No Going Back Read Online Free PDF

bed and scour the house. Everything looked normal. There were no missing pieces of silver or prised open windows so I went back to bed and dropped off to sleep to the sound of birds singing and the clink of bottles in the milk float as it rumbled down the street.
    At Gran’s everything stops for coffee at eleven o’clock on the dot. I could smell the aroma of freshly ground beans as I trudged down the stairs, preparing myself for an evil look and a tart comment for not surfacing several hours earlier.
    â€œSleep well?” Mum asked as I entered the kitchen.
    â€œOf course she slept well,” Gran butted in. “That’s why she’s not come down until nearly lunchtime. It’s the country air that does it, and the quietness.None of that constant traffic to keep you awake.”
    â€œI like the sound of traffic,” I answered back, my resolve not to be annoyed gone in an instant. “Actually I didn’t sleep well. I had this really horrible dream. At least I think that’s what it was.”
    â€œThat’ll be all those biscuits of mine that you ate after supper,” Gran snapped. “Didn’t I tell you that no good would come of it?”
    Mum shot me a wry smile over the top of Gran’s head. “What sort of a dream, sweetheart?”
    I half turned away from Gran and directed my answer at Mum. “I thought there was someone in my room. I was positive there was, but when I switched on the light no one was there. I got out of bed later and looked along the landing just to make sure. It was horrible. I was so scared.”
    Mum came over and put her arm around my shoulders.
    â€œThere aren’t any ghosts here that no one’s told me about, are there?” I asked. “This house isn’t haunted?”
    Gran snorted into her coffee.
    â€œYou are so dramatic, Laura – just like your father.You know that there are no such things as ghosts.”
    I glared at her. I had no idea what Gran had against my dad but, even after all these years, she grabbed every chance to have a dig at him. It wasn’t always what she said. Sometimes it was more what she didn’t say. It was the way she raised her eyebrows in an expression of disapproval if his name was mentioned or the fact that she put Mum and Dad’s wedding photograph away in a drawer less than a year after he died and never brought it out again. She hated me visiting the grave too.
    â€œIt’s not healthy,” Gran had said, on one of her infrequent visits to London. “And think of all the money you’re spending,” she’d added, as Mum handed over a five pound note in exchange for a bunch of yellow roses.
    I was sure that Gran had been going to say ‘wasting’ instead of ‘spending’ but she stopped herself just in time. If she was trying to persuade me that Dad wasn’t worth the effort it didn’t work. In fact it had just the opposite effect. The more she made her snide remarks the more I took Dad’s side.
    â€œThere are some things you just know,” I said toLiberty one day when everyone was round at her house and Gran had been having a dig about the way Dad drove too fast. “You don’t have to be told them. It’s as if they are already inside of you at birth and I know that my dad was the best father in the whole of the universe.”
    I didn’t pick up on the fact that Liberty didn’t say much. Besides, I didn’t expect her to agree with me. She couldn’t remember as much as I could about when we were small and she was bound to think that Uncle Pete was the best dad in the world but I did think she could have said that my dad was second best, just to be nice.
    That first morning at Chestnut Farm I helped Mum with a few chores and got out of the house straight after lunch. The sun went behind a cloud as I hurried down Main Street to Liberty’s cottage. I shivered and wished I’d picked up my hoodie