Louise Voss & Mark Edwards 3-Book Thriller Collection: Catch Your Death, All Fall Down, Killing Cupid

It had been lovely to see Kate, of course, but Miranda couldn’t help but feel envious of her sister. She had always envied her – her career, living in America, her brains and looks – and now, more than ever, she wished that her life was as exciting as Kate’s. Okay, perhaps leaving your husband, fleeing halfway across the world and going on some bizarre hunt with the brother of an ex-love could be better described as traumatic, or at least stressful . . . but it wasn’t domesticity. It wasn’t being stuck at home longing for a glass of wine while your husband flirted with his junior – his young – colleagues.

Maybe she should have that glass of wine now. It was nearly six. And it wasn’t as if it would do any harm. Just a small glass, sipped slowly. Then she’d make tea. She took the bottle down from the fridge and uncorked it. She filled the glass up rather higher than she’d intended – how clumsy – but she really shouldn’t waste it. She took a big, warming gulp. Then another.

That was better.

She sat at the kitchen table and ran a finger around the rim of the glass. She heard a shout from upstairs, and her first instinct was to leap up and make sure everything was okay. But then she heard laughter and relaxed. The children were merely enjoying their game. George and Amelia seemed to like having their cousin over from the States. The first thing George wanted to know when they met was whether he’d ever seen a gun; Amelia wanted to know if he’d been to Disneyland.

The telephone rang. She jumped up, thinking it might be Kate. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello darling.’ It was Pete. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m going to be late home. We’ve had a hell of a day – it’s been like a whole series of All Creatures Great and Small rolled into one.’ He chuckled. This was an old joke of his. ‘Anyway, I had to rush up to the Grange to see one of old Mountford’s favourite horses, which I managed to save, and now Mountford wants to take me and the whole surgery out for a drink to say thanks. You know how hard it is to say no to him.’

Miranda wanted to ask if Jennifer would be there – in her mind’s eye, the veterinary nurse had long, dark, lustrous hair and a cleavage that men daydreamed about diving into it – but just said, ‘Fine.’

Would she ever feel brave enough to leave Pete in the same way Kate had left Vernon? Well, she knew she would never run away. That was far too dramatic. Though if she were married to the dreaded Vernon perhaps she would run away. She could never understand what Kate saw in him. Okay, so he was very clever, academically, but there was something about him that gave her the creeps. He was the kind of man who fancied himself a ladies’ man but came across more as a knicker-sniffer. A man who stared at the breasts of flat-chested women, as if willing them to grow boobs for him to leer at. Yuk.

Pete wasn’t like that. Except with Jennifer perhaps. Did their fingers touch when she passed Pete the worming tablets? Had their eyes ever met over a sick hamster? Did she wear a tight white uniform that stretched perfectly across her pert bottom? There was another cry from above, then a thump, shaking her from her green-eyed reverie. She stood up, noticing as she did that the wine glass was empty, just a smear of red at the bottom like a bloodstain, and she felt a little woozy and unsteady on her feet. She stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up. ‘Is everyone alright up there?’

Before any of the children replied, the doorbell rang.

Vernon took the wrong exit – nine instead of ten – and spent the next fifteen minutes cursing the British motorway system before getting back on track. He’d just been to what had to be the worst ‘restaurant’ in the known world, something called a Little Chef. It made Taco Bell seem like cordon bleu. Most Americans would be shocked if they saw the real Britain and realised it wasn’t all castles and stately homes. It was just like America, all endless roads and wretched fast food joints, but with worse customer service and more sex on TV. The bad teeth clichés were true though. What if Jack had to grow up here? He’d end up looking like a Brit, teeth like yellowing tombstones, with a drink habit and an addiction to soccer. The rain clichés were true, too. It was raining now, and this was supposed to be summer.

Most of his fellow Americans would love this village, though. Churchill. Good British name, too. The village was – what was the expression? – chocolate-box pretty. Quaint as hell.

He smiled to himself. He felt certain that Kate and Jack were going to be at Miranda’s. There’d be a scene, no doubt. But he relished the thought of the confrontation, Kate trying to justify what she’d done. Just watch her try to take the moral high ground, he thought.

He found the address the man at Miranda and Pete’s old house had given him, and parked outside. The wipers squeaked back and forth across the windscreen before halting. Vernon got out of the car, rehearsing what he was going to say, and rang the doorbell.

The SPEED KILLS sign almost made Sampson smile. He screeched round the corner by the church, roaring on past the neat low Cotswolds stone balustrade edging the churchyard. The pink teddy bear on the back seat toppled over. A cat was crossing the road up ahead, trying to escape the rain, and Sampson put his foot on the accelerator, but the animal darted to safety with a split second to spare.

He felt good. More alive than he could ever remember. It must be the proximity of Kate’s blood, he thought.

He found the street he was looking for and pulled to a halt a few doors away. He stood in the rain for a few seconds, enjoying its feel on his face. He held the pink teddy under his jacket. Then he walked up to the door and pressed the bell.

Miranda opened the door.

The man standing before her had damp hair and a strange smile on his face, the look of a man who is about to get what he wants.

‘Hello Miranda,’ he said. Before she could reply, he darted past her into the hallway.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘What are you . . .?’

He cocked his head, listening, and looked up the stairs. Then he turned back to face her. She folded her arms protectively across her chest.

‘Where is she?’ he demanded.

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think? Kate. Is she here?’

Miranda shook her head. ‘No . . . no, she’s not. Is she – is she in England?’

He gave her an incredulous glare. ‘I take it from the smell on your breath that that was a drunken question. I’m sure you know I’m not stupid, Miranda.’

‘Oh yes, I know that very well, Vernon.’

‘So don’t treat me like . . .’

There was a cry from upstairs. A squeal of laughter followed by a happy outburst from Amelia. ‘Well done, Jack. You beat him.’

Vernon dodged past Miranda and ran up the stairs. ‘Jack? Jack?’

Miranda listened in horror from her position frozen at the bottom of the stairs as Jack came running out of the bedroom, short of breath, gasping, ‘Daddy?’

‘Jackie.’ Vernon swept him up into an embrace as George and Amelia poked their heads out of the bedroom and gawped. ‘I’m here to rescue you.’

Jack said, ‘Like Superman?’

‘Yes, son. Just like Superman. Where’s your mother?’

‘She’s gone on an adventure with Paul.’

‘What? Who’s Paul?’

‘Mummy’s new friend.’

‘Her boyfriend,’ giggled George, who immediately pulled his head out of sight.

Vernon stomped down the stairs, still holding Jack in his arms. He pushed past Miranda then swung round to face her. ‘What’s all this about Kate and some guy called Paul? Where are they?’

Miranda shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you.’

Vernon felt the blood in his veins heat up. This stupid drunk slut. How the hell could Kate have left their son with this unfit mother? Because Kate was an unfit mother herself – that was the truth. He was going to take Jack so far away from here, and make sure that Kate never got her hands on him again. She’d blown it. Jack would be a million times better off without her.

‘It doesn’t matter anyway. Come on, Jack. Let’s get out of this place.’

Jack’s little blue wheely suitcase was standing by the front door, still packed but with the zip open, presumably where his pyjamas and toothbrush had been removed at bedtime the night before. Vernon could see a corner of the boy’s passport sticking out of the front pocket, where Kate always kept it. He zipped the case and picked it up.

Miranda stepped in Vernon’s path as he led Jack towards the door. Blinded by a flash of anger, Vernon pushed her aside, using Jack’s case as a shield. She banged her hip on the side table and fell to the floor, staring up with shock. Vernon pointed a finger at her. ‘Don’t try to get in my way.’

Upset by the violence, Jack started crying and squirming, and Vernon had to struggle to hold on to his hand. ‘Come on, Jackie. We’re going on an airplane. Soon you’ll be home and you’ll see Tyler and all your other friends again. You’ll like that, won’t you?’

Jack shook his head, his face red, tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘I want to stay here with George. I want Mummy.’

‘Shush. Come on, stop wriggling.’

But Jack wouldn’t stop. As Vernon opened the front door, hefting Jack up into his arms, the boy screamed, ‘Billy. I want Billy.’

Vernon clenched his teeth, trying to bite back the intense irritation that crawled up his spine, trying to ignore the veins pulsing in his temple. ‘Who the hell is Billy?’