Guilt Read online

  GUILT

  Amanda Robson

  Copyright

  Published by Avon an imprint of

  HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street,

  London, SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

  Copyright © Amanda Robson 2018

  Cover photograph © Plain Picture

  Cover photograph © Shutterstock

  Cover design © www.blacksheep-uk.com 2018

  Amanda Robson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008212247

  Ebook Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008212254

  Version: 2018-03-09

  Praise For Amanda Robson

  ‘I absolutely loved it and raced through it. Thrilling, unputdownable, a fabulous rollercoaster of a read – I was obsessed by this book.’

  B.A. Paris, bestselling author of Behind Closed Doors and Bring Me Back

  ‘Obsession is a welcome addition to the domestic noir bookshelf. Robson explores marriage, jealousy and lust with brutal clarity, making for a taut thriller full of page-turning suspense.’

  Emma Flint, author of Little Deaths

  ‘What a page turner! Desperately flawed characters. Bad behaviour. Drugs. Sex. Murder. It’s all in there, on every page, pulling you to the next chapter until you find out where it will all end. I was compelled not only to see what every one of them would do, but also how they would describe their actions – they are brutally honest and stripped bare. This is one highly addictive novel!’

  Wendy Walker, author of All Is Not Forgotten

  ‘A compelling page-turner on the dark underbelly of marriage, friendship & lust. (If you’re considering an affair, you might want a rethink.)’

  Fiona Cummins, author of Rattle

  ‘Very pacy and twisted – a seemingly harmless conversation between husband and wife spins out into a twisted web of lies and deceit with devastating consequences.’

  Colette McBeth, author of The Life I Left Behind

  ‘Amanda Robson has some devastating turns of phrase up her sleeve and she expertly injects menace into the domestic. It was clear from the very first chapter that this was going to be a dark and disturbing journey.’

  Holly Seddon, author of Try Not To Breathe

  ‘A compelling psychosexual thriller, with some very dark undertones. Thoroughly intriguing. Amanda Robson is a new name to look out for in dark and disturbing fiction. High quality domestic noir.’

  Paul Finch, Sunday Times bestselling author of Strangers

  ‘Compelling and thoroughly addictive’

  Katerina Diamond, Sunday Times bestselling author of The Teacher

  ‘A real page-turner – deliciously dark, toxic and compelling’

  Sam Carrington, author of Saving Sophie

  ‘I absolutely tore through Obsession – compulsive reading with characters you will love to hate and an ending that will make your jaw drop.’

  Jenny Blackhurst, bestselling author of Before I Let You In and The Foster Child

  ‘Mind games, madness and nookie in a tale that will give you pause for thought. 4 stars’

  Sunday Sport

  ‘A dark tale of affairs gone wrong’

  The Sun

  ‘One of the sexiest, most compelling debuts I’ve come across this year, it cries out to become a TV drama. But I recommend you read it first.’

  Daily Mail

  Dedication

  To Richard, Peter and Mark.

  Love you all, too much.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise For Amanda Robson

  Dedication

  The Present: Chapter 1

  The Past: Chapter 2. Miranda

  Chapter 3. Sebastian

  Chapter 4. Miranda

  The Present: Chapter 5

  The Past: Chapter 6. Miranda

  Chapter 7. Sebastian

  Chapter 8. Miranda

  Chapter 9. Zara

  Chapter 10. Miranda

  The Present: Chapter 11

  The Past: Chapter 12. Zara

  Chapter 13. Sebastian

  Chapter 14. Miranda

  The Present: Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  The Past: Chapter 17. Zara

  Chapter 18. Sebastian

  Chapter 19. Miranda

  Chapter 20. Zara

  Chapter 21. Miranda

  The Present: Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  The Past: Chapter 24. Zara

  Chapter 25. Miranda

  Chapter 26. Sebastian

  Chapter 27. Miranda

  Chapter 28. Zara

  Chapter 29. Zara

  Chapter 30. Miranda

  Chapter 31. Zara

  Chapter 32. Sebastian

  Chapter 33. Miranda

  The Present: Chapter 34

  The Past: Chapter 35. Sebastian

  The Present: Chapter 36

  The Past: Chapter 37. Zara

  Chapter 38. Miranda

  Chapter 39. Zara

  Chapter 40. Zara

  Chapter 41. Miranda

  Chapter 42. Zara

  Chapter 43. Miranda

  Chapter 44. Zara

  Chapter 45. Miranda

  Chapter 46. Zara

  Chapter 47. Miranda

  Chapter 48. Zara

  Chapter 49. Miranda

  Chapter 50. Zara

  The Present: Chapter 51

  The Past: Chapter 52. Miranda

  Chapter 53. Zara

  Chapter 54. Sebastian

  The Present: Chapter 55

  The Past: Chapter 56. Miranda

  Chapter 57. Zara

  Chapter 58. Miranda

  Chapter 59. Sebastian

  The Present: Chapter 60

  The Past: Chapter 61. Zara

  Chapter 62. Miranda

  Chapter 63. Zara

  Chapter 64. Zara

  The Present: Chapter 65

  The Past: Chapter 66. Zara

  Chapter 67. Miranda

  Chapter 68. Zara

  Chapter 69. Miranda

  Chapter 70. Zara

  Chapter 71. Miranda

  Chapter 72. Zara

  Chapter 73. Miranda

  Chapter 74. Zara

  Chapter 75. Miranda

  Chapter 76. Miranda

  Chapter 77. Sebastian

  Chapter 78. Zara

  Chapter 79. Miranda

  Chapter 80. Zara

  Chapter 81. Miranda

  Chapter 82. Sebastian

  Chapter 83. Zara

  Chapter 84. Sebastian

  Chapter 85. Miranda

  Chapter 86. Sebastian

  Chapter 87. Miranda

  Chapter 88. Zara

  Chapter 89. Miranda

  Chapter 90. Zara

/>   Chapter 91. Sebastian

  Chapter 92. Miranda

  Chapter 93. Zara

  Chapter 94. Miranda

  Chapter 95. Sebastian

  The Present: Chapter 96

  The Past: Chapter 97. Zara

  Chapter 98. Miranda

  Chapter 99. Zara

  Chapter 100. Sebastian

  Chapter 101. Miranda

  Chapter 102. Miranda

  Chapter 103. Zara

  Chapter 104. Sebastian

  Chapter 105. Zara

  Chapter 106. Miranda

  Chapter 107. Miranda

  The Present: Chapter 108

  The Past: Chapter 109. Miranda

  Chapter 110. Miranda

  Chapter 111. Sebastian

  Chapter 112. Zara

  Chapter 113. Miranda

  The Present: Chapter 114

  The Past: Chapter 115. Zara

  Chapter 116. Miranda

  Chapter 117. Zara

  Chapter 118. Sebastian

  Chapter 119. Zara

  Chapter 120. Miranda

  Chapter 121. Zara

  Chapter 122. Miranda

  Chapter 123. Zara

  Chapter 124. Miranda

  Chapter 125. Zara

  Chapter 126. Miranda

  Chapter 127. Zara

  Chapter 128. Miranda

  Chapter 129. Zara

  The Present: Chapter 130

  Chapter 131

  Chapter 132

  Chapter 133

  Chapter 134

  Chapter 135. Sebastian

  Chapter 136

  Chapter 137

  Chapter 138

  Chapter 139

  Chapter 140

  Chapter 141

  Chapter 142

  Chapter 143. Sebastian

  Chapter 144

  Chapter 145. Sebastian

  Chapter 146

  Chapter 147

  Chapter 148

  Chapter 149. Sebastian

  Chapter 150

  Chapter 151

  Chapter 152

  Chapter 153. Sebastian

  Chapter 154

  Chapter 155. Sebastian

  Chapter 156

  Chapter 157

  Chapter 158. Sebastian

  Chapter 159

  Chapter 160. Sebastian

  Chapter 161

  Chapter 162. Sebastian

  Chapter 163. Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Read on for a sample of Amanda’s debut, Obsession.

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  About the Publisher

  THE PRESENT

  1

  She presses a tea towel to her wound to try to stem the blood, but it is gushing, insistent. The harder she presses the more it pushes back. She cannot look at her sister, at her clammy, staring eyes. A siren grinds into her mind. Louder. Louder. Her eyes are transfixed by repetitive flashing lights. The doorbell rings and she feels as if she is moving through mercury as she steps to answer it. To open the door with a trembling hand – a hand that smells like a butcher’s shop. Three police officers stand in front of her: two men, one woman.

  The woman asks her name softly.

  She gives it.

  ‘Can we come in?’ the female officer asks.

  She nods her head.

  Two steps and they are out of the tiny hallway. Two steps and her entourage follow her into the living room of their shiny modern flat: stainless steel and travertine, brown IKEA furniture. Two more steps and three police officers stand looking at her sister’s blood-mangled body. At hair splayed across the white floor. At alabaster stiffness.

  The larger male police officer barks into his phone, demanding backup, forensics, a police photographer. And someone who sounds like a robot talks back to him.

  ‘Backup on the way.’

  The policewoman turns towards her, puts her hand on her arm. She has soft blue eyes that remind her of a carpet of bluebells hovering like mist on the floor of the woods back home in springtime. Woods where they used to play.

  ‘You said on the phone that you’d killed your sister. Is that what happened?’ the policewoman asks.

  ‘I thought she was going to kill me. So I … So I …’

  She cannot continue. She cannot speak. She opens her mouth but no words come out. She hears a howl like a feral animal in the distance, and then as the policewoman puts her arm around her shoulders and guides her towards the sofa, she realises that she is the one making the noise.

  The policewoman sits next to her on the sofa, smelling of the outside world. Of smoggy city air. Soft blue eyes melt towards her.

  ‘What happened?’ the policewoman asks.

  ‘My sister was angry. So angry. I’ve never seen her like that. Never.’

  Her words die in the air, like her sister has died. They just stop breathing, without the blood. She moves towards bluebell eyes. The police officer puts her arm around her and she clings to her, sobbing. The woman strokes her back, whispers in her ear, rocks her back and forth, like a baby.

  She sits for a while. She does not know for how long. Time has abandoned her. Somewhere in the distance of time that she is no longer part of, her neck stops bleeding. Somewhere in the distance of time her flat is invaded. By people in cellophane suits wearing plastic caps and rubber gloves. By a photographer. By an army of dark-suited people with no uniforms.

  Somebody is moving towards her. She cannot see him properly; everything is blurred – nothing in tight focus. He is speaking to her, but she cannot hear him. He looks so concerned, so insistent. Some of his words begin to pierce through the silence that is pushing against her eardrums.

  ‘Arrest. Suspicion of murder. Something which you later rely on in court.’

  And he is pulling her up to standing and cuffing her. The gentle bluebell woman has melted away. As he leads her out of her flat, she cannot bear to turn to say goodbye to her sister. She cannot bear to take a last look.

  Into the custody suite. Plastic bags taped to her hands and feet. When did that happen? In her flat? Before she got into the police car? The custody suite is a state-of-the-art tiled rabbit warren. No windows. No corners. No edges. It doesn’t seem real, just as what has happened doesn’t seem real. Voices don’t speak, they reverberate. It smells of stale air and antiseptic.

  A police officer wearing rubber gloves and carrying a pile of paper bags escorts her to a cell. The cell is so modern it doesn’t even have a traditional lock on the door. Everything is electronic. Space age.

  ‘I’m just going to take a picture of your neck wound,’ the police officer says.

  A small camera appears from her pocket and the officer takes a string of snaps.

  ‘And now I need to remove your clothes and bag them. They will be sent for forensic analysis. Is that OK?’

  The prisoner nods her head. The police officer removes her clothes, so gently. Folds them and puts them in individual paper bags. Gives her a paper jumpsuit and instructs her to put it on.

  ‘Forensics will be here soon to examine your hands.’

  Hours later, hands inspected, plastic bags removed, a silent police officer is escorting her to the interview room in the custody suite. She looks at the wall clock. Eleven p.m. The officer opens the door of the interview room to reveal her family solicitor, Richard Mimms, sitting behind a plastic table, the skin around his overtired eyes pushed together too much, framed by black-rimmed glasses.

  She has only seen him once before, when they went to his office with her mother, many years ago. She thought his eyes were strange then. They’re even stranger now. She sits down next to him on a plastic chair, the grey table in front of them. The officer leaves the room, locking the door behind him.

  ‘Your mother has instructed me to act for you. Is that acceptable?’ Richard Mimms asks.

  The word mother causes nausea to percolate in her stomach. She pictures her being told the news. Home doorbell slicing through canned TV
laughter. Mother putting her teacup down on the coffee table and walking across the sitting room, into the hallway to answer the door, silently begging whoever is disturbing her evening peace to go away.

  But the voice she doesn’t recognise in the hallway isn’t going away. It pushes its way into her quiet evening, tumbling towards her, becoming louder, more insistent. Mother is pale, moving like a wraith. For she has seen the foreboding in the police officer’s face.

  ‘Please sit down, I’ve something to tell you,’ he says.

  ‘Your mother has instructed me to act for you. Is that acceptable?’ Richard Mimms repeats, jolting her back into the room. She looks at him and nods her head.

  ‘Yes. Please.’

  ‘So,’ Richard Mimms continues, ‘we’re allowed a short time on our own together before your interview.’ There is a pause. ‘I want you to say as little as possible about what happened. Too much detail can be twisted against you.’

  ‘How?’ she asks, confused.

  ‘Stick to the basic outline of what happened – don’t tell the police anything personal. Anything they might be able to use against you.’

  She can only just follow what Richard Mimms is saying. Her head aches and she isn’t concentrating properly. All she can see is her sister’s face contorting in her mind, from the face she loved, to the face that moved towards her in the kitchen.

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’ Richard Mimms is asking. ‘Leave the detail to us. Your brief and me. The professionals.’

  Words solidify in her mind.

  ‘My brief? Already?’ she asks.

  ‘I’ve got someone in mind. Very thorough. Never lost a case.’

  She tries to smile and say thank you but her lips don’t seem to move.

  Richard Mimms leans towards her and puts his hand on her arm.

  ‘Keep strong until Monday. I’m sure we’ll sail through this and be granted bail.’

  But his manner seems artificial. Overconfident. She wants him to go away.

  They are interrupted by a senior officer arriving, filling the room with his broad-shouldered presence and understated importance.

  ‘Detective Inspector Irvine,’ he says, shaking her hand. He sits down opposite her. ‘My colleague Sergeant Hawkins will be here soon so that we can start the interview. Can I get you anything: tea, coffee, water, before we start?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  A difficult silence settles between them. He is appraising her with his eyes in a way that is making her feel uncomfortable. She is relieved when the Sergeant arrives. He doesn’t introduce himself. He just sits down next to DI Irvine and nods across at her. She is too traumatised to nod back.