Don’t Turn Around: A heart-stopping gripping domestic suspense. Amanda Brooke

what she says next because I’m already on the move, heading for a set of steps hidden behind The Club House. Not stopping when I reach the bottom, I race out of Liverpool One towards Lord Street. There aren’t as many shoppers milling around as I’d like so I rush into a shop. It’s an opticians and as soon as I step through the door, I’m accosted by an assistant. I’m out of breath and I can’t talk. I feel like an idiot. I am an idiot.

       9

      Ruth

      The book I’d planned to spend a lazy Sunday devouring lies abandoned on the cushion next to me, while my open laptop is balanced on the arm of the sofa. My hands hover over the keyboard as I dare myself to watch the video recordings of Meg I’ve so far avoided; those last months and years of her life when I was too busy talking at her to listen.

      The clips I have indulged in over the last week – the footage of holidays in Cornwall; the birthdays with clowns that enthralled Meg and terrified Jen; the snatched moments of Sean playing pranks on his sister – they tell me nothing I don’t already know. Meg had a happy and contented childhood. There were the expected mood swings during her early teenage years but nothing remarkable. I have to search beyond the summer she passed her GCSEs to discover more about the troubled young woman Meg would become.

      I scan the thumbnails of the videos Geoff has catalogued in chronological order but I’m scared of what I might find and my courage fails. Distracted by the bottle of wine chilling in the fridge, I get up to pour a glass. I glance at the clock. Geoff will be out for another hour at least and preparations for dinner can wait. Something quick and light will do. I’ve lost my appetite and Geoff will have eaten at the golf club. He’s with our Whitespace clients, sweetening them up in case the meeting with the city planners tomorrow doesn’t go our way. It’ll be a disaster if planning approval is turned down. I’d like to say I care, but I don’t.

      There was a time when I took pride in every tender we won and every building we created or restored, but all I see lately are bricks and mortar. I hope this bad humour I’ve fallen into is a passing phase because the helpline is the only thing I care about these days and, even there, I can feel my strength waning. The call I took from Gemma on Friday evening has affected me more than I would like.

      ‘I’ve seen him, Ruth,’ Gemma had confided in me. ‘He’s lost so much weight.’

      It had taken all my self-control to keep the disappointment out of my voice when I replied, ‘What did he say to you?’

      ‘That he loves me and he’d die without me.’

      ‘Wasn’t that part of the problem? I remember you saying you found all the attention smothering.’

      ‘I haven’t got back with him,’ Gemma said. ‘Mum would have a fit if I did. It was bad enough when she found out I’d met up with him again.’

      ‘She might not say the right things, but if she’s anything like me, it’s only because she’ll be desperately worried.’

      Gemma snorted. ‘Believe me, she’s nothing like you. Mum does all of the talking and none of the listening. She’s got her own life to lead now, and she’d probably be better off without me holding her back.’

      ‘I’m sure that isn’t true,’ I said, my voice breaking as I catch a glimpse of myself through my daughter’s eyes.

      Like Gemma’s mum, all I’d wanted to do was protect my daughter, but as I return to the sofa, I know the video evidence contained on my laptop will confirm how utterly I failed her. By the time I’d realised what kind of a person Lewis was, Meg was on the wrong side of the drawbridge I was attempting to pull up.

      I’m no more equipped to save Gemma, and my growing concern for her welfare has become entangled with memories of my daughter. They both vie for my attention as I set down my glass of wine on the floor and pick up my mobile. As I wait for one of our longest serving volunteers to answer my call, I pull my laptop closer.

      ‘Hi, Ruth. What’s up?’

      ‘Hi, Janet, I’m not disturbing you, am I?’ I ask as I stare at the computer screen, the cursor hovering over a tiny image of Meg sitting alone at a table with anniversary balloons floating in the background. Her head is bent and she’s sulking.

      ‘No, it’s fine,’ Janet says.

      I move the cursor away from the thumbnail. I don’t want to be reminded of the Band-Aid Meg slapped over my marriage when I can feel the edges peeling away. The next clip is entitled, ‘An Alternative Nativity Play’, but I skip this one too. I’m not looking for a performance. I want to see the real Meg.

      ‘I won’t keep you long,’ I promise as I move on to a recording labelled ‘Christmas Morning’. ‘I had a message from Alison earlier. She’s come down with a virus and can’t make her Monday shift. I offered to do it, but right now I don’t feel up to it either.’

      ‘Are you sick too?’ Janet asks, concern in her voice.

      ‘No, it’s not that,’ I reply. ‘It’s just that after my shift on Friday, I don’t think I could face another one so soon.’

      There’s a hiss as Janet exhales. ‘Are those nuisance calls bothering you?’

      ‘They are annoying, but no. If there’s anything worrying me, it’s Gemma. You know how Ryan’s been priming her for weeks, causing friction between her and her mum. He’s going to keep going till he gets her back and …’

      My voice trails off as I tap the mousepad and the Christmas video begins to play. I feel a familiar sense of yearning at the sight of my daughter’s face in spite of her sour features. She’s kneeling in front of a tree bedecked with baubles and twinkling lights, opening presents on what would be her second to last Christmas.

      ‘Ruth?’

      As I stare at the flickering screen, I pray that Gemma’s mum will realise the danger her daughter is in before it’s too late. I don’t want her missing the signs that I ignored. The sound is off on the video, but there’s nothing to hear anyway. My daughter had been withdrawing into herself at that point and I watch her open her presents without looking up or saying a word. Meg couldn’t speak up because I was usually too busy talking over her. Fear that I’ll do the same with Gemma rattles my next words.

      ‘If Gemma does call tomorrow, I’m not sure I’m the best person to speak to her,’ I continue. ‘Is there any chance you could cover Alison’s shift?’

      ‘Of course, I will,’ Janet says gently. ‘She’s got to you, hasn’t she?’

      I could lie but if I’m going to talk to anyone, it might as well be one of our own helpline volunteers. ‘It does feel a little too close to home. Ryan has had a difficult life and Gemma sees herself as his saviour, not his victim. If she phones up and says she’s seeing him again, I have this horrible feeling my patience will snap. I won’t be any good to her.’

      ‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ Janet tells me, before her training kicks in and she responds like a true helpliner. ‘It’s only natural for you to feel the way you do – even I can see the similarities with what you went through with Meg. There’s no reason for you to put yourself in the firing line if you don’t have to, and you don’t have to.’

      ‘Thanks, Janet.’

      ‘We’re a team, Ruth. We’ll get through this together and I’m happy to cover your shifts for as long as you need me to.’

      ‘It’s a bit of a wobble, it won’t last,’ I promise.

      When the call ends, I drop the phone onto a cushion without taking my eyes from the screen. I will Meg to look up, or better still, for the camera to pan around to me so I can reach through the screen and give myself a good shake. ‘Look at her!’ I want to yell. ‘Ask her what’s wrong!’

      But