Prologue
The woman sat on the deck sipping a glass of vintage champagne. The weather was glorious and the heavenly smell of the ocean always had a calming effect on her. As the man reappeared, the woman smiled at him lovingly. Usually when they sailed their boat, they brought friends along with them, but today the man had insisted they sail alone. ‘I wanted it to be just the two of us for once; that’s why I never told you we were going out on the boat until this morning. I wanted to surprise you and spoil you rotten.’
And surprised and spoilt rotten the woman had been. Mussels in garlic butter, salmon en croûte, strawberries and cream were all prepared and served up for her by her wonderful man. She had a surprise for him also and, as soon as he sat back down, she would tell him what she had been dying to tell him for weeks.
‘Come over ’ere, babe, and look at this,’ the man said, gesticulating for the woman to join him.
The woman walked over to the right-hand side of the boat and put her arms around the man’s toned, suntanned waist. ‘I can’t see nothing. What am I meant to be looking at?’ she asked, rather bemused.
Knowing it was now or never, the man forcefully grabbed the woman by the shoulders, and swung her around so that her back was positioned against the gunwale. ‘I’m sorry, but me and you are over. I don’t love you any more and I’m going back to England.’
‘Stop mucking about. You’re not funny,’ the woman said, with a hint of panic in her voice.
‘I ain’t fucking mucking about,’ the man replied, as he put one hand around the woman’s throat and used his other to lift her up by the crotch.
‘Please God no! Why would you want to do this to me? Why?’ the woman screamed, as her feet left the safety of the deck.
‘Because you know too much about me,’ the man replied, his face devoid of emotion. With one last movement, he threw her to the mercy of the sharks. The last words he heard her scream were, ‘I’m pregnant.’ Putting his hands over his ears so he didn’t have to listen to anything else she might yell out, the man then calmly returned to the helm.
CHAPTER ONE
1983
Stephanie Crouch’s stomach was full of butterflies as she marched up Dagenham Heathway hill towards the train station. It had taken her ages to decide what to wear, but she was happy with her choice of denim pedal-pushers, a Flashdance-inspired ripped grey sweatshirt and gold pump ballet shoes. Not only did she look trendy, but felt comfortable as well.
‘Hurry up, Tam. You’re walking as fast as a tortoise,’ Stephanie complained to her best friend.
Tammy Andrews stopped dead in her tracks. The stereo system she was carrying on her shoulder had all but broken her back. ‘Sod you, Steph. You can carry it the rest of the way yourself. I ain’t one