Dark Waters: The addictive psychological thriller you won’t be able to put down

She shrugged. ‘No.’ That’s the way it worked sometimes.

Lin wrinkled her nose. ‘Right.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I understand, but, hey, what do I know? Lovely to see you, though.’

‘And you. It seems ages.’

Alex really was delighted. She had met Lin shortly after she’d moved back to Sole Bay. Lin was renting a house next door to her and had stopped to chat to Alex on her way to buy some food for her evening meal just after she’d moved in. Alex was weeding the little patch of earth that passed for a front garden, and Lin had stopped to admire the one good thing in that garden – a beautiful palm tree – saying she had a similar one in her garden in London. Her smile had been wide and her body language so open and friendly that Alex had to ask her what she was doing renting a house in Sole Bay. Hoping to find inspiration, had been Lin’s answer. She was an artist and wanted to live by the sea for a year and see where that took her in her work, she’d said. Sole Bay was such a beautiful place. Inspirational. She also wanted to find a local gallery to display and sell her paintings and collages. Perhaps, she had asked hesitantly, Alex knew which galleries might be receptive to her? Alex had invited her in, of course, and over coffee and cake gave her the names of some of the more friendly gallery owners. Then they fell into chatting about this and that and found they had a lot in common – both loved to be by the sea, both had hated school and both were single and in no hurry to go down the relationship route again.

‘Who was the man in your life, then?’ Lin had asked, after Alex had told her how someone she thought was “the one” who was going to share her life had buggered off without so much as a goodbye. ‘Gus’s father, or?’

‘The “or”,’ Alex had said with a wry smile. ‘Done and dusted and best forgotten.’

Lin had nodded, and Alex had appreciated the fact she didn’t pry any further. And so began what was, for Alex, an easy friendship. Usually wary about becoming close to people, Alex made an exception for Lin who was relaxed and undemanding as a friend. And if Lin had heard from one of the many gossips around town about Sasha, she didn’t bring it up. Another reason, Alex felt, to like Lin.

‘Where have you been?’ Alex said now. ‘Why haven’t you been round?’

‘I’ve been in London on an art course. I told you about it – remember?’

Alex frowned, then shook her head. ‘I’m sure you did but my brain is like a sieve. So what are you doing here?’

‘I was taking some pictures’, she pointed to the digital camera hanging from around her neck, ‘for my next project, you know? Boats and ducks and so on, and came across this commotion.’ She shivered dramatically. ‘How did they die?’

‘I don’t know yet, that’s what I’m hoping to find out.’

‘What have you got so far?’ Lin looked at her, wide-eyed.

‘Not a great a deal – I’ve sent off a colour piece and a one par breaking news story that’ll go on the website when I can confirm it: that’s it so far.’

Lin nudged her. ‘Get you. Colour piece. Breaking news. Hope you get a whatsit, a byline. And get paid.’

‘Ha! Haven’t broached the idea of money yet. Depends how much more I do.’

‘Anyway.’ Lin looked at her watch. ‘I must go.’ She jumped in the Mini and put the window down. ‘Come round for supper later, let me know how you’ve got on.’ And with that she drove away.

Alex shook her head, smiling. That was a hasty departure.

Lin was right about the money, though. She’d been so eager to get something more worthwhile than celebrity news or how to collect coupons into The Post that she hadn’t mentioned money to Bud. How naive. And how – she struggled to find the word – how parochial. She’d never had any ambitions to be a foreign correspondent or an anchor on a TV show. She wanted to make a living doing something she enjoyed. So how had she ended up in Sole Bay writing features for The Post?

Her choice.

She had given it a go in London; Bud had given her work, but it was mainly fillers for the paper, hardly ground-breaking stories. Sole Bay was where her heart was, so she’d compromised and come home, and generally she was content. But on days like these, when something half decent came along, she had the adrenaline rush, the tightness in her belly, the fizz in her head.

‘Excuse me.’

Alex turned towards the voice. It was PC Lockwood.

‘I thought you’d like to know’, he said without any preamble, ‘that there’s going to be a press conference at six. About the deaths on the boat.’

‘Thank you,’ said Alex, surprised. ‘It was good of you to—’

‘It’s my job to tell you. It’ll be at the station in the town. Nobody’s saying anything until then.’ He nodded behind her. ‘Your mates have caught up with the story.’

Alex turned. Sure enough, a couple of likely-looking reporters were scribbling in notebooks. She recognized one of them, from the local TV, setting up his own camera before turning and facing it and doing a piece to camera.

She sent a text to Bud.

Press conference at six.

She got an immediate reply.

Go. Reporter will meet you there and liaise.

‘And thank you for all your hard work, Alex,’ she muttered. ‘You’ve done really well, Alex. Liked the colour piece, Alex.’

What else had she expected?

Suddenly the crowd on the staithe fell silent.

The police boat was pulling the cruiser across the water towards land.

5 (#ulink_dc22227c-c5fb-52aa-b114-b37c9f949797)

Cambridge 1975

The silence was terrifying as my dad and I heaved the battered school trunk we’d found in a junk shop through a small doorway at the side of the old stone building and up Staircase C. As it bumped up each tread, worn smooth by the shoes of generations of students, my heart sank lower and lower. What was I doing here? An ordinary boy from an ordinary town who did as he was told, stayed on an extra six months at the local grammar, passed exams, a three-day interview and was now at Cambridge.

When Dad left, exhorting me to enjoy myself and meet people (subtext: a nice girl from a nice family – and thank Christ Mum hadn’t come: she would have been unbearably fussy), I sat on my narrow single bed staring at the beige carpet and nursing a glass of the Blue Nun I’d brought with me (‘to share with other students’, my mum had said hopefully), trying to ignore the slight smell of drains and praying nobody would knock on my door. Soon I would Blu-Tack posters of Bowie and college events to the wall and unpack my record player and books, but for now I was looking at bare magnolia walls, empty bookshelves, and a basin in the corner with an annoying dripping tap. And I kept glancing over to my desk nervously, looking at the array of invitations I had picked up from my pigeonhole in the porter’s lodge on my way through. I wasn’t sure I would have the courage to accept any of them. I had the sense that at any point I could be found out, that I didn’t deserve to be here, not really.

Then, unexpectedly, I felt a surge of happiness. I was here. I’d made it. Cambridge. Bright, glittering. I could be whoever I wanted to be. I could reinvent myself. I could be exciting, intriguing, interesting. No longer dull. There would be people to fascinate me. I might fall in love. I would no longer be ordinary.

I didn’t know then that I would soon be craving an ordinary life.

The first person I met was Stu.

He knocked on my door that night while I was nursing my Blue Nun.

‘Hi,’ he said, hopping from one foot to another, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m Stu.’ He held out his hand. I took it and he gave me a firm handshake. His hair was receding, and he wore jeans that had been ironed. His accent was pure Birmingham. Coming from the Midlands I recognized it instantly.

‘I saw your dad helping you earlier. I thought—’ His glasses had slipped again; he pushed them back. ‘I heard your dad, and I thought you were probably from somewhere near Birmingham—’

‘Somewhere near,’ I said.

‘I’m not sure whether I should be here—’ He trailed off, looking around nervously.

‘Where? On this staircase?’

‘No. Here. In Cambridge.’ His smile was hesitant.

I smiled back, warming to him. ‘I know what you mean.’