I’ve finally reached the 20,000 words mark in my current novel, a psychological thriller set in the south of England. The story addresses a recent incident and flashbacks of a childhood event.
As a father and his daughter launch seperate investigations into what really happened, the daughter begins to suspect that someone is following her. The events that follow trigger off flashbacks of a past event in her early childhood.
Meanwhile, the father is unaware that he, too, is being watched.
From chapter ten, Dawn’s viewpoint.
The rain started almost as soon as she stepped inside the hallways, great thudding drops of rain pelting the cottage windows. The sky had darkened, clouds heavy and smoky, promising another bout of severe weather or storm conditions. She took a look in each room checking for signs of further disturbance, then showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, switching on the kitchen radio to drown out the quiet. Already, the solitude was getting to her, reminding her of recent incidents: the lights coming on in the middle of the night, the phone call from the woman stating she wasn’t welcome in the town, the sense of someone watching her by the ATM machine four days ago.
Fetching her laptop from the bedroom, she switched it on and spent an aimless hour and a half surfing the Net while the rain worsened outside, falling against the paving stone. The sky grew darker, causing her eyelids to grow heavy from lack of sleep the last three nights. She logged off and placed the laptop aside.
Suddenly, she was stirring, yawning. Whispery, dusk-like, shadows filled the cottage lounge, although it was only twenty to five in the afternoon, according to the clock on the wall. She sat up. Out in the front, thunder sounded in the distance, like an oncoming train. A flicker of lightning illuminated the sky followed seconds later by more thunder. She switched on the main lights.
The phone rang in the hallway.
When she answered, the woman who’d rung on Sunday spoke, hissing like before. ‘Didn’t I tell you the other day, we don’t want you in our town?’
Click. The caller had hung up.
More thunder. It echoed through the bay, seeming to shake the cottage for a few seconds. A shot of lightning surged through the sky, closer to the cottage than before, followed by crackling in the air and another crash of thunder.
I’m not going to let this woman drive me away, she thought, shaking with anger as she went to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. She took a step back when she saw what was in the fridge.
Two cartons of Chinese takeaway, one packed above the other, by the bottle of wine Dad and Pippa had brought her at the weekend..
The cartons hadn’t been there on Sunday.