Joanne Sefton - The Guilty Friend

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2019

Copyright © Joanne Sefton 2019

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Cover photographs © Shutterstock

Joanne Sefton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008294465

Version: 2019-05-10

For my family.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title page The Guilty Friend JOANNE SEFTON

Copyright Published by AVON A Division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2019 Copyright © Joanne Sefton 2019 Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019 Cover photographs © Shutterstock Joanne Sefton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008294465 Version: 2019-05-10

Dedication For my family.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

The recipe book was well thumbed throughout, but there was one page that it naturally fell open to every time: Crespelle con Pollo . The Italian chicken pancake dish had been a family favourite for years. So much so, that Karen only really used the book out of habit – if needed, she could have made it blindfolded. The recipe took some time, granted, what with having to make the thin pancakes, cool them, and then stuff them with the chicken mixture, before pouring over the cream sauce and baking in the oven. She enjoyed cooking, though, and she particularly liked meals like this, which she could put together during the peaceful daytime hours. When the girls came back from school, she could focus on them, drinking her daughters in just as enthusiastically as they would inhale the tantalising, savoury aroma that would, by that point, be filling the kitchen.

A glance at the wall planner told her that Tasha’s friend Claire would be coming over. Just as well she checked so she could bulk up the quantities a bit and make a generous salad and then Claire could stay if she wanted to. She probably would. Karen prided herself on the fact that both Tasha and Callie’s friends seemed to enjoy spending time in the house. Her eldest daughter, Evie, was at university now, but she would doubtless bring a whole new set of friends home come the holidays.

Tasha and Claire would do their homework together and then probably hang out upstairs; their GCSEs were looming in a few months and they were both conscientious girls. Callie would get home around the same time as her older sister, but then would need a lift to her dance class after dinner. Karen frowned. There was little point in coming home during the class, and she always intended to kill the time by going for a run, but now, halfway through February, her January fitness resolution was fading fast, and she’d never really liked running in the dark.

She always found herself getting impatient at this time of year. Although the days were creeping longer, it felt like they’d never actually get to spring. Perhaps she’d just take her book instead. The reception area was comfortable enough, and you could glimpse the girls through the glass door. It was sweet that Callie still liked to catch her watching and would happily break her drill to give Karen a cheery wave and a grin full of braces. Yes, that’s what she’d do.

The TV on the wall wittered on as she collected the ingredients for the pancake batter. She didn’t listen really, but she liked something on in the background. She considered turning it off but checked the clock and realised it would be the lunchtime news in five minutes so decided to leave them be. Without really thinking, she whisked together her eggs and milk and methodically weighed the flour, adding a pinch of salt. The key was to add the liquid gradually and beat it well; that way you avoided lumps. As the opening notes of the news programme sounded, she picked the bowl up, nestling it in one arm while she whisked with the other, taking a few steps across the kitchen to catch the headlines.

It was clear from the newsreader’s frown and sombre tone that something bad had happened.

A bomb on a tube train.

She put the bowl down for a moment, to notch up the volume, then picked it up again. She resumed her stirring automatically as she listened to the report.

‘… an incident was first reported on the Northern Line, between Highgate and East Finchley, at around half past nine this morning.’

The presenter in the studio handed over to a windswept journalist standing in front of the station. An ‘East Finchley’ sign, with the distinctive, round London transport logo, was prominent in the background.

‘… several injured but no reports of fatalities on this quiet service, which was travelling out of central London. We can only speculate on how much more serious this incident could have been if the device had detonated earlier, on the train’s inbound journey, at the peak of rush hour. The police have made no comment yet, but there is clearly conjecture that we are dealing here with a terrorist incident, which has – thankfully – not gone according to plan. Nonetheless, we saw scenes of panic as the train was evacuated at East Finchley station earlier this morning. This footage and photography comes from public mobile phone recordings, so we apologise for the quality, but it gives a sense of the scale of the incident here earlier today …’