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Keep You Safe: A tear-jerking and compelling story that will make you think from the international multi-million bestselling author
Melissa Hill
‘If you like Jodi Picoult try Melissa Hill’–Woman and Home‘I was completely gripped.’–Sarah Morgan‘Brimming with powerful issues’–Evening Post‘This emotive story will touch your heart'–My WeeklyGood mother or bad … who decides?Widowed nurse Kate and mum of two Madeleine couldn’t be more different in their approaches to parenting.Kate knows her husband’s death has made her more protective of her daughter, but she’s not going to apologise for it.Madeleine feels there’s no such thing as a perfect mother and while her parenting style may be controversial it works for her children and that’s all that matters.But when Madeleine makes a fateful decision that upends her own family, and has devastating consequences for Kate, suddenly the world is lining up to vilify her and she must defend every parental choice she’s ever made…Why is she accused of being a terrible mother when all she did was try to keep her children safe?Praise for Keep You Safe:‘I was completely gripped. Every parent will recognize the issues raised in this book.’– SARAH MORGAN‘Emotional and cleverly crafted with well-drawn characters.’– THE PEOPLE‘Another great read from the best-selling Irish author.’– HELLO MAGAZINE‘Guaranteed to kick-start book club debates’– GOOD HOUSEKEEPING‘A rigorous yet entertaining examination of one of the most controversial issues in modern parenting.’– IRISH TIMES.‘Hill has her finger on the zeitgeist, offering savvy and well-researched points on a touchy subject. Fans of Meg Wolitzer and Emily Giffin will devour this introspective and enlightening novel.’– BOOKLIST‘With a creative balance of fact and fiction, Hill engages readers in a suspenseful page-turner that is impossible to put down.’– ROMANTIC TIMES.‘Hill writes with authority about a subject that is controversial and without much grey area. A riveting read.'– RTE CULTURE‘Brimming with powerful issues recognisable to every parent.’ – EVENING POST‘This emotive story will touch your heart … a thought-provoking take on an issue that is not all black and white'– MY WEEKLY
Copyright (#ulink_5a752de2-28a4-5997-a942-d17c0070fd8f)
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Melissa Hill 2017
Melissa Hill 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, down-loaded, 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 © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008217150
Version: 2018-01-23
MELISSA HILL lives in Co. Wicklow with her husband and daughter. A USA Today and No. 1 Irish times and Italian best-seller, her books are translated into 25 different languages. One of her titles has been optioned for a movie by a major Hollywood studio, and another is currently in development for TV with a top US production company. Visit her website at www.melissahill.ie (http://www.melissahill.ie) or contact her on Twitter @melissahillbks, or melissahillbooks on Facebook and Instagram.
With much love and thanks to Sheila Crowley
– a true force of nature.
Contents
Cover (#u3fb5e22b-ad7e-58aa-a6bb-9aebc060bb79)
Title Page (#ua4e79753-a030-58ff-88e5-c3d1c3782606)
Copyright (#ulink_01d72de6-2fd1-5cac-9463-d9cb09872427)
About the Author (#u68c2630b-e8f5-5d29-8856-d8c31debbcec)
Dedication (#uddb63ac3-850d-55ac-a3db-05208b2c0112)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_a0afdeb9-f035-5dfd-ae5a-c9cea5c8a720)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_d8eaa081-dbdc-5be4-97bb-ec9d6a2fad8c)
Chapter 3 (#ulink_a8e40ae2-7a0b-540f-84e9-17ad9f112675)
Chapter 4 (#ulink_7f0e6891-064a-5e8e-b669-619fdf9dce67)
Chapter 5 (#ulink_82592134-4e3b-5609-865f-66140e8581d7)
Chapter 6 (#ulink_0b1a03e1-806f-51d1-bf75-45a14df5cb6f)
Chapter 7 (#ulink_c1d893b7-3699-57dc-a341-16c29669970e)
Chapter 8 (#ulink_2d26d63b-bbd8-5434-b814-755cfa418a0a)
Chapter 9 (#ulink_21ea2caf-854d-59cc-8409-e3b0842bdfb5)
Chapter 10 (#ulink_aa1f44a2-1c6e-58a6-ba40-150b1ae60fd5)
Chapter 11 (#ulink_93a2e9a7-d44e-5597-8826-83e6ce006e1f)
Chapter 12 (#ulink_2b848336-34bf-5ebf-acfa-4ca6994d186d)
Chapter 13 (#ulink_24f0c245-d60a-5bb2-9096-c5bc03a8c3e3)
Chapter 14 (#ulink_3cd86871-0192-5ef0-8d43-a8676fcb51a0)
Chapter 15 (#ulink_99f7d6aa-41b4-5320-add4-cde9b462f9c2)
Chapter 16 (#ulink_97ea1161-1b5b-56ba-ae63-b989852e7d48)
Chapter 17 (#ulink_b47ab9b1-df44-5862-b2c1-5d0692c616ea)
Chapter 18 (#ulink_6991f5ff-9a06-55bf-86a7-508094925f95)
Chapter 19 (#ulink_0544b3fd-08e8-5045-8a7f-84c99a598f4a)
Chapter 20 (#ulink_1ccf9f1a-3d70-5517-b0ac-e2d899b8de5e)
Chapter 21 (#ulink_0a766bd2-4cf2-5024-93d8-6b18d68f16c8)
Chapter 22 (#ulink_f938f0e3-ee29-5909-a2ad-10c1999fff1c)
Chapter 23 (#ulink_3842b3e6-4ccf-5209-ad8f-2f64a9c70119)
Chapter 24 (#ulink_22e9892e-c2ce-5e17-baaf-50bc3c724e32)
Chapter 25 (#ulink_0319b613-fcd4-580f-886b-5c911d05147a)
Chapter 26 (#ulink_8f0b20bb-3211-570a-8052-d538b4749eaa)
Chapter 27 (#ulink_c6cbec04-c887-5a1a-92b1-aea8e0704483)
Chapter 28 (#ulink_e6b23d20-1019-5011-97ea-b4b529d162bb)
Chapter 29 (#ulink_24cc298f-1449-56df-9472-1c0f8024f901)
Chapter 30 (#ulink_36f13c9f-9fcb-5580-99b9-12bcabf6e069)
Chapter 31 (#ulink_12d25429-be71-5307-844f-bd72e76ab6e8)
Chapter 32 (#ulink_f6a79332-919d-56ed-969c-171ede1d53e4)
Chapter 33 (#ulink_e3b8a49c-6db3-5ecc-a64c-aa8986e2325d)
Chapter 34 (#ulink_42759613-84b8-52fa-82cc-fa8050d7513d)
Chapter 35 (#ulink_469a539e-7d38-517f-ac23-4f291ae6e8d0)
Chapter 36 (#ulink_b2880caa-7149-5da2-83b3-ad4bddf83db4)
Chapter 37 (#ulink_4b178061-f569-53fb-aebc-c22546f3017f)
Chapter 38 (#ulink_0f095f50-0f08-53bf-9d10-2a1eb23b8110)
Chapter 39 (#ulink_88a2685e-0cb9-54d1-bbec-bf3bd3a18476)
Chapter 40 (#ulink_fc7a21aa-20de-5098-ae1f-b3c23e3891d1)
Chapter 41 (#ulink_690b84a1-1b25-5ee3-987c-c69ec3a6870e)
Chapter 42 (#ulink_32e8d28e-4059-5efd-b2d7-de02be558412)
Chapter 43 (#ulink_23ca9808-d311-5e13-a864-526b04e79f54)
Chapter 44 (#ulink_2fa614a7-e584-5ae3-8c02-d66cb5bcf43a)
Chapter 45 (#ulink_9e451174-7a42-5706-8117-6b3ee2985507)
Chapter 46 (#ulink_4b89fc54-b656-52c7-9ed3-aa2f1d06c37e)
Chapter 47 (#ulink_227215cd-605a-5228-a343-c6a9103205c2)
Chapter 48 (#ulink_e57aed32-43fe-5e63-bbea-b97951da57dd)
Chapter 49 (#ulink_37f3563f-5ee2-5072-bf27-5af1be87e805)
Chapter 50 (#ulink_f5f97e3b-27a8-5826-bbdf-c923049d5b00)
Chapter 51 (#ulink_afecdb1d-35e8-571d-9bb3-151f4dd9b63c)
Chapter 52 (#ulink_266a9018-7f9c-5b78-956b-a86ce6fecf80)
Chapter 53 (#ulink_c0f99219-47b1-5397-93bc-49e608944997)
Chapter 54 (#ulink_70bb5b90-e2b0-5b76-bfdb-9400320bfd2f)
EPILOGUE (#ulink_1e369411-c363-5976-ae0c-0df82ef83da6)
Acknowledgements (#ulink_ea3c78a1-8453-5d51-846d-7105240db5ae)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_d5669db6-8c31-590c-8c5e-d83d675ca6c4)
The bell rang out and on cue they started to approach all at once, like a stampeding herd.
Standing back to let the first wave pass while shivering in late March wind and cold, I pulled my gloved hands out of my pockets and tugged my woolly hat a bit more firmly down over my ears, tucking my wispy dark hair underneath it. Another blast of wind hit me in the face, turning my cheeks an even brighter shade of pink.
I knew that I could just stay in my car and keep warm while waiting for my five-year-old, Rosie, to emerge from Junior Infants class at Applewood Primary. However, she and I have a ritual of sorts and the typically inclement Irish weather wasn’t going to stand in the way of it.
Each and every day after school, I wait for Rosie just outside the school building, a bit down the front path by the main hall. During the more temperate months we walk the half-mile home together to our two-bed cottage in Knockroe, a small satellite town about forty minutes’ drive from Dublin.
I have never failed to meet Rosie in our chosen spot since she started school seven months ago. I was determined to never let her exit the class and not have me there – at least until my daughter told me that she wanted to walk home by herself or with friends. I wasn’t one of those helicopter parents or anything like that, but, come hell or high water, I would make sure I was there – especially since Rosie was still having nightmares about that one time after preschool.
The day when no one was waiting.
Hard to believe that fateful day was almost two years ago – it still felt like only yesterday. A chill worked its way up my spine – one that this time wasn’t triggered by the cold.
In her preschool days, my husband Greg had been the one responsible for picking up Rosie. Working from home as a freelance software designer, it was he who had more flexibility and usually had the opportunity to step away from the office he kept in the spare bedroom, and head over to the preschool to pick up our daughter. Since I work as a nurse at a clinic in a nearby town, I generally keep more irregular hours.
I had long been thankful that my husband could play such an active role in Rosie’s childhood, especially while my own commitments prevented me from being around as much as I would have liked.
My commitments are different these days.
Because there had been one time when Greg couldn’t make it to the preschool at the allotted time of 12.45 to pick Rosie up. Not because he didn’t want to, had forgotten or neglected to pay attention to the time, but because he had collapsed in our kitchen earlier that morning while making himself a cup of tea.
Sudden Adult Death Syndrome had ended my beloved husband’s life in seconds; he likely didn’t even realise what was happening.
I wasn’t aware that I’d been made a widow when the preschool teacher called me at work that afternoon to say that they couldn’t get in touch with Greg at home. That terrible realisation didn’t come until later.
Calling our home phone as well as Greg’s mobile, trying to figure out what was going on, I remember feeling irritated that Rosie and her teacher had been left waiting. I was annoyed at Greg and wondered where he was, especially since I couldn’t get an answer on any phone. So I told my supervisor at the clinic that I needed to head out; pick up my child in Knockroe, drop her home to her dad and would then come back to finish my shift.
It was only after I had sped the short distance there, apologised to the preschool teacher and hustled my daughter back to the house, that I realised my life was forever changed. If I could go back to that moment so I could enter the kitchen first in order to prevent Rosie from finding her father immobile on the floor, I would.
As it was, there was no changing the past, but I would do my damnedest to make sure that I was always there at the end of the school day so that she didn’t fear the same thing happening to me. She’d already had a tough enough time of it for a five-and-a-half-year-old.
My daughter was everything to me – all that I had these days.
Rosie’s classmates started to appear, refocusing my thoughts and preventing me from once again going down that dark road of introspection as I examined our lives without Greg. Scanning the crowd of Junior Infants, I immediately picked out Rosie’s bright green winter hat, shaped like the head of a T. Rex. My little girl had never been the princess type. She adored dinosaurs, wolves, dragons – anything fierce and scary – perhaps even more so since her dad died, and I often wonder if in her own little way she finds comfort in their strength.
‘Mum!’ she called, waving a hand, as if I hadn’t spotted her yet, her dark curls bouncing as she moved, green eyes wide with excitement. She dragged her backpack – dino-themed again – slightly on the ground and I walked forward to grab it. I didn’t want to have to shell out for another any time soon. As a single parent, I now did everything I could to avoid unnecessary expenses, especially when we only had my salary to depend on.
Though both in our late-thirties, my late husband and I had been one of the burgeoning number of Irish families who, despite both being gainfully employed, still couldn’t quite afford that first step on the housing ladder, and the money we’d been saving to buy a house (minimal at best, as the rental house in Knockroe wasn’t cheap) now had to go towards day-to-day household expenses, as well as the creation of a small contingency fund – just in case.
