No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year. Tracy Buchanan

even funding her journalism course. There had been no turning back after that. Anna blossomed from an introverted quiet girl into a talented student with an army of local friends she still met with almost every week.

      And it had all started in this house. Anna ought to feel a sense of comfort there now, especially as she searched for cockles, something that usually brought her a measure of calm. But as she dragged her rake back and forth through the sand, she felt anything but comforted.

      Joni let out a cry. Anna looked up, heart pounding. But she was fine, Florence was lifting her from her blanket, rocking her. Anna picked the bucket up and put the rake over her shoulder, carrying her findings towards her gran.

      ‘I think she’s getting too hot,’ Florence said when Anna got to them. ‘Not known morning heat like this for a long time. Good haul?’ she asked Anna, looking at the bucket.

      ‘Not bad,’ Anna said as Florence took her rake from her. ‘Enough to go with the sole you got. I’ll put some aside for Mum too. I’ll prepare them while Joni naps.’

      ‘Lovely. I’ll just finish here then come help you,’ she said, gesturing to the garden. ‘Got to get my daily exercise.’

      Anna picked Joni up and walked into the house, the sound of the waves disappearing as she closed the door. She placed Joni on Florence’s comfy blue sofa, bunched up by several colourful scatter cushions so she didn’t fall off, her blue teddy clutched close to her. The sun peeked through the vast windows making light bounce off her gran’s TV screen. Anna had purposely avoided the News. She knew her name hadn’t got out yet, otherwise she’d be getting calls. It would happen eventually though, she ought to ready herself. That’s what Florence had told her over breakfast that morning.

      ‘Game face,’ she’d said. ‘Better get it ready.’

      What would the headlines be when her name was leaked?

       Radio presenter kills schoolboy

       Schoolboy tries to murder radio presenter’s baby daughter

      Before she knew what she was doing, she was reaching for the remote controls and switching on the TV. She’d usually go for the radio first, but she needed to see the boy again. She switched the channel from CBeebies, which Joni had been watching that morning, to BBC News 24, and there the boy was right away, eyes staring out at Anna from the screen.

      Her legs seemed to crumble beneath her and she sank onto the sofa.

      He looked so young. That neat dark hair of his, rosy cheeks, distinctive blue eyes. And in his school uniform too.

      She caught sight of the words racing along the bottom of the screen.

      ‘…notorious family.’

      ‘…deprived docklands area…’

      ‘…known to police…’

      ‘…mother released with no charge…’

      So it was ‘Schoolboy tries to murder mother and baby’. Not just schoolboy but poor schoolboy, criminal schoolboy, schoolboy from troubled family.

      And then there, his name: Elliot Nunn.

      Elliot. A child’s name. An innocent name.

      The screen cut to a live feed, a young male reporter standing in front of a line of tired-looking flowers. Anna turned the sound up.

      ‘…from the estate reserved for dock workers at the once-famous Ridgmont HM Dockyards. Here we are before the building Elliot Nunn lived in with his mother, father and two of his sisters. Mourners have been leaving flowers outside all day.’ The camera zoomed out to reveal a graffitied brick wall lined with flowers and teddies, and beyond, an untidy garden littered by rubbish. The faded flowery curtains of the family’s flat were closed, a small child’s bike discarded at the doorstep. Behind it all was the debilitated dockyard, hints of the skeletal remains of ships long abandoned since The Docks closed in the eighties. It had swallowed up a huge 300-acre site in its heyday, churning out hundreds of navy ships and employing thousands of people. When it closed, most of it was taken over by private investors and eventually turned into a smart new estate where Anna was now living. But the former housing put aside for dock workers remained – now known as The Docks – two rusting cranes and the huge tower block Elliot Nunn had lived in standing garish and tall over them. Either side of them were crumbling brick buildings, graffitied and vandalised. There had been promises to demolish the site, but that would cost money, money the local council would rather plough into the new builds dotting up around the area.

      In the middle of it was a school, an ugly sixties building with a faded brick exterior. Elliot must have been a pupil there. Had he walked straight from school to the beachfront where Anna was walking with Joni, one goal in mind: to kill someone?

       I won’t let you hurt me.

      Why had he said that?

      ‘I’m joined by Dawn Williams,’ the reporter said now, interrupting Anna’s thoughts. ‘Dawn, you’re Elliot Nunn’s aunt.’

      Anna felt her heart gallop and she moved closer to the TV. She ought to turn it off, but she just couldn’t. The camera focused on a large woman with frizzy red hair to her shoulders, the same woman who’d been outside the police station smoking.

      The woman’s blue eyes looked like steel but her bottom lip quivered slightly, her smudged eyeliner hinting at a sleepless night and many tears.

      Anna put her hand to her mouth.

      ‘Thank you for joining us,’ the news reporter said softly. ‘We understand what a difficult time this must be for you and your family.’

      The woman nodded, jaw clenching. ‘They asked me to represent.’

      ‘Of course. How are Elliot’s parents coping?’

      ‘Gutted. Absolutely gutted. He was a gorgeous boy, so kind and gentle, wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ She wiped her nose and looked into the distance.

      Kind and gentle? Anna saw Elliot’s hand raising, the glint of silver. She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. How could a kind and gentle boy do such a thing?

      ‘It must be a comfort to see so many well-wishers?’ the reporter asked, gesturing towards the flowers.

      ‘Yeah, my brother and sister-in-law want to say thanks.’ Two young boys pedalled past on their bikes, waving at the camera. In the distance, a seagull landed on a bin overspilling with rubbish, making it shudder.

      Anna looked at the floral tributes. It was as though a child had been killed by a heartless killer.

      Maybe Anna was a heartless killer. She’d raised the comb in the air. What had she been planning to do before he fell against it? Would she have jutted it into his skin anyway to protect Joni?

      Anna wrapped her arms around her belly, feeling like she might get sick again. She looked at Joni. She was alive. Safe. Wasn’t that all that mattered?

      The reporter tilted his head. ‘You say your nephew wouldn’t hurt a fly but he did hurt a mother, attempt to harm her child too. What were your—’

      ‘Piss off!’ a man’s voice shouted off camera. The camera wobbled as a hand covered it. There was the sound of a scuffle then the hand was removed and the reporter appeared on camera again, rearranging his tie, a look of panic in his eyes. Behind him, the aunt was being marched away by a man with short fair hair, muscular arms.

      The reporter seemed to compose himself and followed them down the drive, shiny grey trousers catching in the light. ‘Jamie? Are you Jamie Nunn?’ The reporter looked over his shoulder at the camera, eyes sparking with excitement. ‘Elliot Nunn’s older brother,’ he explained to viewers.

      Anna thought of what Detective Morgan had said about Elliot’s brother.

      ‘Leave us alone,’ Elliot’s brother hissed without turning.