s all that matters.

George Mortimer’s face fills my mind again. His confidence and natural authority were so impressive, and other people there felt it too, eager to carry out his instructions. Aside from that, he was a very attractive man. Although I’d never admit it to Steph, the whole package of this guy adds up to a God-like figure in my mind.

I can never repay him for how he helped my son today. Nothing I could do would come close.

It feels like I’ve pushed the wheelchair for miles, but finally I spot a sign for the exit.

‘I’ll call us a cab and we can go straight home, sweetie. You must be exhausted.’ I ruffle Kane’s short sandy hair, the exact colour and wiry texture as his father’s. ‘I think an evening of banana milkshake, pizza and a movie might be in order. Is that OK with you?’

He twists his head around and smiles. He’s still being very quiet, for Kane, but that’s to be expected.

He’s experienced breathless episodes before, especially if he’s been particularly active or the pollen count is high outside. But a few puffs of his inhaler and he’s been good as new. I’ll need to take him to our GP to confirm whether the asthma has somehow got even worse without us noticing.

The whole episode at the play park must have scared him witle. . .