Page 23 of The Summer That Changed Us

‘Oh my god. The poor man.’ Katie pressed a hand to her mouth; when he’d said that his wife had passed away, he’d made it sound like a peaceful death. That must have been devastating to deal with for both of them.

‘I know. Bless their hearts,’ said Alice, pressing a hand to her chest. ‘Still, well done to them for starting afresh in Merle Bay, I say. They’re going to take one of Silky’s kittens.’

Katie smiled, remembering Barney’s comment about Amber and a basket of kittens. ‘Fantastic.’

‘There’s one left. Would you like one?’ Alice asked her this every other day.

‘Still no thanks, but thanks.’

‘I’m surprised you don’t know who Barney is,’ said Alice, pulling a crumpled envelope out of her bag. ‘I thought you young people knew everything from reading it on Facebook.’

Katie shook her head. ‘I hate Facebook with a passion. I’m an old-school newspaper girl.’

‘Even more reason why you should know him then,’ Alice chuckled. ‘Barney is the new editor of the newspaper. The North East Gazette. Here you go.’

She handed Katie the envelope, which looked a bit worse for wear. ‘Sorry it’s so late, this one got mixed up in another mail bag and I didn’t find it until I was on my way home. Must dash, our favourite vet programme is on at five o’clock and Graham doesn’t like watching it by himself.’

Alice was in such a hurry to leave the shop that she didn’t notice how pale Katie had gone, how her hands were trembling as she held onto the envelope. She stared at it, a cold fear creeping from her toes to her scalp; it was identical to the one she’d had on Monday, same manila paper, same handwriting. Feeling sick with nerves, she tore it open and pulled out the contents.

It contained another copy of that photograph but this time, there were also a couple of notes paperclipped to it.

The first was headed with the email address of the news desk of the North East Gazette.

Picture caption:

Saucy Smalls

Catherine Small might currently be the owner of lingerie boutique Auntie Small’s in Merle Bay, Northumberland, but during her time as a glamour model, Catherine didn’t bother with underwear at all.

Oh my God. Katie’s heart banged ruthlessly against her chest. Had this been sent already? Would it have gone to Barney? Was that the reason behind his visit today, to see for himself?

Her hands shook as she picked up the final piece of paper.

Do you like the caption for your picture? You’ll look great in the newspaper. We haven’t sent it to the press. NOT YET. What happens next depends on you. We’re going to give you the chance to buy the photos off us first. Keep watching the post. And DON’T do anything stupid, if we suspect you’ve gone to the police, we won’t hesitate to send the email.

‘Thank God.’ Katie’s knees went from under her and she collapsed into a chair, her head spinning.

Barney hadn’t seen it. Nobody had so far.

As she’d suspected, this was blackmail. But why now? It was ancient history, or so she’d thought. She’d been eighteen. She’d made a mistake. Just one. Everyone made mistakes at that age, it was part of growing up. OK, hers had had particularly severe repercussions, but she had put it behind her as best she could. And she’d been doing well; she’d regained a lot of her confidence and hardly thought about the events of that summer anymore. She was aware she still had trust issues; it had affected her relationships, no doubt about it, and her friendships. She much preferred to be confided in than be a confider. If she talked to anyone, it was Auntie Jean, but now she was gone. Her parents were the only ones left who knew the whole story, but it hadn’t been spoken about for years. Besides, she could hardly ring them up in Malta and tell them what was happening; it would ruin their holiday. Katie felt suddenly very alone and very young to be dealing with this on her own.

Robyn and Grace, perhaps? Her heartbeat quickened; she’d be seeing them tomorrow. They’d got on really well on Monday and although they were older than she was, she’d felt the beginnings of a bond.

Maybe it was time to open up and trust again. Maybe.

Chapter Eight

By Thursday morning, Grace’s ankle was a lot less swollen. It was still tender, but certainly not bad enough to stop her from meeting the two girls on the beach later. For the last two days she’d been sensible and rested it as much as possible in between unpacking and attempting to make Sea Glass House feel homely. Ned’s taste was impeccable, but the space had felt impersonal. Arranging a few of her own family photographs made her feel a little less homesick.

Ned had phoned her yesterday to check she was settling in all right and made her promise to let him know if there was anything he could do for her. She’d been touched by his kindness. She’d known Ned almost as long as she’d known Myles. He’d been single then. Since then, he’d been married and divorced and was now single again. She hoped he’d find someone one day, he deserved to be happy; he was a lovely man and he’d been a true friend to Grace. After the call ended she’d sat out on the terrace in the sunshine, listening to the waves, and felt calmer than she had for six months. Grace was perfectly capable of looking after herself, but she had to admit, it was comforting to know that someone cared.

Today so far, she hadn’t spoken to a soul; she and Zoe had managed to miss each other’s phone calls since she’d been in Merle Bay through one thing and another and she’d already left one voicemail message for her this morning. Now though, her sister had called her just as she was getting ready to go out.

‘Sorry I haven’t called you back,’ said Zoe. ‘I don’t know who I’ve upset to get this rota, but my shifts have been horrendous. Is everything OK? Not too homesick?’

‘No need to apologise, and I’m fine, everything is fine,’ Grace laughed, deciding not to tell her about her slip-up on the patio on Monday; her sister would probably force her to wear one of those call buttons around her neck that they issue to the elderly. ‘I miss you, that’s all.’

‘I miss you too. Don’t be too proud to come home if you don’t like it, will you?’