Safe at Home Read online

  Lauren North

  * * *

  SAFE AT HOME

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Lauren North writes psychological suspense novels that delve into the darker side of relationships and families. She has a lifelong passion for writing, reading and all things books. Lauren’s love of psychological suspense has grown since childhood, and from her dark imagination of always wondering what’s the worst thing that could happen in every situation.

  Lauren studied psychology before moving to London, where she lived and worked for many years. She now lives with her family in the Suffolk countryside. Readers can follow Lauren on Twitter @Lauren_C_North and Facebook @LaurenNorthAuthor

  READERS ARE OBSESSED WITH LAUREN NORTH’S THRILLERS

  ‘This book floored me’

  ‘Full of intrigue, suspense, twists and turns’

  ‘Wow – that’s the first word that comes to mind’

  ‘Had me hooked from the opening pages’

  ‘Addictive and intriguing’

  ‘A thrilling read that will leave you breathless’

  ‘Lauren North is really developing into a must-read author’

  ‘Both heart-rending and powerful’

  ‘Utterly brilliant’

  ‘A riveting read I couldn’t devour fast enough’

  ‘One of my favourite books this year’

  ‘The absolute definition of a page-turner’

  ‘If I could give it more than 5 stars, I would’

  Also by Lauren North

  THE PERFECT BETRAYAL

  ONE STEP BEHIND

  and published by Corgi

  To the ladies in my village; this one is for you.

  Halloween

  Village Girlies’ Group Chat

  Saturday 31 October, 18.45

  Me: Has anyone got Harrie with them? She hasn’t come back from trick-or-treating yet. @SandraBriggs she said she was meeting you at 5 p.m. Have you seen her?

  Tracy Campbell: Sorry, no.

  Gina Walker: She’s not here. Clarissa says Harrie wasn’t with them.

  Me: Really? Are you sure?

  Sandra Briggs: I kept an eye on all of them and Harrie definitely wasn’t there. What costume was she wearing?

  Me: A werewolf. Same as last year. If anyone sees her, please call me!

  Gina Walker: Will do. Let us know when she’s home safe x

  Village Girlies’ Secret Group Chat

  Saturday 31 October, 19.58

  Tracy Campbell: Has Harrie been found yet? I didn’t want to ask in the other group.

  Sandra Briggs: I don’t think so.

  Bev Pritchett: Anyone know what’s going on?

  Tracy Campbell: I thought I heard a siren a minute ago.

  Bev Pritchett: OMG! Poor Anna. I hope she’s OK!!

  Tracy Campbell: Oh come on! I feel sorry for Anna, but like I’ve said before, she brought this on herself!!!!

  Sandra Briggs: True.

  Bev Pritchett: Should one of us call Anna?

  Tracy Campbell: Kat will know what’s going on. Kat, are you reading this?

  Bev Pritchett: Give your babies an extra kiss and cuddle tonight, ladies. Too precious for words!

  Tracy Campbell: xx

  Ten days earlier

  CHAPTER 1

  Wednesday, ten days until Halloween

  Anna

  The very thought of what I’m about to do scratches at the wall of my stomach as I shove the dinner plates haphazardly into the dishwasher. I slam the door shut, sending a silent prayer to the dishwasher gods that the machine will work today.

  Excuses leap across my mind as I drag a cloth over the kitchen worktops.

  It’s dark outside.

  It’s too late.

  What if you get scared?

  What if you choke on something?

  They keep coming, but I bite them back, squish them down.

  We agreed, and that’s all there is to it. Well, they did – Rob, Elise and Harrie. The three of them sounding so reasonable, as though it’s utter madness we’ve not done it sooner. I can’t blame Molly for this one. She’s only seven and idolizes her big sisters.

  ‘They’re eleven now, Anna,’ Rob said to me three weeks ago on his regular seven p.m. call. His face jolted and froze every few seconds as the image bounced across time zones and satellites. His voice was out of sync with the movement of his lips, his smile, the slight lift of his eyebrows, but at least we got to see him. ‘In less than a year Elise and Harrie will be at secondary school. They’ll have to get the bus on their own, they’ll have to be responsible. Don’t you think we should start getting them ready for that?’

  ‘I guess,’ had been my weary response.

  ‘How about letting Harrie stay home on her own while you and Molly collect Elise from gymnastics on Wednesdays?’ Rob continued. ‘It’s only twenty minutes and only once a week. And Elise can be left on Saturdays when you drop Harrie at football practice. When Elise doesn’t have gymnastics, that is.’

  ‘Everyone else in our class is doing it,’ Elise chipped in. ‘Everyone’ was said with a slight pause between the syllables so it sounded like ev-re-one.

  ‘Kat’s been leaving Ben on his own since he was nine,’ Harrie added, her tone as indignant as her twin’s.

  That was true. Kat is my best friend. I love her dearly, but how she’s been able to leave Ben alone while she pops to the shops or goes to the gym is beyond my comprehension.

  ‘But June next door doesn’t mind popping in when we need her,’ I replied. ‘And anyway, it’s nice to drive together and have a chat in the car.’

  ‘For you, maybe,’ Harrie said with an eye-roll.

  ‘It’s time, Anna. This isn’t London,’ Rob laughed then. ‘They’re safe at home. Barton St Martin has won Best Village Neighbourhood Watch in the county two years running. Come on, don’t be a worrywart,’ he added with a teasing smile.

  I hate that name almost as much as I hate the phrase that usually accompanies it. You never used to worry so much. He’s right, I didn’t. B
ut look where that got me.

  Resentment courses through me. A bitterness I can taste in the back of my throat. It’s always on me, isn’t it, Rob? Every sodding thing is down to me because you’re not here.

  I turn my attention back to the dishwasher. There is no hum of the electrics. No shhh of water spilling into the machine. ‘You piece of junk,’ I hiss, opening the door and slamming it shut again before kicking the base, because in the history of broken kitchen appliances a swift kick in the electrical goolies always works. Not this time, it seems.

  I glance at my phone, swallowing down the disappointment at the blank screen. No reply from Dean. I catch sight of the time. 7.27 p.m. already. ‘Shit!’ I abandon my battle with the dishwasher and dash into the hall.

  ‘Molly,’ I shout up the stairs. ‘Time to get out of the bath. We’ve got to leave in twenty minutes.’

  ‘OK, Mummy,’ comes an echoey reply.

  I poke my head into the living room and the first thing I see is the mess – a Barbie explosion on the rug. Dozens of tiny outfits – dresses, shoes, bags, tiaras – laid out before a pile of naked, messy-haired dolls. The riot of colour is almost enough to distract me from one of Elise’s wireless headphones left on the floor. God knows where the other earpiece is. I’ll be furious if she’s lost it. They’re the cheap imitations, but still we can’t afford to replace them. I should be glad. There was one point after Christmas when I thought she’d never take them out.

  Even after all this time, it’s hard not to feel the sting of disappointment when I look in this room. Hard not to compare it to the long sitting room of our London house. The big leather sofas, the huge stripy rug on the oak floorboards, the crystal vase above the fireplace – all the things we couldn’t take with us when we ran.

  The second thing I see is Harrie, lying across the length of an ancient sofa – a beige monstrosity which despite being hideous is at least comfortable. Her long legs are stretched out and she’s watching some screeching US TV show that looks like a remake of Saved by the Bell. Her shoulder-length black hair is loose and scooped behind her ears. She glances at me with her usual wide smile, and I light up inside.

  All three of our daughters have Rob’s dark features and what he calls Disney princess faces – large eyes, button noses and rosebud lips. Although only Molly likes to hear that now. Harrie and Elise roll their eyes at anything Disney. Twincesses, we used to call them. Their hair is thick like Rob’s too, nothing like my wispy blonde hair that never seems to grow longer than a bob before breaking – brittle and dry.

  A memory pushes to the surface. The twins aged four or five, disappearing into the bathroom together, returning ten minutes later wearing each other’s clothes. They did it all the time. At pre-school and at home, confusing the staff, confusing Rob. Not me though. I can always tell them apart.

  Harrie is still wearing her school uniform. Trousers not skirt, and no frill to her white shirt collar. She’s throwing an orange football in the air and catching it. I’ve given up trying to stop her bringing the balls into the house. Harrie without a football in her hands or rolling at her feet doesn’t look right somehow.

  ‘Why are your sisters such messy creatures?’ I ask, nodding to the rug.

  Harrie raises one eyebrow in a Rob-like way. ‘Have you seen the state of your bedroom this week?’

  ‘Oi.’ We both laugh as I pick up a nearby cushion and fling it at her. She knocks it to one side with her hand and offers me a triumphant grin. ‘We’re leaving soon, OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ Harrie replies.

  ‘You can come with us, you know? If you don’t want to be on your own?’

  She gives a huffing laugh. ‘I’ll stay here, thanks.’

  The light inside me fizzles.

  ‘Oh Mum,’ Harrie gasps. ‘I forgot to tell you. Clarissa is getting a puppy and she said I can walk it with her and help her look after it whenever I want, and when they go on holiday, we can take care of it.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  I can tell there’s more Harrie wants to say. There are always more words with Harrie, my chatterbox of a girl, but I pull a face and point at my watch. I can’t get dragged into another conversation about getting a dog. Instead, I race up the stairs to Molly, who is still in the bath playing with a soggy collection of My Little Ponies.

  ‘Molly, I’ve asked already,’ I say, my voice betraying my frustration. ‘Get out please. We need to get Elise.’

  Why is it always such a rush? No matter how early I cook dinner, listen to reading, run the bath, why are we always one breath away from being late on Wednesdays?

  ‘I didn’t hear you.’ Her bottom lip quivers.

  Yes you did. I keep the reply in and curse Elise’s gymnastics coach for offering another two hours on top of the six Elise already does. Because six hours of gymnastics a week isn’t enough any more. Not if she wants to stay in the elite squad, which she does, desperately, and so I’ve shoehorned another thing into our week that really doesn’t fit.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, softening my voice and reaching for Molly’s towel. I hold it up and she hops out before jumping into my arms for a soggy hug that soothes my frustration. ‘Go get your onesie on and then I’ll brush your hair.’

  ‘Mummy, how many days until Daddy calls?’

  ‘Four days, baby. He’ll call on Sunday like always.’

  More numbers run through my head. Rob has been gone thirty-four days and it’s another fifty-six days before he comes home, but I don’t tell Molly that. All the girls have their own countdown calendars in their bedrooms to look at.

  ‘Can Bunny come with us to collect Elise?’ She stuffs the worn fur of her bunny to her face and breathes in its smell – a magical heal-all act.

  ‘Of course. As long as he doesn’t snore this time.’ I smile, kissing the top of her head.

  Molly scuttles down the hall to her bedroom, the towel wrapped around her like a mantle.

  My eyes move to my watch. 7.36 p.m.

  The pressure returns – a bear hug of worry about being late for Elise and leaving Harrie. It squeezes me oh-so-tight. It’s worse tonight than it was last week and the one before that. Thoughts of what happened on Monday with Dean threaten to break free and I wish for the hundredth time that I could take it all back. I don’t trust my judgement any more and it makes leaving Harrie even harder.

  ‘Nothing will go wrong.’ It’s what Rob would say if he was here right now.

  Harrie is sensible. She’s not like Gina and Martin’s girl, Clarissa, who used marker pens to draw over her bedroom walls because she wasn’t allowed to play at the park, or Kat’s Ben who punched a hole in his door when he lost at a game on the Xbox. And Barton St Martin is the very definition of a sleepy village. ‘Nothing will go wrong,’ I whisper to myself again.

  But of course it does.

  CHAPTER 2

  Anna

  The gymnastics car park is bedlam as usual. Half the cars are trying to get out, the other half are trying to get in, and by the time I’ve waited my turn, and weaved my way through, it’s 8.02 p.m. and Elise is walking out of the doors in her purple leotard and matching leggings, looking exhausted in the beams of the passing headlights.

  I glance at Elise as she settles in the seat beside me. Her cheeks are flushed red and wisps of dark hair have fallen from her ponytail and hang around her heart-shaped face.

  ‘How was it?’ I ask her.

  ‘Good.’ She yawns, arching her back and stretching her arms up to the top of her head. She throws a glance to the back seats where Molly is doing the hundred-mile stare and stroking Bunny’s ear to her cheek. ‘Is Harrie at home?’

  ‘Yes. We’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t fall asleep, Molly,’ I say, loud and sing-song-y.

  ‘When can I be left on my own?’ Elise asks. ‘I’m the oldest.’

  ‘Only by three minutes.’

  ‘Dad said I could stay home when you take Harrie to football.’

  ‘Only when you don’t have gymnastics
on a Saturday. When was the last Saturday you didn’t have gymnastics?’

  Elise exhales in the huffing way she does any time I say or do something she doesn’t agree with. I think she’s going to argue her point, but then she sits up straight, glancing back towards the gymnastics centre. ‘I’ve left my jumper by the beams. Can we go back?’

  ‘Not tonight,’ I reply as we pull out of the car park and pick up speed. ‘You’ll be back there on Friday. You can get it then.’

  A sudden heat creeps over my face and I’m grateful for the darkness of the car. Last time Elise left her jumper behind, it ended up in the lost-property bin – a huge plastic tub that stank of cheesy feet and sweat. I dug through it and found Elise’s jumper, but I also found a leotard the perfect size for Molly. There was no name in it, so I took it – stole it – because I didn’t have £32 to spend on the club leotard they all have to wear and I wouldn’t have it next month either. I washed it and pretended it was new and Molly was so happy. Nobody knows I did that, but still the humiliation burns.

  ‘But Mum—’

  ‘Elise, no.’ The words are more snappish than I intend and Elise turns her head away in a sulk, staring into the pitch-black night.

  Sometimes I wish she would be more grateful for these journeys and the hundred ways our lives are stretched and bent around her gymnastics. I want to tell her for the millionth time how lucky she is and how my own mother never let me do gymnastics, or drama like Molly or football like Harrie. ‘It’s down to the school,’ my mother used to say. ‘Ask them.’ I want to tell Elise how deprived my childhood was, not just of activities – of board games and bedtime stories – but of love, and how I have always vowed not to give my girls the same experience I had. I keep the words in. Elise will roll her eyes and I know she’ll be thinking of all the things her friends have that she doesn’t. The things we could have given her if we hadn’t had to run away.

  The familiar slap of resentment hits me again.

  This is your fault, Rob, I want to scream. You are the reason we had to leave London. You are the reason Harrie is alone right now. You shouldn’t be a million miles away on an oil rig off the coast of Nigeria. You should be here with me, with us.