A gripping psychological thriller with chilling twists, from a unique new voice
HIDING
Jenny Morton Potts
Genre: Thriller
Publisher: Cahoots Publishing
Publication Date: February 1, 2018
Publisher: Cahoots Publishing
Publication Date: February 1, 2018
Ready or not. The truth will come
Keller Baye and Rebecca Brown live on different sides of the Atlantic. Until she falls in love with him, Rebecca knows nothing of Keller. But he’s known about her for a very long time, and now he wants to destroy her.
This is the story of two families. One living under the threat of execution in North Carolina. The other caught up in a dark mystery in the Scottish Highlands. The families’ paths are destined to cross. But why? And can anything save them when that happens?
Grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go until the very last page
- Bestselling Author Marius Gabriel
"Hiding is an exceptional book that hooked me from the start and kept me riveted throughout."
- Michelle Ryles at The Book Magnet
"A very well written novel with twists and turns that when unravelled will leave you wide eyed and feeling slightly breathless."
- Ms Ling, Top 1000 Amazon reviewer
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Chapter
3
The Birthday Party
(as the mystery surrounding Taransay and the death of their parents mounts, the children begin to take matters into their own hands)
After the appalling start to Rebecca’s 10th birthday at the breakfast table, her hopes rallied when she found a cake in the fridge. Colette must have baked it. And though as Austen often declared, Colette must be the idlest of girls, she did make exceedingly good cakes. On the occasions Colette made a cake, and Austen was at home, he would call her ‘Kipling’ for the entire day. Colette seemed to like this and since she and Austen did not get on at all otherwise, everyone brightened when the smell of Colette’s baking rose from the kitchen. And now there it was in the fridge, a glorious gateau, with the light shining upon it. Gosh, it looked amazing. Rebecca felt a sudden surge of love for her big sister.
Colette never ate even a morsel of cake herself, since she was always aiming for the kind of body weight where your bones clacked together. But she loved to make them, to set them on a table and pace around them, to be praised copiously for her genius and selfless commitment. This cake was chocolate, with creamy filling and snowy icing and red writing, with a new number atop and Rebecca’s name in extravagant swirls over the crown: Ten Today Rebecca!
At 4.00pm, as was customary for such events, the family were all seated in the high-ceilinged dining room. Rebecca’s tummy turned over, like a pancake was getting flipped in there. She didn’t settle her eyes on any of her party companions but gazed around the walls at the hunting scenes and seascapes. Where had they come from, these enormous oil paintings in their gilt frames? Who had lived here before? Why did they put metal bars on all the downstairs windows?
‘Stop your gawping, birthday girl.’ Primmy said but with almost a smile. ‘Or if you must gawp, gawp at that.’ She pointed to Colette’s wonderful cake in the centre of the grand table.
Colette herself pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I have something important I want to discuss.’
‘Oh God, another one.’ Primmy squirmed with discomfort.
Ralph’s expression was open. Austen’s face was highly amused. And Rebecca’s inquisitive nose almost twitched; indeed she was so curious to hear what her sister was going to say next that she forgot to be annoyed at having her birthday thunder stolen.
Colette took a deep breath. ‘Thing is, the actual thing is, this house is going to rack and ruin.’
Austen sniggered. Without even looking, Rebecca knew that her brother’s mouth would have taken on that twisted sneer and she knew also that her sister’s treacherous stammer would take full advantage of Austen’s mocking.
Colette cleared her throat. ‘I’d expect nothing less from you, Austen. But you don’t really have to live here, d-d-do you. Oh yeah, you come by, in the holidays, or for the odd occasion. Like t-t-today. When you know the grub’ll be d-d-decent. But the rest of us, we four…’
Austen burst out laughing. ‘Fuck me, it’s the grand orator.’
Primmy picked up her napkin from her plate and threw it across the table like a gauntlet. ‘How dare you use that kind of language in front of your Grandfather and I. How dare you!’
Rebecca ground her elbows into the dining table. The cloth moved as she huffed and puffed with distress. She’d been hoping they could have used the whole length of the table but as usual, they were huddled down at one end, near the fire. The dining table was covered with enormous pads to protect the wood. What was the point of its grandeur if you were never to see it? The French polisher had come a few months ago but as soon as he’d finished treating the mahogany, it was hastily covered again. Perhaps it was like a Greek myth and its glossy surface couldn’t be looked upon, or you’d be blinded. Rebecca scratched at the eczema in the crook of her arms.
‘Don’t!’ Primmy Brown fixed her stare on Rebecca.
‘What did I do?’ Rebecca could feel the flaking skin under her finger nails and put her hands in her lap.
Colette wasn’t finished with them yet. Normally, this level of tension would have got the better of Colette Brown. She had a sort of lock gate emotional release. When sadness or injustice rose too high, it all sluiced through. Her younger sister generally found it safer to stand back a little when Colette reached this flashpoint but today, she seemed to be holding it together. Colette laid her palms on the table and looked desperate. ‘We’re not managing. Are we? Well, are we?’
‘Hey. Are you wearing lipstick?’
‘Oh shut up, Rebecca. For a minute.’
‘It’s my birthday.’
‘Well, duh, this we know. Look, all I am t-t-trying to say is that we have to… we’re going to have to b-b-buckle down. We can’t just accept things. Not as they are. We’re… not pathetic, but like that.’ Colette looked at her brother.
‘We’re apathetic, Kipling.’
‘Yes, thank you Austen. We’re apathetic. And I don’t want us to be. I want us to make an effort. I want us to fix up this house. There, that, for a start, we never call it Taransay. But that’s its name. We treat the house with d-d-d, with dis-dis…’
‘With disdain, Kipling.’
‘Yes. Like we don’t care about it. I mean Austen calls it The Orphanage. Like it’s all a big joke. But I don’t think it’s funny.’
‘I don’t either. It isn’t funny.’ Rebecca looked down at her empty plate.
Primmy closed her eyes and spoke in her medium at a séance voice. ‘Once upon a time there were three little orphans who lived with their wicked grandparents in a creaky old house by the sea. Taransay.’
Ralph Brown didn’t like his wife’s sinister tone and steered them back towards debate. ‘Insofar as a house really has a name. It’s just something plucked from somewhere. An idea that—’
‘You see, Grandad, that’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about. You’re d-d-d.. deh, deh, den…’ Colette looked at Austen once more.
‘You’re denigrating the idea. You’re putting her down, Ralph. She’s had enough. And look at Rebecca, bless her. She’s about to explode. I fear for the crockery.’
About Jenny Morton Potts
Jenny is a novelist, screenplay writer and playwright. After a series of 'proper jobs', she realised she was living someone else's life and escaped to Gascony to make gîtes. Knee deep in cement and pregnant, Jenny was happy. Then autism and a distracted spine surgeon wiped out the order. Returned to wonderful England, to write her socks off.Jenny would like to see the Northern Lights but worries that’s the best bit and should be saved till last. Very happily, and gratefully, settled with family.
She tries not to take herself too seriously.
Official website: http://www.jennymortonpotts.com/
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Follow the book tour from April 16 - 28, 2018.
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