When Your Eyes Close: A psychological thriller unlike anything you’ve read before!

Chapter Twenty-Four: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-One: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Two: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Three: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Four: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Five: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Six: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Seven: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Eight: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Nine: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty: Caitlin (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-One: Michelle (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifty-Two: Nick (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue: Two Years Later … (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Tanya Farrelly (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#u6dc2ce22-3286-53ac-ac4c-7200c6523284)

For Dave, an extraordinary writer and husband, without whose laughter I’d be lost.

CHAPTER ONE (#u6dc2ce22-3286-53ac-ac4c-7200c6523284)

Nick (#u6dc2ce22-3286-53ac-ac4c-7200c6523284)

Nick Drake pulled up outside the house named The Arches and cut the engine. He was twenty minutes early and there was another car, a dark grey saloon, parked in front of his. He looked at the long white bungalow illuminated by the half dozen lamps that lined the winding drive, and wondered if it were, after all, a good idea to have come.

Shivering, Nick reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and his fingers closed round the pack of cigarettes that he kept there for emergencies. He noted that there were only two left. With trembling fingers, he placed one between his lips and held the lighter to the tip until it burned crimson. He lowered the window and inhaled deeply until the smoke filled his craving lungs, and he felt the rain blow in on the damp night air.

On the passenger seat his mobile phone began to ring. He looked at the screen and saw Michelle’s name flash up again. Rain drummed on the windscreen and the phone rang out, and then blipped to inform him that she’d left yet another voice message. It was her fifth call in three days. He knew that he should call her back, but he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Talking meant making things real. And he wasn’t ready for that.

A few minutes passed before the bungalow door opened and a security light clicked on. A figure stepped into the rain, pausing to pull up the hood of an anorak before hurriedly descending the driveway. With head down, the woman made a dash for the grey saloon car. The heels of her boots clicked on the tarmac, and the indicator lights flashed amber as she hurriedly unlocked the car and slipped inside.

Illuminated briefly by the interior light, Nick saw the woman pull the hood of her anorak down and run a hand through unruly dark hair. The engine started, and the grey saloon turned and reversed into the driveway, the headlights momentarily blinding Nick as the car turned and disappeared down the lane by which he’d come.

For a few minutes he sat and stared out the windscreen. He drew on his cigarette until there was nothing more between his fingers and the tip, and then he stubbed it in the ashtray, closed the window and stepped out into the rain.

The girl who opened the door was no more than seven years old. She looked at him with big brown eyes. Then a man’s voice came from a room within. ‘Kirsty, I told you not to answer the door.’ The owner of the voice appeared from what Nick imagined was the kitchen. ‘Go on in like a good girl.’ The man put an arm round the little girl’s shoulder to draw her inside. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said.

Nick shrugged. ‘The name’s Nick Drake. I’ve an appointment for nine o’clock.’

‘Sure, come on in.’ The man stepped back and ushered Nick inside. The child stood behind the man and stared at Nick. He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.

‘Take a seat in here. Tessa will be with you soon.’

Nick was shown into a room not dissimilar to the waiting room in the doctor’s surgery. A television played in the corner, the volume muted. He sat in a hard chair by the door and waited. The sound of children’s voices came from somewhere within the house.