Free 24 Hours: An intense, suspenseful psychological thriller by Claire Seeber

breath. ‘I was at Forest Lodge. My daughter, Polly Smith … my husband Sid – he’s the … you know, the artist, and anyway – I think someone’s trying to kill me. I need to get to my daughter. She’s on the train, I think, coming back from—’
    ‘Stop,’ he holds up a hand. ‘You’re not making any sense. What are you on about?’
    ‘I’m Laurie Smith.’
    He looks at me again. ‘Laurie Smith is dead.’ He points at the tea-hut. ‘They’ve just said that on the TV. She’s dead, in the fire. You were listening to it. So, sorry – but who are you?’
    ‘ I’m Laurie Smith.’
    ‘So, what are you doing here?’ his face hardens. ‘Because if you are Laurie Smith, you’re wanted for suspected arson.’
    And who is Laurie Smith anyway, I wonder. Where did that girl go? The one who fell in love with the man who had been irreparably hurt by his own past, the one who had almost been ruined by her own father’s lack of love. The one who always loved the wrong boys at school, who learnt nothing from Emily’s great confidence; who couldn’t see it was the men she picked, not her. The one who held Sid’s hand so tight at her wedding because it felt like a second chance; a new beginning. The start of something – not a descent into madness. The one who used to feel hopeful. Where is that Laurie?
    It feels like I am dreaming with my eyes open. Any minute I will wake up.
    The policeman’s radio crackles again; he speaks into it. ‘Six-seventy, receiving.’ He looks at me with contempt, shakes his head. ‘I’d get your story straight if I was you, love. Broken-down cars, arguments with boyfriends, famous husbands.’ He slams his visor down. ‘There’s a word for women like you.’ He kicks the bike-stand up and roars off through a puddle. Muddy water splashes my already-damp legs.
    ‘Sexy git, in’t he?’ the waitress is standing behind me, lighting a fag. She coughs. ‘I would, wouldn’t you? And you wouldn’t blame me if you saw my Richard in his Y-fronts.’ She pulls a face, and without waiting for an answer, heads for her car. ‘You coming then, or what?’
    Or what? I follow her to a rusty maroon Capri that looks older than she does.
    Laurie Smith is wanted for arson?
    There is no what.

15

THEN: LEONARD
    D ropping Polly at school the following week later, feeling harassed because we were even later than usual, I thought I heard my name being called across the playground.
    ‘I’m going to get a late mark,’ Polly’s lower lip was trembling precariously and I refrained from pointing out that if she hadn’t insisted on changing her entire outfit at the last minute because her woolly tights were too ‘frizzy’ against her skin, we would have been on time.
    ‘You’ll be fine.’ Dispatching her up the stairs to her classroom with a kiss, I turned to see Mal and a small red-haired boy traipsing across the emptying playground. My heart sank.
    ‘Laurie! I thought it was you,’ Mal grinned. The small freckle-faced boy was holding his father’s hand very tight. ‘How are you?’
    ‘Good thanks,’ I was artificially bright, immediately confused. My pleasure at seeing Mal’s friendly face was almost entirely erased by the memory of our last meeting – although I was relieved to see that he did really have a son. I had put his mention of the school to the back of my mind, but obviously I was going to have to retrieve it. I looked down at the solemn little boy. ‘Hello. You must be …’ the child’s name escaped me.
    Mal prodded his reticent son.
    ‘Leonard,’ the boy muttered.
    Poor child, I thought, saddled with such a serious name at such a young age.
    ‘Bit anxious,’ Mal rolled his eyes. ‘We’re hoping he’ll get a place but they still can’t confirm it. We’ve come to meet the headmistress again.’
    ‘You’re going to be fine, Leonard.’ I offered him my hand. ‘My name’s Laurie. Pleased to meet you. It’s a very nice school. And Mrs Webster’s a nice