The Last Bench

by Carmel Harrington

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

From the bestselling author of The Stolen Child, a brand new gripping and emotional story of loss, family devotion and buried secrets . . .

Journalist Vega Pearse arrives at the home of Anne and John Davis to interview them for a piece she is writing on the local drug crisis.

The devoted couple show Vega around their beautiful blossom tree maze, which sits at the top of their garden. They tell Vega their family's life story and share their devastation at losing a child.

But as they approach the last bench in the maze, Vega starts to suspect there is something they're not telling her.

And secrets, like memories, rarely stay buried for ever . . .
___________________________

Readers love Carmel Harrington!

'OMG! Unputdownable! Shocking! Brilliant! Amazing!' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'This author's books are always brilliant and I honestly think this is her best one yet . . . Brilliant characters and some OMG moments. I loved it' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'I love a book with a twist and this one was both unanticipated until the time was right, and believable - a rare combination! Add it to your pile!' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'I couldn't put this book down. I had so many theories to how the story would end, it kept me guessing . . . it just begs to be read in one sitting' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'Carmel Harrington at her best. Plot twists & turns on every page!' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Praise for Carmel Harrington:

'This complex novel requires faultless plotting, and Harrington pulls it off with consummate ease' SUNDAY TIMES

'One of the greatest twists I've ever read' CATHERINE RYAN HOWARD

'An addictive, immersive, incredibly poignant page-turner' ANDREA MARA

'Clever, compelling and compulsive, a read-until-the-early-hours rollercoaster' AMANDA GEARD

'A compelling, extremely tender page-turner' ADELE PARKS

Release date: April 9, 2026

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 128

Sample

7 April 2025

Vega began walking along the trail at Carrigfoyle, a local beauty spot. She nodded as she passed several dog walkers and a young couple who were holding hands, beaming at the world and each other. She smiled back, thinking of her boyfriend, Luka. He’d like it here. Her favourite bench was free, so she sat down and took a sip of her takeaway coffee. The stunning vista of the Wexford countryside beneath her, centred around a beautiful lake, still took her breath away.

Vega pulled her mobile from her pocket and dialled Kieran’s number. Her editor at Ireland Today, the newspaper where she worked as an investigative journalist, answered immediately.

‘Hey, kiddo.’ His voice sounded scratchy, and he cleared his throat before adding, ‘You okay?’

‘Never mind me. How are you? Vega asked, her forehead creased in concern.

Kieran was at home, on sick leave, recovering from a bout of flu that had knocked him sideways and raised his blood pressure to dangerous levels. During her time at the newspaper, he’d never missed a day.

‘I’m grand. Can’t keep an old dog like me down. Sorry I’m missing today.’

Vega and Kieran had a long-standing tradition of meeting in his office every Monday morning with coffee. He’d go through her submitted copy, and they’d discuss ideas for new stories.

‘Never mind that. Just get better soon. Besides, I’ve got the best view in town here.’ She took a photo and pinged it across to him.

‘And here I was feeling bad about missing our meeting,’ Kieran said with a chuckle. ‘Fill me in on where you are on that drugs story.’

Vega gathered her thoughts about the investigative piece she was writing on the widespread use of drugs in rural communities. ‘It’s evolved from my initial pitch to you. I know the plan was to focus on the current drugs crisis, but, from the interviews I’ve completed, the story keeps bringing me back to the nineties.’

‘Who have you spoken to?’

‘A recovered addict, a dealer – who, of course, wants to remain anonymous – and a couple whose son died from an overdose in 1997.’

‘What age was he?’ Kieran asked.

‘His name was Stephen Grant and he was only eighteen. The dealer who supplied him with the drugs was arrested, though, and there was a court case in 1998. Looking into that has sent me down a whole new rabbit hole.’ She flicked through her notes. ‘The dealer prosecuted went by the name Hinges. He got the nickname because he spent years as a bouncer working every nightclub and pub door in Wexford. Until it was discovered that, besides throwing people out, he was also selling drugs. His name came up so many times in my research that it caught my interest. But I’ve been unable to locate him.’

‘I take it he was acquitted?’

‘Yes and no. He got off on a technicality.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.’

‘I know, but . . .’ Vega sighed. ‘I feel there’s a story here.’

‘Then you need to trust your instincts and keep looking.’

‘I’m glad you said that! I found an on/off girlfriend of his, Julie, who said the last time she saw him was in August 1998. She was still annoyed with him for standing her up for a date. But she did say that Hinges had form, though, for disappearing for months at a time when he ran into trouble.’ Vega frowned. ‘She reckons he’s either started a new life in Spain, something he threatened to do, or he’s dead.’

‘Any other family members?’

‘His parents are dead. No siblings. But . . . I’m about to interview another family who lost a child to an overdose back in 1992. The Grants suggested I talk to them.’

‘I see what you mean about the story pushing you back decades.’ Kieran paused, then asked, ‘So you think this couple know Hinges?’

‘Well, they never missed a day in court during Hinges’s trial, so they were invested. I’d like to hear what they have to say. It might be another dead end, but they’ve raised tens of thousands for Aiséirí, a local addiction treatment centre for adults and teens. Tragedy leading to good might be a nice feel-good addition for the article too.’

‘I agree. How did they raise the money?’

‘They created a small maze of blossom trees at the top of their garden. They open it up to the public for donations every weekend in the spring.’

‘Good for them. Why don’t you give me a call this afternoon to let me know if they can point you in Hinges’s direction. If anyone can find him, you will. You’ve proved that, kiddo,’ Kieran said warmly.

Vega could hear the smile in his voice. Last year had been a life-changing one for her. She’d been on a quest to find two missing children, who were dubbed The Nowhere Girls in the media. When she found them, she found herself too.

‘If he’s out there, I’ll get him.’ Vega said firmly. She drained the last of her coffee and stood up. ‘I’d better go. Promise me you’ll take it easy. You’re pretty important to me.’

‘Don’t you worry, kiddo. I’m not going anywhere.’

Ten minutes later, Vega pulled her Kia into the driveway of a pristine white 1980s bungalow, nestled among a mature garden of trees and shrubs on Forth Mountain. Vega checked her phone was fully charged, ready to record her interview with Anne and John Davis. As she approached their front door, she felt a familiar and welcome sensation wash over her – a heightened awareness where all her senses sharpened, signalling she was on the verge of a story breakthrough.

It was time to find out what the Davises had to say.

‘I’m still not convinced this interview is the right thing to do,’ John said, pacing the marble tiles in their kitchen.

‘Nor am I. But we’ve committed ourselves now,’ Anne replied as she placed a lemon drizzle cake in the centre of their kitchen island. She licked icing from her fingertips, nodding in satisfaction as the sweetness h. . .