Pretty Little Things: 2018’s most nail-biting serial killer thriller with an unbelievable twist

I frown, avoid her eyes. Still nothing from Iain.

‘Pleeeease, Mum?’

I look to Iain for help. I want him to say no and save me the moody silent treatment I’ll get for the rest of the weekend from Elle if I stand firm.

‘No,’ I say as I flick the television off. I can’t bear to see or hear any more right now. I feel Elle’s eyes on me just before she storms out of the room.

Iain sighs as he comes towards me. I let him hug me from behind as I stare out of the window. I can’t bring myself to look at him in case I break down.

‘Arguing with Elle isn’t going to help you,’ he says, resting his chin on my shoulder. ‘I know it’s hard with what’s going on around the villages, but we have to try and carry on.’

I suck in a deep breath. ‘I didn’t move out to the village to feel afraid,’ I say.

‘You’re saying you don’t feel safe here?’

‘It’s not about me feeling safe, Iain,’ I say, my hand now resting on his arm around my middle. ‘It’s always been about what’s best for Elle.’

I think back to the faces in the newspaper. The pixilated smiles of those teens. My heart could break for their parents.

I think of my own mother. I think of how my family was broken apart by a loss that I have never fully understood. All I know is how I will never take my eyes away from Elle, not like I used to.

This is something I fear Iain will never fully understand.

I know more than anyone the grief and fallout that comes from losing a child, no matter the circumstances.

We can hear Elle thundering around above us, the floorboards overhead creaking in protest.

Iain’s arm pulls away from me. He’s torn between staying with me and going to check on Elle.

‘I could drive Elle to this party and pick her up,’ he says. He moves away but watches me carefully. ‘She’ll be fine.’

I shrug. ‘How can you possibly know that? How can any of us?’

He looks at me, exasperated, but does his best to try and hide it. I know he’s trying to be supportive, but I also know I’m not the easiest person to placate right now.

He’s treating me like I’m glass, though, and that’s one thing I can’t stand. Being made to feel like everyone needs to tread carefully around me.

‘Elle is not Miles,’ he says. ‘She’s not any of these girls either.’

I shudder as he speaks Miles’s name.

‘This place is safe.’

‘What’s going on now—’

‘Stop obsessing about it,’ he snaps. ‘You’re going to lose Elle, if you’re not careful. Keep pushing and she’ll clam up completely. You have to let her live a little.’

I hold his stare now.

‘We did that once.’ I watch his face fall, now less assured of his own words. ‘You remember how that turned out?’

He nods. ‘Yeah, but I also remember the reasons behind it.’

He sees the hurt on my face.

‘I know it wasn’t your fault,’ he says, now coming towards me. ‘Besides, this is different.’ He looks deep into my eyes. ‘It’s just a party. Give her that little bit of freedom.’

I risk a glance at the newspaper again. Iain sees and shoves it in the bin. He avoids my eyes as he comes over and kisses me on the cheek.

‘The worst didn’t happen to you, Charlotte.’ He pats my arm, then leaves me standing there alone.

The worst didn’t happen . . .

I could have died in that crash. I didn’t. I could have been left with life-changing injuries. I wasn’t. I could have left my daughter without her mother. I didn’t. I’m here and all I can do is try to carry on as usual.

Easier said than done.

How do you completely come back from being so close to death? How can you just act like nothing’s happened? Iain suggested six months ago that I might need counselling.

I declined.

I don’t need a therapist to tell me what I already know.

I could have died – would have done, had I not been dragged from the wreckage. It’s freak events like that that make you question your own mortality, and that of the ones you love.

Is it any wonder I obsess about our daughter’s safety when there’s someone out there hurting girls our daughter’s age? Is it any wonder I put all my energy into protecting her, when I’ve seen this kind of pain before? Iain knows what happened to my brother when I was small. He knows what I saw with my own mother, and yet . . .

Carry on as usual, he says . . .

Easier said than done.

CHAPTER 2 (#ulink_cf22dc95-e6b1-599e-a4e5-339f19fd8e1b)

Detective Inspector Madeleine Wood’s Tyvek paper suit rustled with each tentative step she took towards the incident tent.

She’d been warned what to expect by officers who had already been on the scene for several hours, since the initial call had come through.

A group of teens had taken a haul of alcohol and drugs up to the wasteland in the middle of the night, planning on making their mark on the world. In their heads, they’d thought they were making a stand against society, or some such rubbish.

Stumbling across a makeshift shallow grave in the dark had scared them shitless, and reduced them to crying wrecks, begging for their mummies.

Twisted limbs, flesh riddled with insects, and a smell that would stay with you no matter how many times you washed would do that to anybody, even if these teens were usually as hard as nails.

Madeleine tucked a few strands of long auburn hair that had worked loose from her ponytail back inside the suit’s hood.

‘Guv,’ said DC Braithwaite as she approached.

Madeleine nodded. ‘Charis.’