Identity Crisis Read Online Free Page B

the home he’d shared with his papa for the last few months had come to mean a lot to the child. ‘Come on, son.’ Nash stretched out his hand. Daniel held it tightly, his small fingers gripping those of his father. ‘You’re sure you’ve got everything?’
    Daniel nodded, too choked-up to speak. His small suitcase was already in the back of Papa’s new car. One of the first things Nash had done after Daniel’s arrival was to sell his motorbike, his beloved Road Rocket. In its place in the garage was a Range Rover. The car had become important to the small boy. He felt sure his papa had bought the car solely for his benefit.
    He cast a wistful glance back at the flat as they drove away. It was all right Papa saying it would soon pass, but two weeks seemed an awfully long time to the six-year-old.

    Friday is the worst day of the week on the roads. Especially if your journey is a long one. Everyone wants to get away, to get home for the weekend, to get to that last business appointment, to get to the supermarket, to get to school and pick up the children. The main roads and motorways are clogged with heavy goods vehicles and a host of others whose journey must be completed before close of business on Friday evening.
    That is without taking the weather into account. If the weather is good, Friday is still a difficult day to travel. If it’s bad, Friday on the roads is a nightmare. For Doctor Johana Grey, travelling from Cornwall to North Yorkshire, all these elements combined to make her journey close to impossible. There may be worse routes to contemplate taking on such a day, but off the cuff, Jo couldn’t think of one. She was miserably reminded of the punch line to an old joke, ‘If you’re heading for Yorkshire, I wouldn’t start from here.’
    However, she had no choice in the matter. Free time was hardly in plenteous supply. It never is when you start a new job. The problem with taking up a new position late in the year is thateveryone else has already booked their holidays, so you have to fit your own in as and when you can. She could have pulled rank, but that was not her way.
    By the time she reached the Midlands, Jo had already been on the road for over five hours. The traffic bulletins were warning of a host of problems ahead but there was no way she could avoid these. The westerly gales that had struck that morning had brought with them prolonged torrential rain. Flooded roads had already caused her a couple of detours. Now, with no sign of the rain slackening, let alone ceasing, and the wind, to the dismay of the forecasters, strengthening rather than abating, the rest of her journey looked like prolonging her frustration.
    She pulled into a motorway service area, as much for a rest as the coffee. As she waited for the drink to cool to a point where it didn’t strip the skin from the roof of her mouth, she took the opportunity to phone her sister. There was no response from the landline. Jo frowned, Vanda was aware that she would be en route, why was she not answering the phone? She glanced at her watch. Perhaps Vanda had gone into Helmsdale. Good Buys supermarket was one of Vanda’s favourite haunts. Maybe she’d gone there to stock up for their girlie weekend.
    Not that this was the only reason for the visit, in fact, it wasn’t even the main one. Jo had arranged it earlier in the week. It would give her chance to collect the personal possessions she’d left with Vanda following her transfer a few months back. Even then, she wouldn’t have made the journey if Vanda’s husband had been at home. But that was only because Jo detested him.
    She tried Vanda’s mobile. It went straight to voicemail. Jo’s frown deepened. That was unusual. No, she corrected herself, not unusual, more like unheard of. Although she was over thirty, Vanda had embraced mobile phone technology with all the eagerness of a teenager. Jo settled for leaving a message. She returned to her coffee, which was by now approaching