Broken Shadows: A brand new breathtaking psychological suspense novel by Sorrel Pitts

Author:Sorrel Pitts [Pitts, Sorrel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - crime, thrillers & mysteries
Published: 2024-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

13

ANNA

After we’ve risen from the bed and dressed, I follow Tom downstairs into the hallway. For a second we stand facing each other wordlessly before he lifts my coat down from its peg and places it around my shoulders. He leans forward and kisses me lightly on the lips. ‘Thank you for a great night, hey,’ he says, at the same time dropping his arms to his sides and taking a slow step backwards.

I hover on the driveway, unwilling to leave just yet. ‘So when do you think you’ll go back to Australia?’

His gaze lowers to the carpet and it’s hard to read his expression in the dull light. ‘You mean after Dad dies? Soon as I’ve organised the funeral and sorted out his stuff.’

‘You’ll sell this place…’ and as I say it, I’m already struggling to imagine Fawley without the Donnellys. The house will remain of course, but the people who’ll buy it will be strangers – new people who will have surnames I won’t recognise and, as a result, won’t concern me. They’ll most likely be wealthy because you need a fair bit of money to buy a house in Fawley these days. Half the village seems to be second homes now, owned by London people, although I know it’s ripe for me to think that. No doubt they’ll do a tasteful job on it; they’ll sort out the roof and re-render the walls; the wood pile will be removed and the front yard covered in fancy paving, or a well-trimmed patch of lawn, and the broken trellis will be replaced without a thought ever being given to how it got torn down in the first place.

The next moment, Tom’s stepping forward and pushing the door open for me in a way that feels definite and irreversible. But there’s an air of uneasiness about him as I step onto the drive and squint into the bright morning sunshine, the breeze sending my hair in a bang across my face. I turn round to stare at him with something approaching panic; unwilling to say goodbye just yet and at the same time feeling horribly aware he’s not asking to see me again.

I don’t blame him. Looking at him standing before me now, his eyes staring at something beyond my right shoulder, I can almost see the weight of his responsibilities lowering back onto his shoulders. Of course it’s no use, yet I linger, because there’s still so much I want to say. All those nuggets of shared experience, the people we both knew as children, the places we’ve both been and the things we’ve done since leaving this village. We’ve barely touched on any of it. And maybe it’s because I’m lost and hurting from Kerem, and losing him and Istanbul is forcing me to turn to the only real home I know – I don’t know – but Tom’s the one thing in my life which makes sense right now. Finding him’s been like coming across a life

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