The Prisoner(80)

“Does your girlfriend know what you did?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“There was a woman here the other day. When I locked you in, I thought she’d come and let you out when you didn’t turn up for dinner.”

He smiles. “It’s good to know that you didn’t intend to kill me. That was Mara, our sister. She lives in Dunedin, I live here.” There’s a pause. “I did stay on, you know. In England. I didn’t come running back here as soon as it was over. I even went to Reading, hung around for a few days.”

I stare at him. “You came to Reading?”

“Yes.”

“But—why didn’t you—”

“Come and see you? How could I, when you thought I was dead? How could I, after what we did?”

“Then why come?”

“Because I wanted to make sure you were alright. And I did want to tell you I was still alive, Paul knew that and he said I should write to you. But you seemed okay. I watched you shopping, and you seemed okay.”

I remember the times I had sensed him close, and my throat burns with unshed tears.

“I was never okay.”

“What you said to Carl, at the memorial service for Lina and Justine, the message you gave him, about sleeping on a mattress in a room with a boarded-up window. Was that true?”

It’s too much. Tears begin to leak from my eyes. I wipe them away with my fingers but they keep on coming.

I see him kick the door shut, blocking out the light. And suddenly, I’m back in the house in Haven Cliffs, in the room with the boarded-up window, and my captor is walking toward me in the darkness. I close my eyes, wait to feel his hands on my shoulders—but instead, his arms come around me. And in that moment, a huge weight lifts from my shoulders.

I don’t know how long I stand wrapped in his arms, thinking about him coming to Reading, wondering what might have been if he had had the courage to tell me he was alive.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, after an eternity. “For everything.”

I breathe in the scent of him. He smells of sun and sea.

“You don’t smell the same,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“You smelled like Lukas. When you were near me, I recognized the same smell that I had smelled on him, like freshly mown grass. It’s one of the reasons I thought you were Lukas.”

He gives a low laugh. “That’ll have been the shower gel. Lukas left a whole bottle of it, unopened. He brings his products over from Lithuania and doesn’t bother to take them back with him.”

Lukas’s shower gel. He had been using Lukas’s shower gel.

I step back and his arms fall from around me.

“I need to go. I’m leaving tonight.”

“Won’t you stay?”

“I can’t.”

He follows me to the door.

“Will I see you again?”

“No.”

I walk into the sunlight, up the slope to the track. When I get to the top, I turn around. He’s standing in the doorway, watching me, and I feel this terrible tug inside me. I’ve lost everyone and despite everything, I don’t want to lose him too. He’s all I have left, and there’s so much about him that I don’t know. I don’t even know his first name, I realize.

I raise a hand, shading my eyes from the sun.

“Maybe,” I say.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS




My heartfelt thanks to: (this time, to ring the changes, in alphabetical order)

My fellow authors, for their invaluable friendship and support, and for taking the time to read my book when their TBR piles are already stacked high.

The amazing bloggers, for giving their time to read and review.

My wonderful agent, Camilla Bolton, for her advice and enthusiasm, and for always being there for me, and the rest of the team at Darley Anderson, with special thanks to Mary Darby, Kristina Egan, Georgia Fuller, and Rosanna Bellingham, Sheila David and Jade Kavanagh.

My amazing UK editor, Jo Dickinson, and the wonderful team at Hodder, with special thanks to Alice Morley and Stephen Cooper.

My editors overseas, for their continued faith in me.

My family, which became one person larger this year, with the arrival of beautiful Nina.

My friends, both in France and the UK, with a special shout-out to the LF crowd. Thank you for welcoming me into your community.

Readers everywhere, for reading and reviewing, and for their lovely comments, which lift me up and give me the motivation to write another.

My amazing US editor, Catherine Richards, and the wonderful team at St. Martin’s Press, with special thanks to Jen Enderlin, Lisa Senz, Nettie Finn, Marissa Sangiacomo, Brant Janeway, Katie Bassel, Kiffin Steurer, Jeremy Haiting, and Lizz Blaise, also to copy editor NaNá Stoelzle, and to proofreaders/cold readers Steve Hicks, Susan McGrath, Lani Meyer, and Stephanie Umeda.

To technology, in particular Google Earth and Google Maps. In 2020, I planned to go to New Zealand and spend some time in Akaroa, where I wanted to set part of this book. Circumstances meant that I couldn’t, so I had to rely on my ability to map-read correctly. Needless to say, any errors with regard to Akaroa, and to New Zealand in general, are entirely my own.

My brilliant translators, for bringing The Prisoner to life for readers abroad.