Sleepwalkers (39 page)

The small smile faded and was replaced by a sadder look.

‘There was this boy,’ Anna said. ‘He was so full of life, one of those funny kids who everyone laughs at but sort of loves as well, always grinning, always the fool. You know?’

Carrie nodded, not sure where this was going.

‘You get so caught up in your work sometimes, you’re always chasing the future. You get so excited by what you could do. Everyone’s reaching for the sky, trying to outdo each other, to be the best, so you don’t notice … the cost … sometimes. Good intentions, the road to hell, you know.’

She picked up her mug then put it back down, realising it was empty. She seemed very different now, Carrie thought. But then Anna straightened and the softness fell off her.

‘It’s strange work we do. Sometimes you feel like you’re a
pioneer. Other times, it feels harder to justify. I get the feeling you’ve had enough.’

‘You too,’ said Carrie.

‘I’ve made my bed,’ was all Anna said. She pulled at the sleeve of her top, pensive for only a moment. ‘But you should move on. Maybe enjoy some travel.’

Carrie pulled a face. Travel?

‘Go back to the places you used to visit, maybe. Take the kids.’ Her eyes bored into Carrie’s. ‘It would be a lot less messy if they stayed with you. The Company would be very grateful.’

Run.

‘I can finesse the other bits. Privilege of my position.’

Keep the kids.

‘I’ll give you a couple of days. Then the house will go on the market. You don’t need to contact me with your decision.’

She stood, put on her coat and strode to the front door. Carrie followed her and suddenly they were very close together as she put her hand on the latch.

‘Carrie,’ she said, her voice low, ‘he might not remember you. He’s probably behaving exactly as we predict. We don’t get much wrong.’

She took a breath to continue, but then said nothing. Outside a car was waiting for her, the driver standing by the door with his hands behind his back. Anna’s mobile phone started to ring. She looked at the screen, then at Carrie. Before she answered it, she leaned in a little closer and her whisper was almost drowned out by the ringtone.

‘Good luck.’

Then she turned, talking fast into the phone, barely acknowledging
the driver as she slid into the back of the car and continued her conversation.

A few moments later, she was gone. Carrie turned back inside. It was then that she noticed the envelope on the table. A thick, A4 envelope, bursting with papers. At first she thought that Anna had forgotten the forms, but then she realised that this was a different envelope altogether. She tipped it upside down so the papers fell out onto the table.

Out they spilled. Hundreds of pages. Thousands of stories. Carefully recorded memories.

Memories from all walks of life.

Collected, refined and injected into one man’s mind.

‘It’s too hot, I’m dying!’ Joe cried as they scrambled up the rocky slope. Carrie, a few yards ahead, stopped and turned. Her son was glaring at her, arms folded, while Emma had sat down on the ground, on strike.

‘I’m thirsty!’ she mewled. Carrie made her way back to them and crouched next to her daughter. The sun beat down on them and she adjusted Emma’s sun hat to protect her, then handed her the bottle of water. It was already half-empty and Emma guzzled greedily.

‘It’s just over the hill,’ she said. ‘Come on, guys, we’ll hold hands, go up together.’

They were in Greece and had been for three days now. Before that they’d travelled to France and to Spain. They’d trawled beaches in Cornwall and seaside towns, trooped around cities and hung around tourist traps. They followed the clues that Anna had left behind on the kitchen table, checking off each memory, one by one. At first the kids had been excited about their adventures. But now, not knowing why they were away from home for so long, they just wanted food they recognised,
television in English and their own beds. But Carrie was undeterred. She grabbed their hands, cajoling them on. Her weary children got back to their feet and staggered up the uneven road. There were olive groves on either side; ancient trees with bent trunks. Somewhere nearby Carrie could hear the tinkle of goats’ bells.

‘It’s just at the top, I promise,’ she said. In truth she wasn’t sure. The file had described a holiday on a Greek island. A tiny villa with views onto a harbour. Sunburn and sex. She was on the right island, but there were so many villas.

Working her way through the file had been like reading a secret diary. She knew many of the details already – the Company had needed her to understand him as completely as possible. But still, she felt a strange longing as she worked her way through them, finding herself in events she didn’t know about, chasing after Ben. It felt intimate and voyeuristic. And it made her miss him even more.

They’d left the car half a mile down the track after the bumpy road had become impassable for vehicles. On the other side of the hill should be the small, white-walled villa and the view of the sea. She should be excited, but after all the disappointments she was more wary this time. No, not wary – she was dreading it. Dreading reaching the top and finding no one there again. They were running out of dreams to chase.

The sky was perfectly blue and the sun glared down. The back of her T-shirt was caked in sweat. The breeze had disappeared and the slope seemed impossibly steep, but somehow they clambered their way to the top, and there was the villa. Behind it the land dropped sharply away and the sea shimmered
in the harbour below. You could see a collection of small white fishing boats. She smiled at how beautiful it was.

‘Mum! Emma’s finished all the water!’ Joe grumbled.

‘We’ll get some in there,’ she said, pointing to the villa.

‘But that’s someone’s house.’

‘Yes, but it’s a holiday home. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

‘What? We’ve got to beg for water from strangers? That’s embarrassing!’

‘Oh shush and come on.’

All the shutters were closed, but that didn’t mean that no one was inside. He could still be there, she thought, and now her heart was racing. There should be a patio around the other side where she was meant to have sat wrapped in his arms, staring out at the wonderful view. She walked slightly ahead, her nerves jangling.

‘There’s no one there,’ whined Emma.

She turned the corner and saw the stone patio. Empty.

‘I’m so going to die and it’s all your fault!’

Then suddenly there he was, walking out from the villa, gazing out at the sea, oblivious to her and the kids. He’d shaved his head and lost weight. In his hand was a bottle of beer. He clutched it tight, then drank it all in one heavy glug. His eyes were narrow, his mouth twisted slightly, as though about to shout something. He looked rougher, harder. A dangerous stranger. His bare feet shuffled against the stone floor and he sniffed nervously.

He looked so different that Carrie stopped dead in her tracks. She tried to remember how he used to be, the way he’d laugh and let his head fall back. Kinder, softer gestures. The man on
the patio muttered something under his breath and stalked back into the villa.

Carrie didn’t move. Her children caught up with her and stopped.

‘Oh, that’s great, that is,’ Joe griped. ‘I knew there’d be no one here.’

Carrie reached out, wanting to take Joe’s hand, but then the man came back outside, disturbed by their appearance. His head snapped around to face them. His movements were sharp, driven by fear. He put a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun.

Joe saw him. His mouth fell open and then he charged away from her. She heard him scream ‘DADDY!’ with such excitement that she could hardly bear to look.

Joe ran at the man. He charged onto the patio, about to hurl himself into his arms.

She closed her eyes and waited for the scream.

‘Mum! Mummy!’ Joe shrieked.

Still, she didn’t dare look.

‘Carrie!’

Her name. His voice.

Open your eyes, she thought. Blink away the tears. Open your eyes, and run to him.

Carrie looked up. Ben stared back at her.

And they ran.

Thank you to George Faber and Charlie Pattinson at Company Pictures for getting this started and to Patrick Spence for his help in its previous incarnation. Thanks to Anna Wilson for being its first reader and encouraging me to take it ‘out there’. Thank you to David Nicholls for opening the door and to Jonny Geller and all at Curtis Brown who were there to greet me on the other side. Thanks to Jane Wood and all at Quercus for making it real. And a lot better. And lastly, thank you to my parents for pushing that first pencil into my grubby hands.

When night falls, fear spreads…

The Lake District: a wild landscape, rife with stories. Detectives Zoe Barnes and Sam Taylor are called to investigate the disappearance of two children.

But they quickly realise they have been drawn into a complex and unnerving case that hides a much darker intent: as they dig deeper, whispers grow of a community hiding a deadly secret – and talk of witches, the like of which hasn’t been heard since the seventeenth century, is spreading.

Zoe and Sam will have to work fast to save lives; but in this atmosphere of fear and mistrust, can they even rely on each other?

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