B Paris - The Breakdown - The gripping thriller from the bestselling author of Behind Closed Doors

‘An addictive new voice in suspense fiction’

Sophie Hannah

‘A psychological page-turner’

Good Housekeeping

‘Gripping!’

Woman

‘You’ll love this’

The Sun

‘Chilling’

Heat

‘Utterly compelling, brilliant and tense.’

Lisa Hall, author of Between You and Me

‘If you loved The Girl on the Train read Behind Closed Doors’

Elle

‘Brilliant, chilling, scary and unputdownable.’

Lesley Pearse, bestselling author of Without a Trace

‘BA Paris has done it again! A page turning thriller that will leave you questioning the family you love, the friends you trust, and even your own mind.’

Wendy Walker, author of All is Not Forgotten

She is the author of the bestselling psychological thriller Behind Closed Doors.

Eternal gratitude to my wonderful agent Camilla Wray, who has made so many things possible, and to the rest of the team at Darley Anderson for being an absolute pleasure to work with. And also for their expertise - I wouldn’t be where I am without them.

Huge thanks to my amazing editor, Sally Williamson, for her invaluable advice and support, and for always being on the end of the phone. Thank you too to the rest of the team at HQ for their enthusiasm and professionalism – you’re the best! And in the US, to Jennifer Weis, Lisa Senz, Jessica Preeg and all at St Martin’s Press for their continued faith in me.

Last, but definitely not least, special thanks as always to my family – my daughters, my husband, my parents, my brothers and sister - for always being interested in my writing. And to my lovely friends, both in England and France, who are as excited about my new career as I am!

Cover

Praise

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

FRIDAY, JULY 17TH

SATURDAY, JULY 18TH

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THURSDAY, AUGUST 13TH

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THURSDAY, OCTOBER 1ST

FRIDAY OCTOBER 2ND

Extract

Copyright

FRIDAY, JULY 17TH

The thunder starts as we’re saying goodbye, leaving each other for the summer holidays ahead. A loud crack echoes off the ground, making Connie jump. John laughs, the hot air dense around us.

‘You need to hurry!’ he shouts.

With a quick wave I run to my car. As I reach it, my mobile starts ringing, its sound muffled by my bag. From the ringtone I know that it’s Matthew.

‘I’m on my way,’ I tell him, fumbling for the door handle in the dark. ‘I’m just getting in the car.’

‘Already?’ His voice comes down the line. ‘I thought you were going back to Connie’s.’

‘I was, but the thought of you waiting for me was too tempting,’ I tease. The flat tone to his voice registers. ‘Is everything all right?’ I ask.

‘Yes, it’s just that I’ve got an awful migraine. It started about an hour ago and it’s getting steadily worse. That’s why I’m phoning. Do you mind if I go up to bed?’

I feel the air heavy on my skin and think of the storm looming; no rain has arrived yet but instinct tells me it won’t be far behind. ‘Of course not. Have you taken anything for it?’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t seem to be shifting. I thought I’d go and lie down in the spare room; that way, if I do fall asleep, you won’t disturb me when you come in.’

‘Good idea.’

‘I don’t really like going to bed without knowing you’re back safely.’

I smile at this. ‘I’ll be fine, it’ll only take me forty minutes. Unless I come back through the woods, by Blackwater Lane.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ I can almost sense a shaft of pain rocketing through his head at his raised tone. ‘Ouch, that hurt,’ he says, and I wince in sympathy. He lowers his voice to a more bearable level. ‘Cass, promise you won’t come back that way. First of all, I don’t want you driving through the woods on your own at night and, second, there’s a storm coming.’

‘OK, I won’t,’ I say hastily, folding myself onto the driver’s seat and dropping my bag onto the seat next to me.

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’ I turn the key in the ignition and shift the car into gear, the phone now hot between my shoulder and ear.

‘Drive carefully,’ he cautions.

‘I will. Love you.’

‘Love you more.’

I put my phone in my bag, smiling at his insistence. As I manoeuvre out of the parking space, fat drops of rain splatter onto my windscreen. Here it comes , I think.

By the time I get to the dual carriageway, the rain is coming down hard. Stuck behind a huge lorry, my wipers are no match for the spray thrown up by its wheels. As I move out to pass it, lightning streaks across the sky and, falling back into a childhood habit, I begin a slow count in my head. The answering rumble of thunder comes when I get to four. Maybe I should have gone back to Connie’s with the others, after all. I could have waited out the storm there, while John amused us with his jokes and stories. I feel a sudden stab of guilt at the look in his eyes when I’d said I wouldn’t be joining them. It had been clumsy of me to mention Matthew. What I should have said was that I was tired, like Mary, our Head, had.

The rain becomes a torrent and the cars in the fast lane drop their speed accordingly. They converge around my little Mini and the sudden oppression makes me pull back into the slow lane. I lean forward in my seat, peering through the windscreen, wishing my wipers would work a little faster. A lorry thunders past, then another and when it cuts back into my lane without warning, causing me to brake sharply, it suddenly feels too dangerous to stay on this road. More lightning forks the sky and in its wake the sign for Nook’s Corner, the little hamlet where I live, looms into view. The black letters on the white background, caught in the headlights and glowing like a beacon in the dark, seem so inviting that, suddenly, at the very last minute, when it’s almost too late, I veer off to the left, taking the short cut that Matthew didn’t want me to take. A horn blares angrily behind me and as the sound chases me down the pitch-black lane into the woods, it feels like an omen.

Even with my headlights full on, I can barely see where I’m going and I instantly regret the brightly lit road I left behind. Although this road is beautiful by day – it cuts through bluebell woods – its hidden dips and bends will make it treacherous on a night like this. A knot of anxiety balls in my stomach at the thought of the journey ahead. But the house is only fifteen minutes away. If I keep my nerve, and not do anything rash, I’ll soon be home. Still, I put my foot down a little.