Chapter One
Joanna
Iclose my eyes and glide through the water. Swimming is my refuge, my release from the relentless pull of gravity, a place where life’s responsibilities dissolve. Usually, it soothes me. But not today.
Some days, an overwhelming dread consumes me, like a python tightening its coils around my chest, squeezing every breath from my lungs.
I tell myself it’s irrational, that there’s nothing to fear, that I deserve happiness, but the voice of doom persists.
It whispers insidiously that everything is too perfect, that fate is lying in wait, ready to strike. Today is one of those days.
But is my life truly perfect? Or am I blind to the flaws hiding in plain sight?
No one’s life is charmed, not when you look beneath the surface.
Perhaps I’m afraid to look, or worse, terrified to find that maybe I do have a charmed life.
Why would I deserve that? My stomach churns, and I inhale deeply, mimicking the advice I give Joel when his nighttime fears close in.
But Joel is only two, and blissfully unaware of the real monsters lurking in the shadows.
‘That’s me done,’ I say, as I backstroke toward the pool's edge.
‘Yeah, me too,’ Gil replies.
We climb out, grab our towels, and head for the showers.
‘I need to gain some weight,’ I murmur, catching my reflection in the full-length mirror.
My small, pointed breasts and flat stomach stare back at me.
I loved being pregnant with Joel. It was the one time I had decent-sized breasts.
Danny loved them, too. I smile at the memory of him burying his head between them and the scent of his hair gel intoxicating me.
My face is flushed from the swim, and I like what I see: high cheekbones, wide blue eyes, and what Danny calls my ‘cute smile.’
‘You skip lunch too often,’ Gil says, pulling me from my reverie.
‘What?’
‘That’s why you’re so slim.’
Is that envy in her voice? Although I’m not sure why it should be.
Gil is attractive; I’ve always envied her thick, glossy hair.
She’s right, though. In our line of work, surgeries stretch for hours and lunch becomes an afterthought.
By four, I am usually munching on a packet of crisps just to get through to dinner.
‘When’s the big move happening?’ she asks.
That familiar pang of anxiety returns. ‘Next week, hopefully. They sent the wrong-sized pool cover, and I won’t let Joel near the garden until that’s sorted.’
‘I’m so bloody envious, you know.’
I bite my lip.
‘Do you ever feel like life’s too perfect?’ I ask as we towel off.
Gil laughs, spraying mousse onto her golden hair. ‘What are you talking about?’
She’s pragmatic to a fault. Gil doesn’t believe in fate, luck, or magic. Gil always has a backup plan.
‘I don’t know… Sometimes I feel like something awful is bound to happen.’
She looks at me, wide-eyed. ‘Crikey, where did that come from? You and Danny have worked hard for everything you have. It wasn’t handed to you on a plate.
You’re a brilliant paediatric surgeon with a sterling reputation, and Danny’s…
well, a bloody financial wizard. You’ve got a beautiful son and a stunning house that you’ve renovated. Don’t feel guilty for being happy.’
‘Exactly,’ I interrupt. ‘It’s too perfect, and I sense that Danny is overdoing it. You know how he always wants to impress my dad. He doesn’t seem himself at the moment. Maybe buying the house was too much.’
I know I must sound neurotic. I pull my dress over my head, wishing the churning in my stomach would stop.
‘There’s no law against being happy,’ Gil insists. ‘Besides,’ she adds, ‘it’s a pretty responsible position he has. You know the toll that takes.’
She’s right. I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
I am lucky, but that’s what frightens me.
I have a handsome husband who turns heads wherever he goes, a beautiful son, a lovely apartment in Oxford, and soon, we’ll have our dream house in the Cotswolds, too.
We have no financial worries. I should be relaxed and happy, so why am I not?
Why is something niggling at me? What is it that I’m sensing, but can’t put my finger on?
‘So, what are you doing with your evening off, aside from worrying about how lucky you are? Stop being superstitious and just enjoy it all.’
I hug her. ‘Thanks, Gil.’
We work well together. She’s a great associate specialist surgeon. She’s the only person other than Danny I allow to call me ‘Jo’. I insist that everyone else calls me ‘Joanna’ or ‘Doctor Neal’. ‘Jo’ is for the special people in my life.
‘Danny is finishing early, and we’re going to Mason’s. It’s our ten-year anniversary. Danny thought we should celebrate.’
She whistles. ‘Wow, celebrating in style! Congrats.’
I glance at my phone. ‘I should head off.’ I slip on my soft cashmere cardigan, a post-baby gift from Danny.
‘Need a lift? It’s freezing out there.’
I hesitate. A lift would get me home faster, but the crisp air might clear my head. After all, I missed my morning run today due to a work Zoom meeting .
‘I’ll walk, thanks. I promised Joel I’d grab him a comic on the way home.’
‘Have a fab time,’ she says brightly. ‘I’ve got a Tinder date. He looks pretty fit, but will probably turn out to be a psycho.’
‘Be careful,’ I say, unable to keep the anxiety from creeping into my voice. I worry about Gil and her Tinder dates. You hear too often about women being attacked or ending up with some controlling creep.
‘Don’t worry. We’re meeting in a public place and all that,’ she reassures me, grabbing her bag. ‘See you in the morning.’
We part at the gym entrance. The cold hits me like a slap, and slices through my coat.
I shove my hands deep into my pockets, shoulders hunched, trying to keep the chill at bay.
I stop at the corner shop and pick up a chocolate bar and Joel’s comic, exchanging a few friendly words with the shopkeeper before heading past the dimly lit industrial estate.
As I walk, my mind flits to what I’ll wear for dinner. Mason’s has a strict dress code. After much deliberation, I settle on the blue dress and chiffon scarf I wore to a friend’s wedding last week.
The road ahead, stretching past the industrial estate, is poorly lit and almost deserted, and then I see it: a white van, idling at the side of the road. For a second, my pace falters. There’s something wrong. Something off. A flicker of instinct flares in my gut.
As I pass, I glance toward the driver’s window and freeze.
A man stares back at me. He’s wearing a balaclava.
My breath catches in my throat. My heart slams into my ribs. Then, the van door flies open.
Panic detonates inside me. He’s coming for me. There’s no mistaking it. I spin and run, my feet pounding the pavement, my lungs burning. I’m a runner. I should be faster. I need to be faster.
But he’s gaining on me. He’s too fast. A second later, he’s on me.
His arms lock around my body like a vice. I scream – a sharp, desperate wail – but his gloved hand crushes my mouth, silencing me. I stomp on his foot, a futile act of defiance. He drags me towards the van.
‘No, please… don’t hurt me,’ I gasp, my voice muffled against his hand.
‘Shut up, or I’ll kill you,’ he hisses into my ear. His voice is deep.
I try to thrash and fight, but to no effect. Something rough is thrown over my head, plunging me into suffocating darkness. My heart pounds, sounding a frantic drumbeat in my ears. He wrenches my arms behind my back, and binds them with something harsh and unyielding.
My skin burns beneath the restraints as terror sears through me. The world narrows to the sound of my ragged breathing and his cold, brutal grip.
When he says he will kill me, I believe him.