How I Lost You
Copyright © 2014 Jenny Blackhurst
The right of Jenny Blackhurst to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2014
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 1 4722 1898 8
Cover images © Mark Owen/Trevillion Images
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Contents
About Jenny Blackhurst
Jenny Blackhurst grew up in Shropshire where she still lives with her husband and children. Growing up she spent hours reading and talking about crime novels – writing her own seemed like natural progression. Inspired by the emotions she felt around her own son’s birth,
How I Lost You
is Jenny’s thrilling debut crime novel.
About the Book
If you loved
The Wicked Girls
, read the outstanding debut novel from Jenny Blackhurst.
They told her she killed her son. She served her time. But what if they lied?
I have no memory of what happened but I was told I killed my son. And you believe what your loved ones, your doctor and the police tell you, don’t you?
My name is Emma Cartwright. Three years ago I was Susan Webster, and I murdered my twelve-week-old son Dylan. I was sent to Oakdale Psychiatric Institute for my crime, and four weeks ago I was released early on parole with a new identity, address and a chance to rebuild my tattered life.
This morning, I received an envelope addressed to Susan Webster. Inside it was a photograph of a toddler called Dylan. Now I am questioning everything I believe because if I have no memory of the event, how can I truly believe he’s dead?
If there was the smallest chance your son was alive, what would you do to get him back?
To Ash, and to Connor, who never gives up and always finds a way. Love you chicken nugget.
Acknowledgements
Thank you, first, to my wonderful agent Laetitia Rutherford. Without your passion for Susan’s story and your unwavering support I wouldn’t be writing these thank yous now – you have truly made my dreams come true.
To Vicki and Darcy and the entire team at Headline. You’ve taken a stone and polished it into a diamond and I’m very privileged to have been welcomed into your world. Thanks for all the advice, for managing to treat me like I know what I’m doing whilst realising I don’t and for every bit of hard work you do.
To the most supportive friends a little girl could have, for every time you’ve gotten excited for me when I was too scared to get excited for myself. For every time you’ve told me I could do it, and acted like without a doubt I would MAKE IT. To Sarah, my first ever reader, for telling me when I’d gotten it right, but more importantly when I’d gotten it wrong, Lorna, Jo and Laura for always being there – it’s over seven years now girls, you’re stuck with me. To Emma and the girls from JN who were there when I started this, and the ladies and gents at SFRS who were there when I finished. You probably don’t realise how strange and totally awesome it is whenever one of you asks ‘how’s the book?’
To the dedicated reviewers at YWO – without your input this book would never have made it past the slush pile. Special thanks to Notley – everyone’s first reviewer – not just for tearing it to pieces but for helping put it back together, Kay Leitch, Siobhan Daiko and Fred Hebbert for your continued support, and for making me believe I could be a ‘real writer’.
And finally to the greatest family a little girl could wish for. To my mum and dad, who have always taught me I could do anything I set my mind to and have kept me going at it just by being there, and to my big little brother who I do love really. I hope I’ve made you all as proud of me as I am of you. I love you.
Ash. For all the words of encouragement, love and support; for my wonderful son and our unborn child; for the late night chats in the shed where you so matter of factly told me to ‘give it a go’ and for always being the man I married. I love you and the boy more than words can say.
Letter to the parole board from Susan Webster
– inmate #397609
23 January 2013
To the honourable members of the board,
My name is Susan Webster. Nearly four years ago, on 23 July 2009, I killed my three-month-old baby boy. It has taken me this long to be able to say those words and accept that they are true, yet writing them still brings me unimaginable pain and grief.
During my time on remand and the subsequent two years eight months at Oakdale I have researched just about everything that exists about puerperal psychosis, the form of post-natal depression I suffered from after Dylan was born. Reading about it helps me understand and realise that I wasn’t in control of my actions on that awful day. I also know now that my memories of those twelve amazing weeks with Dylan have been romanticised in my mind, created by denial of the terrible anger I felt towards him. I know this because that’s what the doctors say. Harder to accept than the knowledge that I killed my little boy is the thought that my sacred memories – all I have left of my beautiful son – are the product of my own warped mind. In my darker moments I find myself wishing that I could remember the hatred, the indifference towards the life I’d created. Maybe then I would have a moment’s peace, some respite from the guilt and pain that clouds my every waking moment. I hate myself for feeling that way; my memories, real or imagined, are the only things that help me to cling to the person I used to be. The person I thought I was, at least. A wife, a mother, a little disorganised maybe, a terrible cook for sure, but never in my most hideous nightmares a murderer.
Whilst I have accepted what I did, I do not expect forgiveness. I know I will never be able to forgive myself. All I ask is that my remorse be taken into consideration during my parole hearing, so that I can try and rebuild my life, do some good in the world and begin to atone for the evil in my past.
Yours respectfully,
Susan Webster
1
24 April 2013
It’s still there.
No matter how many times I leave the room and try to go about my normal life, every time I go into the kitchen, there it is.
It arrived this morning, hidden underneath the brightly coloured junk mail and ominous-looking bills. I dread receiving the post as it is. Sunday is my favourite day of the week.
