C.J. Cooke - Blame Game

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Contents

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright C. J. Cooke 2019

Jacket design by Dominic Forbes HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Jacket photographs Stephanie Frey / Arcangel Images (envelope); Shutterstock.com (extra texture).

C. J. Cooke asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008237561

Ebook Edition March 2019 ISBN: 9780008237578

Version: 2019-01-21

for Willow

But I know human nature, my friend, and I tell you that, suddenly confronted with the possibility of being tried for murder, the most innocent person will lose his head and do the most absurd things.

Agatha Christie, Murder on the Orient Express

I Know My Name

As Carolyn Jess-Cooke

The Guardian Angels Journal

The Boy Who Could See Demons

C. J. Cooke is an acclaimed, award-winning poet, novelist and academic with numerous other publications under the name of Carolyn Jess-Cooke. Born in Belfast, she has a PhD in Literature from Queens University, Belfast, and is currently Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Glasgow, where she researches creative writing interventions for mental health. I Know My Name was C. J. Cookes first psychological drama and was inspired by her creative work in mental health. It is being published in several other languages and a TV adaptation is in development. The Blame Game is her second psychological drama. C. J. Cooke lives by the sea with her family.

Keep in touch with C. J. Cooke:

http://carolynjesscooke.com/

@carolyn_jess_cooke

@CJessCooke

/Carolyn-Jess-Cooke-Author

K. Haden

Haden, Morris & Laurence Law Practice

4 Martin Place

London, EN9 1AS

25th June 2006

Michael King

101 Oxford Lane

Cardiff

CF10 1FY

Sir,

We write again regarding the death of Luke Aucoin. The time to meet about this tragedy is long overdue. Please do not delay in writing to us at the above address to arrange a meeting.

Sincerely,

K. Haden

K. Haden

Haden, Morris & Laurence Law Practice

4 Martin Place

London, EN9 1AS

25th June 2010

Michael King

101 Oxford Lane

Cardiff

CF10 1FY

Sir,

We write again on behalf of our clients regarding the death of Luke Aucoin.

We request that you contact us immediately to avoid further consequences.

Sincerely,

K. Haden

28th January 2017

MURDERER

I think I might be dead.

The scene in front of me looks like sea fret creeping over wasteland, closing in like a fist. A smell, too sewage and sweat. Theres a flickering light, like someone bringing a torch towards the mist, and it grows so bright that I realise its my eyelids beginning to creak open, like two slabs of concrete breaking apart. Wake up! I shout in my head. Wake up!

Painful brightness. I can make out a ceiling with yellow stains and broken plasterboard, and a ceiling fan that spins limply. I try to lift my head. It takes enormous effort just to raise it an inch, as though an anvil is strapped to it. Where am I? My denim shorts and T-shirt are torn and caked in mud. Im on a bed wearing one sandal. My other foot is twice its normal size, the blue nail polish that Saskia applied to my toes peeking through dried blood. I wiggle my toes, then my fingers.

I can feel my limbs. Good.

A nurse is busy replacing something at the foot of the bed. A urine drainage bag. A sharp tug at my side alerts me to the fact that the bag belongs to me.

Excuse me? I say. My voice is hoarse, no more than a croak.

The foreign chatter elsewhere in the room makes me think that the nurse might not speak English.

Sorry, but ? Excuse me? Can you tell me why Im here?

Even now, when Ive no clue where I am or why, Im apologising. Michael always said I apologise too much. I apologised all the way through both labours for screaming the place down.

A man arrives and consults with the nurse, both of them giving me worried looks as I try to sit up. Hes a doctor in plain clothes: a black polo shirt and jeans, a stethoscope and lanyard announcing his purpose. To my left is a window with a ripped insect net, and for some reason I want to go to it. I need to find something, or someone. You must be careful, the doctor warns me in a thick Belizean accent. Your head is very damaged.

I reach a hand to my head and feel the padding of a dressing on my left temple. The skin around my left eye feels swollen and sore to the touch. I remember now. I remember what I was searching for.