No One I Knew A McDine (top 10 novels to read txt) 📖

Wars set Bill and Melanie had given him when they’d arrived. Immy, to her delight, had been presented with a pink Peppa Pig Beanie. I crouched down to Nate’s level, my head framed by the doorway.

‘Nathan, where’s your sister?’

‘Dunno,’ he said, twirling a tiny Anakin Skywalker figure round and round in his hand. ‘She said she was thirsty. ’Spect she went to get a drink.’

‘When was that?’

‘Ages ago.’

‘Oh Nate, how long is ages? Five minutes? Ten? An hour?’

Nate finally looked up at me. ‘At least an hour,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Or even longer.’

‘Great,’ I muttered. I stood, brushing dust from my skirt, and gazed around me. The garden, which wrapped around the house in a generous L-shape, was the main reason we’d bought the place. When we were house-hunting I’d dreamed of a former rectory surrounded by cherry orchards, not what amounted to an end-of-terrace in Fordwich, the smallest town in the country, even if parts of the house did date back to Saxon times.

But when the estate agent led us through the plain wooden garden gate, I gasped in wonder. The previous owners had spared no expense, engaging the services of one of the county’s top garden designers to separate the half-acre plot into a series of defined areas, each with its own colour themes. Formal lawn, green oak pergola, kitchen garden, orchard, a secret garden and two wrought iron water gates set into the far wall that opened straight onto moorings on the River Stour. It was perfect.

‘We can have our own rowing boat for messing about on the river,’ I said, my mind alight with possibilities.

‘Canterbury’s only two miles upstream,’ confirmed the estate agent. ‘And it’s a lovely trip downstream to Sandwich through the Stodmarsh Nature Reserve.’

That piqued Stuart’s interest, I could tell.

‘My husband’s an ecologist,’ I explained.

‘Plenty of wildlife on the Stour,’ the estate agent said. ‘And the garden is on the site of the ancient port of Fordwich, which was owned by St Augustine’s Abbey. They transported the Caen stone used to build Canterbury Cathedral along the river and landed here.’

‘They carried the stone for the cathedral through this garden?’

‘That’s what it says here,’ the estate agent said, handing me the glossy particulars.

‘I don’t know,’ Stuart said, frowning at the water gates. ‘It’s not exactly child-friendly, is it?’

I swept his reservations away with a wave of my hand. ‘We can keep the gates locked. Stop seeing danger where there is none. I love it.’

Of course, we both knew I’d have my own way because I was the one who earned the money, wore the trousers, and had the casting vote. It was a done deal. And I was right. It was perfect.

‘Mummy?’ Nate said, bringing me back to the present.

‘What is it, sweetheart?’

‘I wasn’t lying. Immy really was thirsty, but she also wanted to play Pooh sticks. But I didn’t because I was playing with Anakin. I think she went to play Pooh sticks with Peppa instead.’

A trickle of unease slid down my back like a drip from a cold tap, but I shook it away. We always kept the water gates locked and the keys out of reach. Always. ‘Be an angel and check she’s not sulking in her bedroom, will you? I bet Daddy forgets to check under her bed.’

Nate nodded and disappeared towards the house, Anakin Skywalker in one hand and his yellow and grey Jedi Interceptor in the other. I walked to the nearest water gate and turned the handle. It was locked and I let out a long breath. The second gate was half-hidden behind a virginal-white mock orange, and the heady scent filled my nostrils as I pulled the handle. We hadn’t used this gate in the two years we’d lived here. In fact, I was pretty sure it had rusted closed. So when the handle turned in my grasp and the gate swung open with barely a creak, my hand flew to my mouth.

Below, the river meandered past our narrow wooden jetty. A pair of moorhens squawked with fright and disappeared with a flap of wings behind the curtain of branches on the weeping willow on the opposite bank. I glanced up and downstream, but there was no sign of Immy. I called her name, just to be sure. But it was pointless. She was in the house; she had to be.

I was about to head indoors when something in the reeds caught my eye. Something flesh pink. My heart pounding in my chest, I knelt down on the jetty and peered into the water. A round eye stared back at me.

A scream ripped through the still summer air.

It wasn’t until Bill came hurtling over, shock etched on his face, that I realised the person screaming was me.

Chapter Two

The scream died on my lips as Bill cried, ‘Christ, is she in the water?’

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, pressing pause on the horror. Hoping that when I opened them the gate was locked - it was always locked - and Peppa Pig was where she should be, clasped in Immy’s chubby fist and not staring up at me from the reeds.

‘Cleo!’ Bill bellowed.

My eyes snapped open.

‘Is Immy in the river?’

‘Not Immy,’ I said. ‘Peppa. Peppa Pig. In the reeds.’

‘Show me.’ He pushed past me to the gate.

‘Down there,’ I pointed.

‘But you didn’t see Immy?’

I took a deep breath to steady my heart rate. ‘No.’ So much hope resting on one tiny word. ‘Maybe she dropped Peppa in the water when she was playing Pooh sticks and then went inside.’

The tension in Bill’s face eased a fraction. ‘You’re right.’

I touched his shoulder. ‘Will you check the shed, glasshouse and garage and I’ll help Stuart and Melanie search the house.’ He nodded and loped towards the shed, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

Trying to ignore the sense of dread that was unfurling inside me, I scooted around the perimeter of the garden, checking under rose bushes and behind trees, anywhere my three-year-old daughter may