Her Last Breath: The new gripping summer page-turner from the No 1 bestseller. Tracy Buchanan

the Garlands’ house now, the first of the houses, heart thumping. Its pale lilac walls felt so familiar to her, the pebble-lined lane that ran up to the glass front door like a walkway through her memories. She remembered how it had felt to look at the house all those years before. She’d been used to the houses she was carted off to getting progressively worse (cause enough problems with foster carers and word gets out). But this house had blown her mind.

      Autumn was the first one to come to the door when Estelle arrived there as a girl. Estelle had been as awestruck at her as she had been the house. Autumn was so glamorous, with blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders, wearing a long-sleeved blue dress, neckline plunging. She’d met Estelle’s eyes, compassion in her own green ones, as Estelle had trudged up to the door.

      ‘Come here, darling,’ Autumn had said, opening her arms to her.

      Estelle had recoiled.

      ‘Come on,’ Autumn had coaxed.

      The social worker had shoved Estelle towards Autumn and Estelle had taken a reluctant step, peering suspiciously at a man who’d appeared in the hallway behind the woman. He was tall with short spiky white hair and sparkling blue eyes.

      ‘It’s only a hug,’ Autumn had said. ‘It won’t kill you.’

      So she’d stepped into Autumn’s arms, flinching, and Autumn had held her close.

      ‘You’re home,’ she’d whispered into Estelle’s ear. ‘You don’t ever have to be scared or alone or hungry again.’

      Estelle had seriously thought about bolting then. But she knew if she did, that would be it, her social worker had told her that. No more chances. She’d be thrown into the melting pot, a lost cause. A small part of her feared that. So she’d let Autumn hug her despite hating every minute.

      That was the thing back then, she was so unused to affection. Her father had come from a family who’d rather die than show anyone anything close to warmth. Estelle still remembered the occasional visits to her grandparents’ house in those very early days before they passed away when she was six: her parents showering and pulling on their best clothes (the ill-fitting navy suit her father always wore to court; a tight black dress and ugly red jacket for her mother). They’d put bows in Estelle’s curly brown hair, force her into a pretty but oversized dress and shoes so tight they made her cry. She’d grizzle throughout the entire thing and it would make her parents argue, make her grandparents tut and roll their eyes. ‘Can’t control her,’ they’d mutter under their breaths. ‘Look at her filthy face.’ No love, no hugs. Nothing.

      It seemed to pass down to Estelle’s birth parents. Instead, hands reaching out for her would often scare her, signalling a telling off, a gripped wrist, slapped cheeks. Looking back now, Estelle could see why her parents were the way they were. Her mother’s parents were alcoholics, neglectful and violent. Estelle’s father’s parents were lacking in a different way. On the surface, they seemed like upstanding members of the community. But beneath it all, they were harsh with their son, judgmental and critical. It made Estelle’s father so angry at the world, always trying to prove himself. He liked to tell her and anyone else who’d listen he’d have been a famous football player if it weren’t for a knee injury he’d sustained as a teenager (caused by a fight with another kid – the same fight that had got him slung behind bars for eighteen months, Estelle eventually found out). ‘We could be living in a mansion right now, Estelle. A proper mansion with a butler and everything.’ To give him his due, Estelle had once found a grotty much-used article of him holding up a medal for being ‘player of the match’, black hair sweaty, brown eyes sparkling. She remembered staring at that athletic fourteen-year-old, trying to find the skinny, angry, spotty father she knew.

      When she’d first walked into the Garlands’ house, she’d remembered her father’s boasts. Now, this is a mansion, she’d thought to herself.

      Estelle peered up at the house now, battling a riot of emotions as she smoothed her white cotton dress down, tucking her sweeping fringe across her tanned forehead.

      Then the front door suddenly opened – Autumn appearing there as she had all those years before. She was wearing a long white dress and gold sandals, her lips painted red, her eyeliner a bird’s wing above each green eye. Autumn’s hair was a little shorter, but she looked the same as she had fifteen years before, bar the odd wrinkle or two.

      Autumn shielded her eyes from the morning sun with her hands as she looked at Estelle. Then her eyes widened. ‘Stel?’ she called out.

      ‘Yes, sorry,’ Estelle said, walking up the path, memories chasing her with every step: Alice and her skipping down this path, arms interlinked. Aiden and Estelle whispering their goodbyes in the darkness, lips briefly touching before sneaking back into the house. ‘I should have called. It was quite impulsive.’

      ‘No, no, not at all, you’re always welcome!’ That was the way it was with the Garlands; their door was always open to the people they cared about. But it had been fifteen years. Autumn grabbed Estelle into a hug anyway, as if those fifteen years hadn’t passed, her musky perfume overwhelming Estelle with memories. Estelle peered over her shoulder towards the house, looking in at its beautifully wallpapered cream walls. Autumn had it redecorated every couple of years by her interior designer friend Becca so it always looked clean and fresh. Estelle remembered feeling filthy in the house’s presence the first time she arrived; her dark hair a tangle down her back, her tartan trousers grubby and her black jumper too tight.

      Now she felt clean by comparison, so clean she could almost smell the scorching bleach come off her.

      Autumn pulled back, looking into Estelle’s eyes. ‘I just had a feeling when you called me yesterday, we’d see you before too long. Please, come in,’ Autumn said, beckoning her inside.

      Estelle paused a moment before stepping over the threshold. The house seemed to reach out to her, pulling her towards it, and she felt a heady mixture of an intense need to get in there and a roaring desire to run away.

      ‘Max!’ Autumn shouted, her voice echoing around the large hallway and giving Estelle no choice but to step in as she gently led her inside.

      Max appeared at the top of the stairs, looking the same too with his short white hair and sharp blue eyes.

      ‘Look who’s come for a visit,’ Autumn said.

      Max peered closer at Estelle then shook his head in disbelief. ‘Is it really you, Stel?’ he asked, laughing his charming laugh. The sound of it took her right back in time. It was overwhelming. How had they barely aged? ‘Autumn’s been dreaming about this for years,’ he said, jogging down the luxuriously carpeted stairs. ‘You never call, you never visit,’ he joked, reaching out to Estelle. She walked towards him, letting him envelope her in his arms.

      ‘I’m sorry I left it so long,’ Estelle said, eventually extracting herself from his grip. ‘Life caught up with me.’

      ‘Stop with the apologies,’ Autumn said, stroking Estelle’s short hair. ‘You’re here now and that’s what counts. Look how different your hair is!’

      ‘It suits you,’ Max said. ‘Must’ve been a long journey. You’re in London now, right?’

      Estelle nodded, taking in the vast hallway with dark wooden floors and walls adorned with various family photos – including one of Estelle, face calm as she looked out to sea, her long dark hair in a ponytail. Estelle looked at that girl, tried to find herself in her face. But all she could see was Poppy.

      She’d looked just like Poppy. How could she not have seen that before? But then she didn’t have many photos from her childhood like other kids did; she’d left it all behind.

      ‘Look at this place,’ Estelle said, dragging her eyes away from the picture and feeling like that awe-filled teenager all over again. ‘It looks just as amazing as it did the first time I was here.’

      ‘Bet it’s bringing back some memories,’ Max said, his arm back around her shoulder.

      Estelle