The Bitter End: The McBride Vendetta Psychological Thrillers, #6

By Lorna Dounaeva

Some will live. Some will die. This is the Bitter End.

 

In the final book in the McBride Vendetta Series, Isabel will do anything to keep her family safe, even if it means sacrificing herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lorna Dounaeva
• Release date: Oct 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393266464

Lorna Dounaeva

Lorna Dounaeva is a quirky British crime writer who once challenged a Flamenco troupe to a dance-off. She is a politics graduate and worked for the British Home Office for a number of years, before turning to crime fiction. She loves books and films with strong female characters and her influences include Single White Female and Sleeping with the Enemy. She lives in Surrey, England with her husband and their 2.5 children, who keep her busy wiping food off the ceiling and removing mints from USB sockets. You can follow her @LornaDounaeva on Twitter or at www.lornadounaeva.com

Book preview

Prologue

Such a beautiful day for a walk. Warm enough that you don’t need gloves, cool enough to deter the tourists. Up and down the craggy cliffs we go, stalking though towering sand dunes, salty sea air ripening our cheeks. We’ve been for so many lovely walks together lately. Shame I’m the only one who knows it.

I watch as Isabel skips along the beach. She has such perfect posture: shoulders back, chin tilted slightly upward as if she’s looking down on the world. Her daughter, Lauren, bounces beside her, a ball of nervous energy. Waves lap their toes and their shrieks of joy burn my ears. They look so relaxed, so carefree, I think, but then I catch Isabel doing a quick sweep of the beach, eyes scanning left to right, as if she senses me watching. I draw back, but there’s no way she can see me so high up in the cliffs. She returns to her game, dodging in and out of the waves, throwing her head back and laughing, as if she hasn’t a care in the world.

It wouldn’t take much, would it? For a person to slip under those waves and never be seen again. It wouldn’t even look suspicious. People drown at sea every day, hundreds of them. You read about it in the papers all the time. Or something could go wrong with that fancy car of hers. The motor’s been making a funny noise lately. She really should get it checked. You can’t be too careful. I adjust the telephoto lens and zoom in closer, on the bulge in her belly. A few more months isn’t going to kill me. I’m not a monster. I can wait.

1

H alf seven and not a peep, Deacon says in wonder.

I listen intently, but he’s right; Lauren’s room is completely silent.

Do you think she’s okay?

He props himself up on one elbow. I checked on her a little while ago and she was still out for the count. To think last year, she was jumping up and down on our bed at five in the morning.

I grimace. She’ll be a teenager before we know it.

Stop! I still can’t believe she’s nine. Where did all that time go?

He lays a hand on my belly. It immediately tightens as if Jellybean senses his presence. I lie still, waiting for the next kick.

Are you sure you don’t want to find out what we’re having? he asks.

No, it feels like tempting fate. I’d rather just wait.

I bet Lauren’s dying to know.

Do you think? She hasn’t said anything to me about it.

She just doesn’t want to be the last to know, that’s all. If you change her mind, then we’ve got to take her along too. It’s only fair.

I nod. No more secrets. I get it but I really think I’d rather wait.

He smiles and holds me close. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.

---

Lauren opens her presents at the table. There are more than usual this year, mountains of brightly wrapped gifts from friends and well-wishers. I toy with a bright pink teddy bear with a bowtie.

Who sent this one?

Lauren shrugs. Not sure.

You really must read the cards so we know who gave you what.

There wasn’t a card, she says dismissively. Don’t want the skanky bear anyway. It’s for babies.

Maybe it’s for my baby. Except we’ve only told a handful of people so far, not that it would be hard to guess. I retrieve the wrapping paper and look for a name, but there are no clues there.

Lauren continues to tear through the pile, until all that’s left is a large padded, brown envelope. She rips it open and her face turns stormy as she takes in the contents.

What’s all this? Maths? RE?

I lean over her shoulder. That looks like the work your teacher promised.

But it’s my birthday!

We don’t have to look at it today,

She shifts in her seat. I know exactly what we can do with this. We can light it on fire.

I dart a look across the room to Deacon, but he acts like he hasn’t heard. He jostles the pancake mixture in the pan, flipping and tossing until he creates the shape he wants, then he slides the pancake onto the stack and sets them down on the table with a flourish. Lauren’s hand shoots out like a lizard’s tongue and grabs the one on top.

Aw, it looks like a submarine, Dad!

He pulls a face. Just what I was going for.

She smiles and reaches across me for the golden syrup.

There’s a loud clonking sound, and we all look up to see Mum tottering down the stairs in her kitten-heeled slippers. She’s still in her dressing gown, but she has full makeup on and carefully tousled hair.

Happy birthday, Lauren!

Morning, Gran!

Stop calling me that! My name is Suzie!

Lauren leaps up to hug her, but really she’s after the brightly wrapped present Mum’s holding behind her back. Mum surrenders the parcel and Lauren rips into it.

Ooh, earrings!

She holds up a little display box containing jewelled studs.

She hasn’t had her ears pierced yet, I say though clenched teeth.

Well. We can soon fix that, can’t we? Mum says. Just fetch me a safety pin and an ice cube.

Lauren squeals.

She can get them done professionally, I say quickly.

Deacon manages a polite smile. Would you like a pancake, Suzie?

Oh no, I’ll just have these. Mum reaches for the Tupperware box she left on the sideboard.

Why are you eating cardboard? Lauren asks.

Oh no, dear. These are crispbreads.

Lauren wrinkles up her nose. Looks the same. Tastes the same…

Well, I like them, Mum insists. She reaches for the bottle of strawberry sauce and uses it to doodle a little heart on Lauren’s plate. It’s quite touching until Lauren grabs the chocolate sauce and draws a steaming pile of poo.

---

Can I leave the table? Lauren says loudly, once she’s devoured her pancakes.

If you like, Deacon says. Make sure you wear thick socks and gloves.

She studies him carefully. Are you going to wear gloves?

Of course.

He rises from the table. I’d better get ready too.

What’s the rush? Mum asks between bites of her cardboard.

He’s taking Lauren ice-skating.

How come you’re not going?

I pat my tummy and give her a pointed look. Lauren is still in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of squash.

I’m popping into work for a bit, I say.

I’ve hardly been in since Lauren was kidnapped, and I feel bad leaving Rhett in the lurch.

Mum’s face lights up.

Oh, can I come? I’d love to see the shop.

I frown. I’m not sure I want her under my feet, but I can’t think of a good excuse to ditch her.

I was planning to leave in twenty minutes. Can you be ready by then?

Of course. Just give me a few minutes to spruce myself up and I’ll be with you.

---

Forty-five minutes later, I shoo Mum out the door and usher her down the driveway towards my new car. I nod to our security guard, Milo, who is stationed outside the house, and Mum waggles her fingers at him like she’s the queen. Kate reckons it’s a bit over the top, hiring a security guard, but I feel safer knowing he’s out there, keeping an eye on things.

Mum collapses gracefully into the front passenger seat and dons her dark glasses.

Shame you can’t put the top down.

I give her a sideways glance. The sun is shining brightly today, and our cherry tree looks like a big mushroom cloud. All the same, there’s a bite in the air and the leaves are dancing in the gutters.

Lauren seems perky enough, she remarks as we set off. Back to her old self.

I nod and blink at the road ahead.

---

I catch a glimpse of neon yellow further up the road. The police are directing traffic, waving people past an accident. I know I shouldn’t look, but I can’t help but gaze at the van parked at an awkward angle. One of the wing mirrors is damaged and the back window is shattered. Mum leans closer so she can have a good gawk at it.

What’s happened there then?

Looks like it hit a bollard.

I taste saliva. It could just as easily have been me. We’re all driving around in these flimsy metal boxes. It only takes one small lapse of judgement. One little slip.

Oh, I never asked you. How was the funeral?

My cousin Chris died in a road traffic collision just after Lauren was taken. Under normal circumstances, I would have gone to the funeral, but I had my own drama to deal with and I needed to be at home with Lauren.

They gave him a good send off, Mum reflects. Poor Sheila. What with losing Chris and then Dessie ending up in hospital…

I wrench my eyes away from the wreck. I didn’t get the full story about Dessie. How did he end up like that?

Sounds like he got himself in a state over Chris. He hadn’t been taking good care of himself. Not eating or sleeping properly. They found him in the road outside his house. Hit and run, apparently. The driver still hasn’t been caught, and Dessie’s in a bad way. They’ve put him in an induced coma.

Dreadful, I say, shaking my head. I can’t believe how much bad luck has befallen my family in such a short time. I’m beginning to think there’s some kind of dodgy programming in our genes, some kind of magnet that attracts trouble.

Oh, and there was this woman at the funeral. Pretty girl, can’t remember her name, but I think she might have been Chris’s girlfriend.

Chelsea?

No, not her. Apparently, Chris and Chelsea had recently broken up.

Really? They were together for yonks, weren’t they?

I never got to meet Chelsea, but I spoke to her on the phone once. She sounded fun.

Yeah, well, according to Sheila, something went wrong between them, and Chris went running off to this Cordelia. They were ‘just good friends’ allegedly. Not that it matters now, of course.

God, poor Chelsea. I bet she feels like shit.

I bet she does. I’m not surprised she didn’t make it to the funeral. I mean, who’d want to be in her shoes? All those people staring at her, whispering, saying it was her fault.

Wait a minute, I thought Chris was on his own when he crashed?

He was, but he was upset. If he and Chelsea hadn’t fallen out, well, it might never have happened.

I shake my head. Poor Chris and poor Chelsea.

2

Seagulls shriek obscenities as I manoeuvre into my parking space. Someone’s been feeding them again, scattering chip packets and other rubbish all along the seafront. Poor Rhett has started coming in early to clear it all away so it doesn’t put off potential customers.

Is the water always that colour? Mum asks as she gets out of the car. It looks as dark as Zeus’s eyebrows.

I gaze out at the horizon. The sea is indeed a dark, foreboding blue. Killer waves crash onto the shore with a sharp smack for anyone who dares get in the way. Not to be deterred, a coachload of tourists have just arrived, shivering in their bathing suits and steeling themselves with cups of tea from the only café open. Hopefully, some of them will come and have a browse around the boutique.

Mum stands in front of the shop.

Oh, it’s quite nice really. I didn’t think the lettering worked at all in the pictures you sent.

I press my lips together and push the door open. I take a step inside then stop sharp as I clap eyes on the man behind the counter. Mum ploughs into the back of me.

Oof!

Sorry!

She follows my gaze. With his symmetrical bone structure and startling blue eyes, this man exudes a raw, primal energy, his foot tapping away under the table. He grins and waits a couple of beats, probably used to the devastating effect he has on women.

Good morning, ladies! Welcome to the boutique. Feel free to have a browse and let me know if I may be of any assistance.

His eyes linger on each of us for a moment, and warmth floods my chest.

Erm, actually, I’m Isabel and this is my shop.

Oh! He claps his hands together and jumps to his feet, vaulting over the counter to greet me. He takes my hand in his and shakes it firmly yet gracefully. His own hands are incredibly smooth, and I feel a little depleted once it’s over.

Well, I say. That was quite a welcome.

And I’m Suzie. Mum stretches a hand out for him to shake.

My mum, I supply.

Pleased to make your acquaintance.

Mum giggles as he shakes her hand. I shoot her a look. Mum has a laugh like a leaky tap. Every time you think she’s finished, there’s a bit more.

---

My brother-in-law, Rhett, walks out of the back room, carrying a peculator.

Ah, Isabel. I see you’ve met Zac?

Yes. I try not to stare. Zac has a pair of sunglasses casually clipped to his shirt and a collar that stands perfectly upright. His jeans are simple but well made and, I suspect, designer. I ought to ask who he is, but I’m a little too dazzled to speak. If I were ten years younger and a lot less pregnant…

Zac here is a business studies student at Queensbeach College, Rhett says. He takes out the cups and pours coffee for each of us while Zac fetches a chair for Mum.

Here you go, Suzie.

He shoots her another dazzling smile, which sets her off giggling again.

He was supposed to be starting an internship at Erstat Bank this morning.

Erstat went under, I say, proud to have picked up this nugget on the morning news. It’s not often I’m up to date with current events.

Quite, Rhett says. So anyway, we got to talking, and I thought we could give him some work experience. We’re a small business with lots to learn, but it’s pretty hands-on, and there might be a thing or two Zac could teach us, don’t you think?

I nod, too entranced to speak. I just hope we can find enough work for him, I say, indicating the empty shop. We’re not exactly bowled off our feet at the moment.

Well, maybe I can help with that, Zac says with a winning smile. His teeth are sparkling white pearls, his jaw perfectly aligned. Eyes confident, if slightly guarded. I force myself to look away for the good of my marriage.

---

What are you playing at? I hiss at Rhett while Mum quizzes Zac on a barrage of personal information. You really should have okayed it with me before taking someone on.

We’re not paying him, he objects. He’s offering his services for free. I think it will be fun to have him here for a few weeks. And you never know, he might have some good ideas.

My hand goes to my hip. I don’t disagree, I just would have liked to be consulted.

Rhett hangs his head. Alright, I hear you. He glances out at the shop floor. I was thinking though, if he’s good, we might want to keep him on part-time. I mean, you might need a bit of time off when the baby comes, and it would be good to have someone who can cover for us when need be.

I flex my fingers. I’ve got Deacon to help. I won’t need much time off.

Rhett tilts his head. You might change your mind once the baby’s here.

I won’t.

I’m excited about this baby, but I’m not going through the hell I went through last time, stuck at home all day, losing my mind. Deacon has promised he’s going to be more hands-on this time, even if it means taking time off work.

Rhett lets go of a sigh. Honestly, our sales are so dire, I don’t know if we’ll even be in business by then anyway.

I suck in my breath. I know things are a bit slow at the moment, but we have such great stuff. You just have to believe!

Oh, I believe, he says bitterly. But there’s only so many months we can keep making a loss. The way things are going, we’re going to run the place into the ground.

I nod and look around our beautiful boutique. I wanted my own shop for so long, and now I have one, filled with all these lovely things and it seems nobody wants them. How did I get it so wrong?

The doorbell chimes and Lauren pushes past me so she can be the one to answer it. We’re calling this evening a ‘party’, but we’ve only invited Rhett, Kate and Sophia. Lauren didn’t want to invite her friend Robyn, and I didn’t push it. Robyn is more Sophia’s friend anyway.

Hi, Auntie Isabel! Sophia calls, as the girls thunder up the stairs to Lauren’s bedroom. I raise my hand in a half wave, but they’ve already gone.

---

Deacon’s pouring wine for Rhett and Kate. He bought me a bottle of non-alcoholic Cava. It doesn’t taste anything like the real thing, but I appreciate the thought.

Kate takes a sip of her wine and there’s a pause while I try and come up with something to talk about. It’s been weird between us lately. The conversation doesn’t flow the way it used to. A minute passes, two, and neither of us can come up with anything.

You’re wearing a lot of black these days, I finally say.

Kate looks down at her outfit. Yeah, I suppose I am.

In fact, she looks decidedly gothic, with her smooth black tights and heavy lids.

Don’t get me wrong, you look great, but it’s quite a departure from your usual look.

She offers me a slow, lazy smile. New job, new style.

Yes! says Mum, leaning over the back of the sofa. What’s it like, working in a mortuary?

What’s that? I interrupt, eyeing the parcel Mum’s holding.

Oh, this came for Lauren.

I spot the Spanish postmark.

It must be from Julio. I’ll take it up to her.

Mum hands it over and slips into my seat. Thankfully, she’s never short of conversation. Kate relaxes and takes a swig of her wine. I leave mine on the table and plod up the stairs.

Lauren’s door is closed, but Sophia’s voice carries onto the landing.

You should have asked for a puppy. This is your golden opportunity, Lauren. They’re so happy to have you back, they’ll give you anything.

I raise an eyebrow. I wish Kate could hear what her precious daughter sounds like.

Fluffy doesn’t like dogs, Lauren objects.

Fluffy’s old. He might be dead soon.

The hairs on my neck rise.

There’s a short silence, then Lauren says, He’s not that old.

Yes, he is. All he does is sleep.

That’s because he’s a cat.

My mum says he’s on his last legs. That’s why you have to be gentle with him.

Well, she’s wrong. Fluffy’s got loads of years left in him.

I burst into the room, a big smile pasted on my mouth.

Parcel from Uncle Julio! Open it, Lauren. Let’s see what it is!

---

The present turns out to be a new Shyboyz hoodie and a couple of other band T-shirts. Lauren instantly sheds the pretty dress I bought for her and wriggles into the black hoodie, pairing it with the snakeskin leggings Mum got her.

I think it’s about time for food, I say, trying not to mind. After all, it is Lauren’s birthday.

---

I follow the girls back downstairs, where Mum and Kate are unwrapping the food. There is a cheerful spread of sandwiches, crisps, jelly and cake. Mum has made cupcakes with way too much silver and gold icing, and a glittery green unicorn cake. The girls ooh and ahh.

I watch as Mum sips her wine, her nails glittery against the glass stem. Deacon catches my eye and tops up my glass with the fake stuff.

Thanks.

He smiles and then disappears into his office to take a call. I linger in the doorway, my fingers picking paint off the door jamb. I can’t hear the conversation, but when he sees me standing there, he casts his eyes down like shutters. I retreat a short way to the bookshelf, my ears straining to hear.

---

He doesn’t come out right away, so I busy myself collecting paper cups and plates. I carry armfuls of rubbish to the kitchen and cram it all into the bin, thumping the lid to make it close.

When he emerges, there’s an odd smile on his face.

Something wrong? I ask.

He shakes his head but doesn’t offer any explanation.

What was it, a work call?

Not quite.

Sophia appears in front of me. She always stands a little too close, which I didn’t mind when she was little, but I find it odd now she comes almost up to my nose.

Yes, Sophia?

When are you going to light the cake?

Deacon grins. I’m on it.

Is it my imagination or is he a little too keen? I watch him as he rattles through the kitchen drawer, looking for the matches. I check the medicine cupboard just in case, but I think I already know there aren’t any.

I pull out my phone. There’s an app that looks like a lighter…

You want a lighter?

Kate rummages in her handbag. I shrink back as she passes it to Deacon, then I duck out of the way, heading back into the living room, where I dim the lights. A moment later, Deacon follows, bearing the cake. The candles flicker with every step.

Stand well back, I warn the girls. Lauren tenses up and I wish I hadn’t said anything. I smile wider to compensate.

Happy birthday to you…

Fluffy curls his ears. Mum’s the only one of us who can hold a tune and she is drowned out by Sophia’s enthusiasm. We finish the song and Lauren puffs out her cheeks, ready to blow out the candles.

Is her left plait too close to the flame?

I reposition the cake, pushing it a little further up the table. She has her eyes closed now, and her chin juts forward as she expels all the air she was holding in.

Not too close!

I keep my tone jovial, but I’m ready to pour the whole jug of water over the flame if I have to. We all cheer and clap as the flames go out, till all that’s left is a ghostly trial of vapour and a smell that ought to be pleasant but always reminds me of death.

---

What did you wish for? Deacon asks as he cuts Lauren the first slice.

I wished to go to Summerfest this year.

Shh! Sophia hisses. You can’t tell! You’ll jinx it.

Lauren narrows her eyes. You can’t jinx stuff. That’s baby talk.

I glance at Deacon. Summerfest is a local festival that’s held every year. It’s getting to be quite a big event now, with headline acts from some well-known bands, and Lauren’s been badgering me about it for weeks. She looks at us expectantly, and I press my lips together, not wanting to promise anything. She turns and looks at Mum.

You’ll be here for Summerfest, won’t you, Gran?

Mum picks at her