I’ve been itching to give you all a sneak peek of what I’ve been working on. Here’s an exclusive look at the start of The Shopkeeper. If I’m honest, this one might be my darkest, most twisted thriller yet… so, consider yourself warned!
Read the excerpt below and enjoy.
September, 2008
She holds her breath, desperately hanging on for a few more precious seconds. This is what she’s been working on for weeks.
‘And… exhale.’
The lady’s soothing voice, coming from the TV, is a much-needed respite, and she doesn’t need telling twice. Some precious air floods back into her lungs. She’s getting better at it now, though. That’s the reward for months of hard work and dedication, despite what the devil on her left shoulder says. When she first started her morning meditation, she could barely hold her breath for longer than ten seconds. Now she’s going well over thirty.
As the soothing voice lady instructs, Brooke keeps her eyes closed and her body upright and still. The calming background music drifts through the living room before dissolving into the sound of waves crashing against sand, which only makes her need a wee.
She feels a bead of sweat slowly roll down the side of her face, tickling her temple as she fights with everything to hold still.
‘And this time through the nose,’ the soothing voice lady says.
Brooke deeply inhales again, sitting cross-legged with her palms resting on her thighs, trying her hardest not to fart when the soothing voice lady instructs her to spread her legs like a ballerina. Easy for her to say, but judging by the fact that she’s got to be at least fifty, Brooke is quietly confident that she didn’t just push a baby out less than a year ago, only to be instructed to ‘effortlessly spread her legs’. To Brooke, it feels more like playing a drunken game of Twister.
Eventually, she eases into the stretch, still sweating under her sports bra, but grateful for the moment of peace before the day grabs her with both hands. And it’s a big day too. One she’s been nervous about for weeks.
‘And breathe, count to ten. Allow those worries and anxiety to drift away. Put it in your mental box. Let your mind settle. And… exhale.’
As she releases her breath again, she lets her eyes flutter open. Sunlight spills through the window, gently warming her face and casting golden lines across the cream carpet, relaxing her muscles and filling her with ease.
‘Thank you…’ Soothing voice lady says. ‘You did a great job today…’
‘Thank you very much,’ Brooke says, hitting pause on the telly. The soft vibration humming from the coffee table catches her attention, and she reaches for her Blackberry to check the reminder on the screen.
Check levels. Injection.
Two years in, and it’s routine now. She twists to grab the small pouch from the shelf beneath the coffee table, pulling out the glucose monitor and lancet. She doesn’t really need the reminder anymore, but something always tugs at her mind, telling her that if she were to switch it off, she’d forget.
A quick prick to her fingertip, a drop of blood. She’s learned not to hesitate. It’s miles better to do it before her mind catches up and talks her out of it. It’s never anything more than a sharp pinch, and as always, she curses herself for being such a wimp as she slides a test strip into the monitor, dabs the blood, and waits.
4.1
It’s low, but manageable. She doesn’t feel like she’s about to pass out and crash to the floor – despite soothing voice lady’s best efforts. So she cleans up, disposes of the needle, and sinks back into the rare quietness of the house. Oliver will be up soon, and Rob too. That’s when the stampede well and truly begins, but for now, she lets her thoughts wander with the silence.
Oh, that delicate sense of freedom.
And then comes the inevitable cry.
She exhales through her nose and struggles to her feet, finally allowing that fart to slip out. She leaves the exercise mat where it is and heads upstairs, hurrying as the crying grows louder with each step.
‘Good morning, handsome,’ she coos as she steps into the bedroom at the top of the stairs and scoops Oliver from his cot. His face is blotchy red as he studies her with a ‘how dare you leave me this long’ face. His tiny fists are balled tight in tantrum. But the moment he’s in her arms, the cries soften.
‘Wow, don’t you look big today? Did you grow in the night? I think you did! Yes, I dooo!’
A tiny sneeze is her answer.
She laughs. ‘Whoopsie daisy,’ she murmurs, pressing her nose to his.
By the time they’re downstairs, Oliver is changed and fed. Rob appears in the kitchen, his voice thick with sleep.
‘Morning, babe. Sorry, I know I look like shite. Head’s bangin’.’
His work trousers are creased, his polo shirt stained, and his hair is a mess. He yawns and stretches, making her grimace. He clearly hasn’t tackled his armpits yet either.
‘Ah, don’t worry. I know you’ll age like fine wine eventually, Mr Keating,’ she chirps, guiding another spoonful of baby food towards Oliver’s wriggling mouth.
‘We’ll both age together like fine wine, soon-to-be Mrs Keating.’ Rob rubs his eyes. ‘Anyway, how’s my little man today?’ His attempt at baby talk is hilariously dreadful.
Brooke glances at the clock. It’s barely seven. ‘You’re up early. Even for you.’
‘Yeah, got to nip to the builder’s yard, then pick up Antony. Want to get as much done at Grace’s before I take the van in for its MOT.’
‘You’ve not forgotten about the nursery meeting?’ she asks, watching his expression.
Blank.
‘Shit, that’s today?’
‘Rob!’
‘I’ll make it work,’ he promises, hands raised. ‘Van’s in at two. If I have to, I’ll bus it and meet you there.’
She studies him, then nods. ‘Good. There are only two spots left, and I don’t want our Oliver missing out.’
‘Me neither, babe!’ He bends to kiss her head. ‘Love you.’ Then, to Oliver, ‘And I love you too, little man!’
He grabs his hi-vis jacket and heads for the door.
‘You stink,’ she calls after him, laughing softly.
‘Oh bugger.’ He stops mid-step. ‘Forgot the deodorant!’
‘Honestly, it’s like having two kids sometimes!’
Rob thunders back upstairs. The pipes groan as water rushes through them, making her feel like she’s trapped in a sinking ship with water rising in the walls. Before she can get another spoonful into Oliver’s mouth, the house shakes again as Rob rushes back downstairs.
‘Right babe, I’m off!’
‘Half four, Rob!’ she yells.
The door slams shut before she gets a reply.
She sighs, turning back to Oliver. His breakfast is now mostly decorating his chin. ‘Right then, let’s get you ready for Nana.’
Upstairs, she stands in tights and a bra, torn between a plain navy blouse and a cream floral one. She’s still weighing her options when the doorbell rings.
‘Hello?’ Jackie calls from below.
Brooke freezes. She must have let herself in. ‘Erm… just a sec!’
She hears footsteps in the hallway. Brooke doesn’t usually mind; she likes that Jackie feels at home enough to waltz in and put the kettle on. There’ve been mornings she’s come downstairs to find her future mother-in-law halfway through a brew with the kitchen surfaces freshly wiped. But today, she wishes she’d knocked.
‘Need a hand?’ Jackie’s voice carries up the stairs.
‘No, thanks, we’re coming!’ Brooke yells back, throwing on the navy blouse just as Oliver sneezes on it.
Cream floral it is.
Damn it.
A quick change later, her brunette hair still tucked inside her collar, she heads downstairs with Oliver. She and Jackie are close – closer than she is with her own mother, thank God – but not bra-and-bloody-knickers close.
Jackie beams as Brooke hands Oliver over, her smile deepening the fine lines around her eyes and mouth.
‘I’ll miss our afternoons together,’ she says wistfully.
‘We’ve been over this. It’s nothing personal,’ Brooke assures her. ‘You’ve been amazing – I don’t think I’d have survived maternity leave without your help. But we were always going to have to make changes when I went back to work. And besides, I’ll still need you to have him on Thursdays when I’m volunteering at the homeless shelter. We just think nursery will be good for him, to be around other kids and learn, you know?’
Jackie nods. ‘Our Emma said that about George. Said he was a different lad after a few weeks. Brought home every bug going, mind.’ She winks. ‘Best stock up on cold and flu tablets.’
Brooke groans. ‘Great. Another expense.’
Jackie pats her arm. ‘One more month until full pay again. Hang in there, love. And you know—’
‘For the last time, we don’t want to borrow any money,’ Brooke cuts in. ‘Thank you though. For everything.’
‘My pleasure. And best of luck today.’
‘I’m actually a bit nervous,’ Brooke admits, her gaze flicking to Jackie. Jackie’s eyes soften as she gently rocks Oliver.
‘Don’t worry, love! You’ll be fine. The first day back after maternity is always scary. What time are you due in, anyway?’
A tight knot coils in Brooke’s stomach as she glances at the clock on her phone screen. Her eyes widen. ‘Oh bugger!’ she gasps, realising she’s already late. Jackie quickly covers one of Oliver’s ears.
‘It’s fine,’ Jackie says. ‘I’ll lock up. You go.’
‘Ta, Jackie. I’ll see you later, yeah?’ Brooke calls, slipping her feet into her heels and thrusting her arms through her jacket.
She steps outside, barely sparing a second to feel the warmth of the morning sun.
Breathe. Count to ten.
With a quick pat of her pocket to check for her keys, she turns on her heel and hurries down the path, completely unaware of the calm, unblinking eyes watching from across the street. The same eyes that have tracked her every move since dawn. Since every dawn for years. Watching the same window, at the same time. Every morning.
Oh, and she will be perfect.
HE WATCHES. HE WAITS. HE WANTS HER.
Brooke Jackson is on the brink.
She’s struggling to make ends meet, caring for her baby boy while trying to piece together a shattered relationship. When she returns from maternity leave, the company has collapsed, leaving her jobless overnight. Desperate for stability and buried beneath relentless bills, she accepts a job at a small corner shop – her last chance to survive. Until her new boss offers her a lifeline that could wipe away her debts and give her son the life he deserves… at a price.
Spencer White has been nothing but kind to Brooke.
A friend, a confidant, her boss, and an easy solution to all her financial problems. But beneath the warm smiles and gentle manner lies a dark obsession, one that tightens its grip with every passing day.
When Brooke makes a chilling discovery, she realises she’s been living under a false sense of security. The man she trusted most has been keeping secrets. Dangerous ones.
And now, he’s ready to make sure she understands the truth: They belong together.
No matter what it takes.
And she will be perfect.
The Shopkeeper is an utterly addictive, heart-pounding stalker thriller from the bestselling author of One Step Closer.
