Am I Guilty?: The gripping, emotional domestic thriller debut filled with suspense, mystery and surprises!

So no, not selfish. She was just … insecure, I supposed. Desperately insecure, despite her brash, confident exterior, and terrified that she was going to lose me, her best friend, her surrogate sister, to these tiny, new, needy humans, despite my constant reassurances that that would never happen.

And it didn’t. I made sure of that, made sure that, despite Isla’s fears, my children didn’t really affect our friendship at all. We were too strong for that by then anyway, had too much shared history. When she arrived in Cheltenham after her week in London we’d stay in instead of going out, downing bottles of wine and Prosecco or, on sunny Saturdays, taking Nell and later Zander, too, out with us for long boozy lunches in beer gardens and bistros with pretty outdoor seating areas.

It wasn’t perfect – Isla was sometimes irritated on those days, the days I needed to bring the children with me and, if I was really honest, she basically ignored them most of the time, although I thought she’d warmed to Nell in recent months, just a little, as my daughter had grown and developed into the feisty, intelligent little girl she now was.

But in general, I supposed that Rupert was right about her attitude to kids, even mine. They just weren’t her thing. It was always OK though, once she’d had a few drinks. A glass of bubbly fixed everything, she always said. Rupert was right about that too, although I hated to admit it – Isla did lead me astray, certainly when it came to alcohol. I didn’t drink much at all when she wasn’t around – not in recent years, not since becoming a mum (although that has rather obviously changed somewhat drastically recently) – but when she was, all bets were off. She’d always denied having a drink problem, as such, although I was fairly sure she’d struggle to give it up for any length of time. But if I ever asked her about it, she’d dismiss my concerns with an airy wave.

‘I’m Scottish, Thea. Drinking’s in our blood. And when have you ever seen me with a hangover? It’s stress relief, that’s all. Hush. Here, pass me your glass.’

Oh yes, that girl could drink, and for some reason when she did, I always joined in. The problem was, as she liked to point out, she could down it by the gallon with, seemingly, no major repercussions, whereas I …

I rubbed my eyes, waiting for the toast to pop up, my head beginning to throb again, and hoped the paracetamol I’d just washed down with half a carton of orange juice would kick in quickly. I’d been able to handle the booze when I was younger, no problem at all, but since having the kids … serious lightweight. I’d often offer to be designated driver or, if Rupert and I were walking to one of our numerous haunts nearby, stick to two or three small glasses of wine.

Things had changed, though, over the past few months. Everything had changed. I didn’t need Isla to make me drink too much these days. I was quite capable of doing that all by myself.

The toaster finally spat out its browned offerings, making me jump. I slathered on some butter and layered on the cheese, then turned the grill on, put the toast on a tray underneath it and waited again, listlessly wiping surfaces and stacking empty bottles in the recycling box, my stomach growling. As I put the bottle opener back in its drawer I smiled suddenly as I remembered the conversation Isla and I had had last night as I’d wrangled a stubborn cork out of a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

‘So, next week we’re interviewing the guy who owns that kids’ play park – you know, the one in Leicester where three kids were seriously injured because the equipment was faulty? And he’s blaming the parents for not keeping an eye on their offspring, and it’s sparked a big debate? Thea?’

Isla had been sitting at the kitchen table, nibbling crisps, filling me in on her week, trying as always to distract me from my thoughts, cheer me up, make me laugh. I’d nodded, struggling with the cork.

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. And?’

‘Well, I suggested we do it outside in the garden set, stick a bouncy castle behind him, have some kids on it, you know, for atmosphere? Light it up all spooky. It’ll look good, I think. Except, of course, the show goes out live, and at eleven o’clock at night legal won’t let us use kids, child employment laws, can’t allow them to work after 7 p.m., blah blah …’

I’d turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

‘I’m not surprised, Isla! Did you have to scrap the idea, then? Pity …’

‘Och, no!’ She’d slapped a hand on the table, a triumphant look on her face. ‘Because I, my dear, am a genius. I’ve hired a load of midgets instead. They’ll just be in the background, dim lighting, so nobody will notice the difference – brilliant, eh?’

I’d stared at her, aghast.

‘A load of … do you mean dwarves? Little people? Seriously?’

She’d nodded, eyes bright, and held out her glass for a refill.

‘Aye. Dressing them up in kids’ clothes. Hey – you don’t have any spares knocking around I can borrow, do you?’

I’d laughed out loud then, long and hard, laughed so much I’d first doubled over then slid slowly to the kitchen floor, tears running down my cheeks. Isla had watched me, slightly bemused, for a minute, then joined in, the two of us shrieking like hysterical banshees. She could do it, even now, in these days of such dark despair – make me laugh until I cried, and last night I had needed to laugh, needed it so desperately. Needed it to numb the pain, if only for a few moments. And I needed to do it with Isla, with the friend with whom I had shared so much. So much laughter over the years, so much happiness.

And now, so many tears, so much pain. So much guilt. Oceans of it, guilt so vast and deep and choking that sometimes I could barely breathe. Guilt that I know Isla felt too, just a little. It wasn’t her fault – it was me, all me. But she was with me, you see, that day. The day it happened. And we were drinking that day too. The day Zander died. Or, I should say, in the interests of accuracy, the day I killed my baby.

9 (#ulink_adfad623-dbe6-50bb-885d-4e0912e609a0)

ANNABELLE (#ulink_adfad623-dbe6-50bb-885d-4e0912e609a0)

The sound of pounding feet on the stairs, accompanied by shrieks and giggles, made me look up from my laptop and smile. I usually tried not to work on the rare Saturdays when I didn’t have any events to worry about, but I was just finishing a quote for a short-notice Valentine’s Day party at the home of a young footballer and his wife in Winchcombe. Dan Foster plays for league two Cheltenham Town – or The Robins, as they are known, due to their red strip – but his wife, Lara, clearly has her eyes fixed on a premier league lifestyle. It was the third event she’d asked me to organize for her in as many months, and with less than four weeks to go, I needed to get started on planning the evening as soon as possible.

‘You two OK?’

I smiled again as Millie skidded into the kitchen, Nell Ashfield close behind her.

‘Fine. Nearly finished. We just need a drink. Can we have some apple juice?’

Millie was already heading to the fridge.

‘Of course. I made some of those crumbly cookies you like too, look, in that tin on the side, if you want a couple? Take a plate though, Millie. I don’t want crumbs everywhere.’

‘Thanks, Mum!’

Nell smiled shyly at me and followed Millie across the room. Rupert, who always had her at weekends now, had dropped her off just after lunch, Millie and Nell needing a couple of hours together to finish a school photography project. Between them they had managed to take some rather lovely photos for the ‘winter scenes’ themed assignment, and today were arranging all their pictures on a large display board, ready to take to school on Monday.

I watched as the two girls poured juice and selected biscuits, chatting happily, Nell’s dark curls in stark contrast to Millie’s golden blonde bob. It was nice to see Nell smiling, especially as Millie had told me she’d been horribly upset earlier in the week, after another episode of verbal abuse at the school gates.

‘It was awful, Mum,’ Millie had said, her dark blue eyes narrowing. ‘Mrs Ashfield just shouldn’t pick Nell up from school, especially when she’s doing that weird thing with the pram. It’s not fair. It’s so embarrassing for her.’

I’d nodded, agreeing with her. I knew Thea didn’t often do the school run now, not unless she had to, but Millie was right. Nell was a sweet little thing, but she clearly wasn’t the same child now as she had been before her baby brother died. I’d watch her sometimes, when she was here with Millie, and it chilled me to think about what she had been through, and how it was affecting her. She was quieter now, less raucous than she had been before, although I wasn’t sure Millie had noticed. Nell still put on a good act, still played the part of the fun best friend, but I could see it. I’d seen it last weekend when the two of them were sprawled on the sofa watching a DVD, a cartoon baby cooing on the TV screen, and I’d felt an ache in my throat as I saw a shadow suddenly cross Nell’s face, pain flashing in her eyes, as if a memory had just surfaced. I wanted to wrap her in my arms, tell her everything would be OK, but I never did, knowing instinctively that what this damaged child needed was what I tried to make sure she got here – normality, ordinary, dull, family time, with no mention of her mother or her brother whatsoever.

I wondered, sometimes, if they still talked about what had happened – Millie and Nell, I mean. Because Millie had been there that day too. She hadn’t seen much, though – Greg, who’d been there too, had whisked her away as soon as it had happened, although that hadn’t stopped Millie crying for days afterwards. It had been her first experience of death, and it had hit her hard. She hadn’t even wanted to see Nell for weeks, told me she couldn’t face her, but I made her eventually. Her friend needed her, I insisted. It’s not about you, Millie. Harsh maybe, but then life can be, can’t it? And she was glad, when I finally insisted and made her invite Nell round. They locked themselves in Millie’s room, and came out an hour later all smiles, back to normal. Well, as normal as anyone could be, after that …

‘Where are Olly and Sienna, Mum?’

Millie turned to look at me, and I blinked at her, slightly startled, then tapped save on my keyboard, not wanting to lose the email I’d started to compose.

‘Ermm … Daddy’s taken them into town – Olly needed new school shoes and Sienna went along for the ride,’ I said. ‘They should be back soon though. Why?’

‘No reason,’ she said breezily. ‘It’s just nice and quiet without them. Nell and I have actually had peace to do our project …’

‘FLORA!’ There was a sudden yelp from Nell as the door opened and Flora wandered in, wearing orange patterned leggings and bright coral trainers, a black fleece zipped high under her chin and her nose pink with cold. Nell barrelled across the kitchen and flung her arms around Flora’s waist.

‘Hey, Nellie-bells! Didn’t know you’d be here today. I was out running, I’m freezing, feel!’

Flora flattened her palms against Nell’s cheeks and the child squawked.

‘Urrrgh, get off!’

Flora laughed, and Nell laughed with her. She stepped back, brushing an errant curl from her forehead, and looked Flora up and down.

‘I like your leggings. And your trainers,’ she announced.

‘Well, thank you very much. Ooh, I’ve missed your little face.’

Flora reached out both hands as if to squeeze Nell’s cheeks, and the little girl ducked.

‘Get off!’ she said again, but her eyes were shining. They definitely had a special bond, Flora and Nell, and it made me happy to see it, to know that Nell had Flora here in my home as well as Millie. Millie and Flora got on well too – once or twice when Millie had seemed a little down, I’d seen Flora take her to one side, for a stroll around the garden or a chat upstairs, and soon Millie would be smiling and bouncing around again. I felt a little guilty sometimes – it wasn’t Flora’s job, after all, was it, to counsel my children – but when I was so busy, and she was so good at it …

‘We’re back!’