The Weekend Away - Sarah Alderson Page 0,124

but unfortunately I can’t, so instead I ignore him.

I bend down to kiss my daughter again on the top of her sleeping head, breathing in deeply; an addict getting a hit.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say to Rob. ‘Bring her back safe.’

He lifts his hand and I think he’s going to wave but he isn’t. He’s just running his hand through his hair, which is getting windswept. He’s still wearing his wedding ring I note, though I took mine off the day I came back to London, my engagement ring too, and they’ve been sitting in a drawer ever since. I wish he’d take his off. It feels like a reproach, or like some sad harbinger of hope he’s still clinging to.

‘Bye,’ I say turning away so he doesn’t see me tearing up over leaving Marlow and think I’m upset about breaking up with him or having second thoughts.

I walk along. I’ve no idea where I’m going; maybe I’ll walk all the way from London Bridge to Waterloo, along the river, letting the breeze blow away the cobwebs. It’s nice to have no plans, just to be outside in the fresh air, relishing the freedom I came so close to losing and which will soon be curtailed when I go back to work.

A part of me dreads the idea of returning to my job and leaving Marlow with the child minder, but a bigger part of me is excited about getting back into the swing of things. Though I’m not looking forward to having to say goodbye to her every day, there will be the excitement of getting to see her every evening, after a long day at work.

Oh my God. I freeze mid-step. A tourist bumps into me from behind and mutters something in Japanese. I ignore them, as well as the crowds of people having to break around me as I stand there like a rock in the middle of a surging river.

I wrestle my phone from my pocket and frantically click on my texts, clicking on the video from Konstandin.

I hit play, zooming in close.

This time watching I don’t stare at Kate, gesturing wildly and almost hypnotically. I don’t watch the fight. I pause it before I see Kate get hit.

I focus in on the man in the video, his arm outstretched, a split second away from coiling his hand into a fist. I zoom in closer. He’s mainly in shadow and for almost the entire duration of the footage, which runs to just over two minutes, there’s only a view of his back. It’s too dark and too fuzzy to really make anything out in detail.

I can see why anyone would think it’s Nunes. Who else could it be, after all? I mean, Nunes admitted he propositioned Kate and that they got into a fight. The traffic camera placed him at the docks with Kate. His denial of murder seemed like the desperate act of a guilty man trying to avoid prison time. But it wasn’t him who killed her.

I hit play and the video moves forward. The killer crouches down by Kate. Oh God. I flash back to just a moment ago: Rob bending down to say hello to Marlow. His legs splayed in the exact same pose, rocking back on his heels in front of the pushchair. He even touched the top of Marlow’s head, stroked her hair, in that familiar way he does. He does the same to Kate now on the video, gives her what looks like a benediction, before he drags her to the dockside and rolls her still conscious, into the water.

They’re the same height. The same build. They even have the same dark hair, just long enough that they both have to run their hands through it when it gets windswept.

I stare at the figure of the man disappearing into the murk.

Oh God.

Rob.

Were you waiting at the apartment when Kate got back? Did she suggest you walk and talk somewhere private? Did she lead you back to the docks, to the place she’d just been with Nunes? When you got there did you beg her again not to tell me about the affair? Did she ask you to leave me? Did she bring up the idea of a house in the suburbs with you and her playing happy families with Marlow?

My hand flies to my mouth. Oh my God! Marlow!

I turn around, desperately scouring the crowd, my heart in my mouth, before starting to push and shove my way through the waves of people streaming across the bridge towards the station.

Where is Rob? Where’s my baby? I can’t see them anywhere. They’ve vanished.

Acknowledgements

Thanks, as ever, go to the following people;

Nichola, for being the kind of best friend all women should be so lucky to have. Thanks for coming to Lisbon with me, and for all the other weekends away. I love you.

John and Alula, for bringing such sunshine and love to my life.

My wonderful, smart and super-savvy agent Amanda, and to Phoebe Morgan at Avon for her stellar editing skills.

The team at Avon, including Helena, Caroline, Andrew, Ellie, Sanjana, Sabah and Bethany, who have been instrumental in getting this book out into the world.

About the Author

Sarah Alderson is a London-born, LA-based writer whose previous books include Friends Like These (Mulholland) and most recent release In Her Eyes (Mulholland). She also writes women’s fiction under the pen name Mila Gray. Sarah is currently writing on the CBS show SWAT. This is her first thriller with HarperCollins.

You can follow @sarahalderson on Twitter.

About the Publisher

Australia

HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

www.harpercollins.com.au

Canada

HarperCollins Canada

Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower

22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor

Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada