Yes, she and Maxine shared a secret concerning a boy.
The Boy who lives close to the sea, near Lyme House in Lancashire.
She'd arranged to have lunch with Gavin at a café in the park to discuss The Boy as she'd been curious to see what Gavin would suggest, given his experiences at Lyme House.
But the man with the baseball cap prevented her from getting to Gavin. The Angel of Mercy, as he called himself earlier. He followed her back from the Cybercafé and appeared just as she parked her car outside Maxine’s. And...
Yeah, there was massive trouble nearly two years ago. It involved Lucy and another girl. And me.
The location? Lyme House in Lancashire, a former Prep School for aspiring concert pianists. You know the sort? Mainly rich kids, apart from those who got in on scholarships (such as myself). The media called it The School of Death because it already had a sinister past.
After the investigation, Lucy occasionally emailed me. One evening I replied to a reply…Lucy responded to that and we started to communicate regularly. Every two or...
Lucy needed to get away for a while. Yeah, that must be it. She's obviously stressed and upset, judging from her nightmare in the middle of the night.
I’m tired from the long coach journey yesterday. I watch TV and drift off to sleep in the middle of a film, coming to with a jolt. At first, I can’t work out where I am, or why. You know the groggy feeling? No sense of day or time or location.
The information comes back to me in short bursts: Leeds – took the coach up from London yesterday (to save on costs) – arranged to meet...
Still waiting for Lucy to get back to me. I wonder if she's angry about last night. She said nothing about it when she left for Uni earlier. Just that she wanted my opinion on something. Let's have lunch in the park and I'll tell you about it, she called on her way down to the car. Then she drove away.
The situation's complicated. You see, the flat doesn't belong to Lucy but to a friend of hers, Maxine, who's away for a month. Lucy's flat sitting for Maxine.
2.15 pm. I phone Lucy again, but I don't leave a message this time. ...
A gentle touch on my left arm. 'Are you all right?' I heard her saying.
'I'm fine, thanks.'
The inside of the theatre was like the Big Screen at the cinema: really steep, as in no good for anyone suffering from vertigo. I nearly missed a step. Everything slowed down, and I saw myself tripping, plummeting down to the bottom, head crashing against the steps: bang, bang, bang. Then the déjà vu again.
'You must be exhausted,' the girl said. 'I'll get you a cup of coffee before we go.'
A grand piano stood in the centre of a flat stage, several...
Talk about internet trolls. Today is the fifth anniversary of the fire and I get this totally sick email.
Thinking Of You, the subject reads.
A bit odd, but I open the email anyway, despite not recognising the name of the Sender. I gape. Is this someone's idea of a joke? Or am I dreaming? No way would a normal person write a message like this:
I passed you on the street the other day but you didn't recognise me. Your name is Gavin Montgomery and you're twenty-three-old. Your parents live in Doncaster and they have one other son who's a couple of years...
I slip away, into fog and greyness, into a sphere of nothingness where there is neither time nor sensation. Next thing, I'm sitting on a damp basement floor with a glowing torchlight close by, feeling sick from all the booze, and everything's spinning round and round.
It's night time, and I'm shivering and I have no idea of where I am or how I got here. The men have all crashed out. I don't remember leaving the promenade with Angus, Bill and Terence, or anything about the walk to this damp basement room. I don't know what the hell's going on, and that's scary. I don't even know...