No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year

‘My God,’ Leo said as he stared at Anna. ‘You’re the one they’re talking about on the news, the mother who killed the boy from The Docks?’

‘She had to protect Joni,’ Florence said.

‘By killing a schoolboy?’ Leo asked.

Anna ignored him, looking at her mother who started scratching her arms, something she did when she was nervous.

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Anna said to Beatrice. ‘It was an accident. I had a comb, a sharp tail one. It was the only thing I could grab, the boy had a knife, and – and the comb went into his neck…’

‘How old was the boy?’ Beatrice asked Anna.

Anna swallowed, tears brimming at her eyes. ‘Fourteen.’

‘Just a boy,’ Beatrice said. She turned away to look out of the window, face drawn.

‘Couldn’t you have bloody stabbed him in the leg or something?’ Leo said.

Anna closed her eyes, saw the comb’s end slipping into the soft skin of the boy’s neck, smelt his blood, felt it on her hands again. ‘I didn’t…he – he struck out with his knife, and I had – had to do something. Then he fell…’

‘You’d do the same to protect one of the twins,’ Florence said gently.

‘I wouldn’t be that bloody stupid,’ Leo retorted. ‘There are ways of protecting one’s children without resorting to murder.’

Anna kept her eyes on her mother. All she wanted, all she’d ever wanted, was for Beatrice to look at her, really look at her and hold her and tell her it was okay. Like the time her father died, the ambulance sirens disappearing into the distance, leaving her with her mother and her brother. She’d grasped at Beatrice’s cold hand, desperate for comfort. But Beatrice had just walked away, disappearing into her own private grief, not offering any word of comfort to her children.

It was no different now, Anna needed her mother.

But instead, all she got was a cold gaze. ‘Leo’s right,’ Beatrice said. ‘You shouldn’t have gone for his neck.’ Leo stood next to his mother, putting his hand on her shoulder. They both stared at Anna and Anna felt as she always had with them: ostracised, alone, judged.

A sob escaped her mouth.

‘Right then,’ Florence said, scooping Joni and her toys up as she tried to contain her anger. ‘We’ve done what we came to do, Anna. Shall we go?’

Anna nodded, suppressing her disappointment. ‘Let’s go.’

That evening, Anna tried to drive thoughts of her encounter with her mother and brother away. She ought to be used to it. She’d felt increasingly isolated from them after her father died. They’d sit quietly in the bungalow, reading and wallowing, refusing to talk about Anna’s father. Anna had wanted to talk about him, think about him, remember him. She didn’t want him to fade away. So she’d retreat to the lighthouse or to visit her gran, the only person she felt able to share memories of her father with. It was no different now.

No, she mustn’t dwell on the past. She had to focus on the now, on Joni. Guy would be looking after her that weekend, he was coming to collect her straight from the airport. As much as it pained Anna to be apart from Joni, she had to stick to their agreement, especially seeing as social services would be visiting, ‘just standard procedure after an incident like this,’ according to her solicitor. She couldn’t be seen to be breaking her agreement with Guy. And anyway, despite the problems between her and Guy, she knew he would keep Joni safe.

Anna focused on playing with Joni that evening, bathing her and forcing herself to remember over and over, ‘Look, you saved your daughter’s life. She’s here!’ But she still saw Elliot’s face, the awkward angle of the comb jutting from his neck, the blood and the gurgles, guilt piled upon guilt thanks to her mother and brother’s reactions.

As she read Joni’s bedtime story to her, she wondered if Elliot’s mother used to do the same for him. Did she brush her nose against his soft hair like Anna did with Joni? Hold his warmth close, marvel at how lucky she was to have him?

‘Mama.’ Anna looked up to see Joni peering at her, her little brow creased.

Anna forced a smile, kissing her forehead. ‘Okay, darling, bedtime.’ She lifted her into the travel cot that Florence had bought so Joni could stay there every now and again when Anna and Guy needed a break. Anna was still staying with her gran, not quite ready to return home yet. And Joni was still in with Anna, Anna not quite ready for her to be in a separate room.

She flicked on her video monitor then stepped out of the room. Joni cried, lifting her arms out to her. She did this sometimes. Just when Anna thought she’d slipped into a good sleeping phase, Joni would throw a curveball and refuse to sleep. Anna hoped this was just one of her fussy sleeping phases, not a result of what she’d witnessed. Anna stroked her head, shushed her, watching as her eyes grew heavy again. Then she tiptoed downstairs.

‘Joni okay?’ Florence asked, delicious smells wafting in from her kitchen as she cooked the cockles Anna had collected that morning. Anna had learnt all she knew about cooking seafood from Florence, a skill passed down the generations.

‘Just a bit unsettled,’ Anna said.

Florence tilted her head, examining her granddaughter’s face. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I keep thinking about something Elliot Nunn said before he tried to hurt us.’

‘What was that?’

‘“I won’t let you hurt me”. He was scared of me.’

‘Maybe you misheard him?

Anna shook her head. ‘No. He definitely said it and it’s important, I just don’t know how. I can feel it in my gut.’

Florence raised an eyebrow. ‘Your father used to say that when he was doing one of his investigations. Let the police do their job, darling, you’ve been through enough.’ Florence gestured towards the living room. ‘There’s a glass of wine waiting for you. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.’

Anna squeezed her gran’s hand. ‘I’m so lucky to have you.’

Florence’s face softened. ‘I’m always here for you, you know that.’ She gave Anna a big hug then went into the kitchen.

Anna walked into the living room and sank onto the sofa, directing the fan towards her face as she stared out to sea. The sofa was positioned right next to the large folding doors that opened onto the veranda, offering a perfect view of the setting sun. The storm had held off and now the evening was warm, the sun a bright orange glow, reflected like fire in the sea. A couple strolled by hand in hand and Anna thought of how she used to walk along the beach with Guy on summer evenings. They even had picnics out there, Anna giddy from wine as she lay back, not caring about the sand in her hair as she stared up at the orange sky.

As she thought that, an image of Elliot Nunn suddenly came to her, his dark hair filthy with sand, his eyes wide open as he stared oblivious towards a sky he’d never see again.

Anna turned away from the sea and pulled her laptop out, resisting the temptation to open a browser and google herself. She’d know if her name was out by the calls and texts. She quickly clicked into her emails, saw one from the station’s PR manager about an interview request with the local newspaper. The radio station was going to try to push the ‘working mother’ angle to the media to raise Anna’s profile now she was back from maternity leave. Anna hadn’t been so keen. Her father had started to get a little publicity before he died because of his news reports and look what that had done to him. Better to just get on with the job, head down. That would all change once her name got out though. The station would be inundated with a new angle: child-killing local radio presenter.

Anna looked at the name of the journalist who was requesting the interview. Yvonne Fry, a woman Anna had gone to school with, even been friends with until Yvonne had left to work for the local paper at just sixteen and they lost contact. Imagine what she would think when she found out Anna was the mother all over the news? Anna sighed and clicked into her emails. There was one from her friend Maxine inviting her and some other friends over for dinner the week after to discuss their plans for the village’s annual fireworks display in November. It seemed a long way off but Maxine liked to be organised. Anna stared at the email. It was so jolly, so innocent, talk of ‘wine on tap’ and ‘chocolate cake and chatter…unless the kids wake up, of course!’ Usually Anna would smile and reply with an instant ‘yes’. But what would life hold for her when her name got out? Could her friends forgive her for killing a local schoolboy?

She ignored Maxine’s email, going to another one. The production assistant had forwarded on some listeners’ emails from the day before. They were all good, praising Anna for her return. There was even one from another mother who’d just returned from maternity leave herself and had found courage listening to Anna on the way into work.

Anna felt a sense of grief for her life before all this. If this were a normal day, this email would have given her strength, made her feel it was all worth it. But now all it did was make her realise just how much everything would change. Could she still be an inspiration to women like this one with the death of a boy over her head?

She clicked out of the email then she froze.

There was an email in her inbox with the subject line ‘Elliot Nunn’.

Impossible! Her name hadn’t been publicly connected to the case yet.

Then she noticed the ‘from’ field: Ophelia Killer. A shudder of fear ran through her body.

She quickly opened the email, fingers trembling.

From: The Ophelia Killer

To: Anna Graves

Subject: Elliot Nunn