The Street

ALSO BY SUSI HOLLIDAY Writing as SJI Holliday: Black Wood Willow Walk The Damselfly The Deaths of December The Lingering Violet Mr Sandman Writing as Susi Holliday: The Last Resort Substitute The Hike This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2023 by Susi Holliday All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781542037532 eISBN: 9781542037549 Cover design by The Brewster Project Cover image: ©Valentina Razumova / Shutterstock; ©Varavin88 / Shutterstock; ©JamesBrey / Getty Images To Luca & Cally. Challenge accepted. CONTENTS Start Reading One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Twenty-Five Twenty-Six Twenty-Seven Twenty-Eight Twenty-Nine Thirty Thirty-One Thirty-Two Thirty-Three Thirty-Four Thirty-Five Thirty-Six Thirty-Seven Thirty-Eight Thirty-Nine Forty Forty-One Forty-Two Forty-Three Forty-Four Forty-Five Forty-Six Forty-Seven Forty-Eight Forty-Nine Fifty Fifty-One Fifty-Two ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS THE HIKE BY SUSI HOLLIDAY Prologue One FREE DARK HEARTS BOX SET ABOUT THE AUTHOR Follow the Author on Amazon I am not at all the sort of person you and I took me for. —Jane Welsh Carlyle One ANNA: FRIDAY She stood on the back doorstep sipping coffee, gazing across the Firth of Forth towards the coastal towns on the other side. Sunlight glistened on the waves, and the colourful sails of the windsurfers in the bay made the view reminiscent of a painting that you might buy on a day trip to the seaside. The setting was glorious, and she knew she should be grateful to be here. Not that she had any choice. After everything that happened, the brief stint in horrible temporary accommodation had been a huge eye-opener and she was glad to be away from it. She hoped that a sense of normality would return soon. Swapping London for a small, sleepy town on the east coast of Scotland wasn’t what she’d hoped for. But she was just going to have to adapt. The Street wasn’t even in the small town. It was on the site of an old power station that had been demolished several years ago – a conveyor belt of possible developments mooted and discarded until finally the council had agreed to let it be turned into housing. Luxury housing. An exclusive gated community with a private beach, boasting views of Arthur’s Seat – that volcanic lump in the middle of Edinburgh – and the iconic Forth bridges. How had they ended up in a place like this? Their London life had been comfortable, sure, but this was another level. Or so it seemed so far. They were both fortunate to have portable jobs, so they wouldn’t have to start again from scratch. Her husband would probably have welcomed something new – he was already having to adapt more than she was. His work needed specific space and equipment that might not slot so easily into this fancy new home; she had a feeling that he was no longer happy with his choice of career, sensing his restlessness even before they’d started to prepare for this move. But she’d only ever been a writer and she wasn’t sure she was mentally equipped to do anything else. A life like this was actually perfect, given that she literally made things up for a living. She’d written thrillers and romance novels under various pseudonyms, and she knew she could turn her hand to newspaper articles, maybe a bit of ghost-writing. She could reinvent herself over and over again, and she could transform herself from city girl to country girl, couldn’t she? She had already started to edge away from the busy social life that she’d tried to cultivate during her career. The endless networking had become tiring after a while. But she was still sad to leave some people behind. People who had been important to her. To both of them. Once upon a time. But she was curious and open-minded about this new chapter, and more than happy to make new friends, although she wasn’t sure how close she’d be allowed to get to anyone in this place. Her husband seemed a little less enthusiastic, but he would be busy soon enough, learning how to adapt his own work. Switching from cabinet-making to crafting wooden toys was not his preferred option, but there was no space in the new property for a big workshop, so he would just have to deal with it. They would both just have to deal with it. Because this was their new life and the old one was gone. She hoped it might cheer him up a bit too. He’d been on edge for months, snapping more than usual. Not like himself at all. Thump. She turned to find yet another box on the kitchen floor, and her husband, red-faced and slightly out of breath. ‘Jeez, Anna. Are you actually planning to do anything, or am I “the staff” now in this new life of ours?’ She flinched at his emphasis on her new name, but it was just something else she would have to get used to. Any new pseudonyms she planned to write under would need to link to this name too. Something for her future agent to deal with, assuming she was able to find one to take her on. She hadn’t been allowed to keep her old agent, and still felt awful about lying to him about giving up writing. Her royalties would sit in her old business account until she found a way to get them transferred to