Phoebe Morgan - The Babysitter

‘A spine-chilling tale’

The Sun

‘Utterly compelling’

Woman

‘A compelling page-turner’

Fiona Cummins, author of Rattle

‘A terrific read!’

Cass Green, author of In a Cottage in a Wood

‘Utterly absorbing, I couldn’t put this thrilling whodunit down’

C. L. Taylor, Sunday Times bestselling author of Sleep

‘Claustrophobic and unsettling!’

Lisa Hall, author of Between You and Me

‘A real page-turner’

B A Paris, bestselling author of Behind Closed Doors

‘Unsettling… I read this with a growing sense of dread’

Louise Jensen, author of The Sister

‘Keeps the reader captivated until the final twist’

Jane Corry, Sunday Times bestselling author of My Husband’s Wife

‘Crackles with twists and turns’

Amanda Jennings, author of The Cliff House

‘Impossible to put down!’

Isabel Ashdown, author of Little Sister

‘So clever… I didn’t guess the ending at all!’

Laura Marshall, author of Friend Request

PHOEBE MORGANis an author and editor. She studied English at Leeds University after growing up in the Suffolk countryside. She edits commercial fiction for a publishing house during the day and writes her own books in the evenings. Phoebe lives in London and you can follow her on Twitter @Phoebe_A_Morgan, or find her website about publishing and writing at phoebemorganauthor.com. She is the author of The Doll House and The Girl Next Door , and The Babysitter is her third book. Her novels have been translated into multiple languages and are available in the US, Canada, France, Croatia, Italy, Estonia, Norway, Portugal and more.

Phoebe Morgan

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Phoebe Morgan 2020

Phoebe Morgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for 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 e-book 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 © May 2020 ISBN: 9780008314880

Version 2020-03-04

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

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Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008314873

For my girlfriends.

Every penny from these books is going towards our

shared home where we’ll live when we’re all eighty and

can’t tolerate anyone else apart from each other.

What I don’t understand is what happened to the baby. That poor little mite. How did she get caught up in all this? It’s enough to make your blood run cold. She was already on our nursery list. I hope to God they find her.

– Penny Speller, owner at Mulberry Bush Nursery School, Ipswich

We didn’t know anything about it. Not until the police arrived. I’ve never seen so many police. I think they were digging behind that row of flats, not far from the harbour.

– Margaret Parkinson, 42 Ludgate Road, Ipswich

I think any one of them could have done it. I mean, why did they bugger off to France? Bit convenient, don’t you think?

– Graham Smith, Facebook Group [346 replies]

We need to remember, there’s a woman dead too. Caroline Harvey’s life matters. #RIPCaroline.

– @rainbows55, Twitter

It was the husband. It’s ALWAYS the husband.

– Michelle Rhodes, to her book group over wine [nods of agreement: 5]

Look. All I want is for us to be able to get the story. The whole story of what happened that night. Our readers deserve the truth. Don’t they?

– Jessica Coutts, News Editor at the East Anglian Daily Times

Contents

Cover

Praise

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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

About the Publisher

France

13th August

Siobhan

The day my husband is arrested on suspicion of murder is the hottest of the year. Sweat is clinging to the underside of my arms; my top, hastily thrown on at the sound of the bell echoing through the house, is unflatteringly tight around my stomach, dark lines of perspiration beginning to appear on the clingy white material. The bell is an old-fashioned one, pulled by a thin piece of rope hanging by the door of the villa, and the noise of it wakes all of us up – me, Callum, our daughter Emma and my sister Maria. My eyes alight on the digital clock – it is 09.03 and we have all slept late. We are on holiday. France is in the grip of a heatwave; already, it is 33 degrees.