Outside Looking In. Michael Wood

       Chapter Thirty

      

       Chapter Thirty-One

      

       Chapter Thirty-Two

      

       Chapter Thirty-Three

      

       Chapter Thirty-Four

      

       Chapter Thirty-Five

      

       Chapter Thirty-Six

      

       Chapter Thirty-Seven

      

       Chapter Thirty-Eight

      

       Chapter Thirty-Nine

      

       Chapter Forty

      

       Chapter Forty-One

      

       Chapter Forty-Two

      

       Chapter Forty-Three

      

       Chapter Forty-Four

      

       Chapter Forty-Five

      

       Chapter Forty-Six

      

       Chapter Forty-Seven

      

       Chapter Forty-Eight

      

       Chapter Forty-Nine

      

       Chapter Fifty

      

       Chapter Fifty-One

      

       Chapter Fifty-Two

      

       Chapter Fifty-Three

      

       Chapter Fifty-Four

      

       Chapter Fifty-Five

      

       Chapter Fifty-Six

      

       Epilogue

      

       Acknowledgements

       Keep Reading

      

       About the Author

      

       Also by Michael Wood

      

       About the Publisher

       ONE

      George and Mary Rainsford had the same night-time routine for over thirty years. As soon as the music marking the end of the ten o’clock news began it was time to go to bed. Mary would go straight upstairs while George put the kettle on. Waiting for the kettle to boil George would go around the ground floor of the cottage making sure all the windows and doors were locked, the cushions were neat on the sofa, plugs turned off, and say goodnight to his guppies in their tank. He made two cups of tea and headed for the stairs. Tonight, their routine would be shattered beyond repair. Tomorrow, there would be no routine. There would be no half an hour of reading before turning the light out, no goodnight kiss, nothing. Just a void where their previous life was replaced by an empty feeling of fear.

      As George made the tea he listened to the sounds from the outside: a few sheep bleating from a nearby farm, a dog barking, and a car horn beeping. It was comforting; everyday life still going on outside the confines of their small cosy cottage.

      He walked up the stairs carefully, a mug of tea in each hand.

      ‘Can you hear that?’ he asked upon entering the bedroom.

      ‘What?’ Mary was already in bed, a closed Colin Dexter paperback on her lap. She was rubbing cream vigorously into her hands. She took her usual mug from George and cupped her hands around it. ‘Blimey George, you’ve squeezed the bag a bit too hard. I’m not a builder.’

      ‘There’s a car beeping outside.’

      ‘Well, there would be.’

      ‘It’s been going on for a while.’

      ‘Maybe it’s an impatient taxi driver waiting for a fare. You know what they’re like.’

      George placed his mug on his bedside table and went to the window. He parted the thick blackout curtains and poked his head through the gap.

      ‘Can you see anything?’ Mary asked, only half interested.

      ‘No. Those new solar powered lamp-posts are bloody useless aren’t they?’

      ‘Ignore