Curfew - Softcover

Cowie, Jayne

Softcover

ISBN 10: 059333678X ISBN 13: 9780593336786

Verlag: Berkley Books, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

Think The Handmaid's Tale but with the women in charge, set in a world where all men are electronically tagged and placed under strict curfew, and the murder investigation threatening to undo it all.

Imagine a near-future Britain in which women dominate workplaces, public spaces, and government. Where the gender pay gap no longer exists and motherhood opens doors instead of closing them. Where women are no longer afraid to walk home alone, to cross a dark parking lot, or to catch the last train.
 
Where all men are electronically tagged and not allowed out after 7 p.m.
 
But the curfew hasn’t made life easy for all women. Sarah is a single mother who happily rebuilt her life after her husband, Greg, was sent to prison for breaking curfew. Now he’s about to be released, and Sarah isn’t expecting a happy reunion, given that she’s the reason he was sent there.
 
Her teenage daughter, Cass, hates living in a world that restricts boys like her best friend, Billy. Billy would never hurt anyone, and she’s determined to prove it. Somehow.
 
Helen is a teacher at the local school. Secretly desperate for a baby, she’s applied for a cohab certificate with her boyfriend, Tom, and is terrified that they won’t get it. The last thing she wants is to have a baby on her own.
 
These women don’t know it yet, but one of them is about to be violently murdered. Evidence will suggest that she died late at night and that she knew her attacker. It couldn’t have been a man because a CURFEW tag is a solid alibi.
 
Isn’t it?

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

As an avid reader and life-long writer, Jayne Cowie also enjoys digging in her garden and makes an excellent devil’s food cake. She lives near London with her family.
You can find her on Instagram as @CowieJayne

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

 

Sarah

 

Four Weeks Earlier

 

It was a long drive to the prison. Sarah had the music up loud. She tapped her thumb against the steering wheel, moving her shoulders in time with the beat. She wanted to think of nothing but the drive, of her hand on the wheel, the flex in her thighs as she switched lanes and shifted gear. She would not think about him.

 

But she did.

 

It was almost three months since she'd last seen her ex-husband. She wondered if he'd changed. She certainly had. She risked a glance at herself in the rearview mirror, one hand rising to touch the dark strands of her hair, and found herself regretting the new cut. She'd been planning this visit for weeks. She'd wanted to show him that she was managing fine without him. That he no longer had any hold over her. The haircut was meant to be part of that, as were the new clothes.

 

Now she found that she wanted the changes she'd made to be a secret, hers and hers alone. She should just turn around and go home. There was nothing to stop her. She didn't have to go and see him.

 

But she kept driving.

 

She had to face him one last time. She needed confirmation that she'd done the right thing, something to push away the doubts that crept in sometimes, when she had yet another row with their daughter, Cass, or when she lay awake in the early hours of the morning as her mind refused to stop replaying memories she would rather forget.

 

She flicked the indicator and took the slip road, easing off the accelerator and rolling up to the lights at the top of the slope. She waited for the red to turn green, then set off again, peripherally aware that four other cars were following her, a sorry train of women going to visit their men.

 

She followed the white markings that led the way to the prison. The conifers that grew at the side of the road were tall and thick, hiding the building from the road. Sarah was grateful for the huge orange signs that told her where to go. She parked the car in the first empty spot. It took considerable effort to unbuckle her seat belt and open the door, and when she did, she found that her parking was so bad that she'd barely left herself enough room to get out. She thought about reversing and having another go, but that would only delay things and give her too much of an opportunity to chicken out.

 

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she began the walk toward the entrance. Barriers funneled visitors into a single-file queue and in through an automatic door. Sarah couldn't see anything behind the frosted glass. She didn't look directly at the other women. To make eye contact was to be seen, and to be seen was to admit that you had reason to be here, and she didn't want to do that.

 

Ahead of her, a woman in a green blouse was waved through, and Sarah stepped forward to take her place. A guard about her own age wearing a navy blue uniform with a radio clipped at the shoulder held Sarah back until the door slid open. Once inside, it quickly became obvious what she was expected to do. She still managed to stumble as she made her way over to an empty counter where a bored-looking woman waited, a large slate in one hand. "Who are you here to see?"

 

"Greg Johnson."

 

The woman checked the name on the slate. "And your name?"

 

"Sarah Wallace."

 

"Relationship to Greg Johnson?"

 

"Ex-wife."

 

The divorce had been quick, painless, and cheap, requested online four weeks after Greg had broken Curfew and confirmed within twenty-four hours. That had been a good day.

 

The woman gestured to a conveyor belt that led to a scanning machine. "Bag on there, please."

 

Sarah did as she was told. Then she was directed through a metal archway. Stepping through it felt like crossing a threshold, outside to inside, innocent to guilty. She waited for the machine to spit out her bag. When it did, another guard held out a scuffed yellow tray. "In there," she said, gesturing to the bag.

 

"You want me to empty it?"

 

"Yes, please."

 

Sarah hastily opened her bag and upended it over the tray, keen to show that she'd got nothing to hide. The noisy clatter of pens and lipsticks and keys made her wince. The guard poked at them, then shone her torch into the empty bag. There was nothing more than another little wave of a hand to tell Sarah this step was done. She scooped up her things and then she was funneled down a corridor, long, gray blue, and windowless with a squeaky floor. She followed the peeling black arrows until she found herself in a stuffy room filled with small square tables and plastic chairs.

 

What was the routine here? Should she pick a table or wait to be shown to one? She took a couple of steps forward and her heart started to thump loudly in her ears, and the air seemed suddenly heavy and the walls too close, because he was there.

 

Greg sat down at an empty table, rested his hands on the tabletop, and looked at her.

 

Her lips parted and her tongue, which had been a normal size only moments before, felt too big for her mouth. She could feel saliva gathering around her gums and wanted to swallow but couldn't. She couldn't remember how.

 

This was the man she'd shared her home, her bed, her life with. The man who had lain on top of her, heavy and sweating as, inside her body, their daughter had been created. She saw every moment of their life together flash before her eyes, from the first time she'd seen him to the moment he had been driven away in the back of a police car, and the room spun.

 

Someone touched her on the shoulder. Sarah blinked, pulled back to the present. It was the woman in the green blouse. "Are you all right?"

 

"I . . ." Sarah swallowed. "I don't know."

 

"First time visiting?"

 

Sarah nodded.

 

"Shit, isn't it?" The woman had a sharp nose and wore earrings shaped like starfish. "Just tell yourself ten minutes. Say whatever it is that you need to say, then leave. You can survive anything for ten minutes."

 

She'd survived Greg for eighteen years. "I will," Sarah said. "Thank you."

 

The woman gave her a pat on the shoulder and then made her way over to a table where a young man with the same sharp nose sat staring into space.

 

Ten minutes. That was all. Sarah turned her head, forcing herself to look in Greg's direction. He was familiar, and yet she barely recognized him. He'd lost weight. His hair was completely gray and much thinner than she remembered, emphasizing his shiny scalp. His sweatshirt was the same dirty yellow as the walls. She had to make herself walk over to where he sat.

 

"Sarah," he said. She'd forgotten the way he said her name, like it left a sour taste in his mouth. Suddenly all the things she'd intended to say disappeared from her mind. She groped for them but found nothing more than a blank space. The days of rehearsal, of talking to herself in the shower and the car, had been for nothing. For several long, drawn-out seconds, they simply looked at each other. Sarah registered fury first of all, tightly packed into his stocky body. It didn't surprise her.

 

She was, after all, the one who had put him in here.

 

She sat down, putting their faces level, and immediately wished that she'd remained standing. "I've asked for you to be relocated after you're released," she told him. She didn't bother with a greeting. She didn't ask him how he was. She didn't want to...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Berkley Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 059333678X
• ISBN 13: 9780593336786
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 301
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: BERKLEY; https://www.penguin.com/?s=BERKLEY; ; Unit 2 Limavady Business Park; Limavady; County Londonderry; BT49 0HR; Vereinigtes Königreich
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar