I’m thrilled to share a cover reveal and excerpt for CLOSE TO ME by Amanda Reynolds, an upcoming domestic thriller from Quercus! On sale in December, this gripping, claustrophobic story follows a woman who falls down the stairs at home… and wakes up with no memory of the past year of her life. To make matters worse, it seems that her family wants her to stay in the dark about what really happened…
I’m going to be reading this book soon, and am so excited to dive into it! In this post, you’ll find: a reveal of this book’s gorgeous cover, the book’s plot summary, and last but certainly not least, an excerpt of the book’s introduction and first chapter! Many thanks to Quercus for providing this excerpt—I’m so excited to give you a sneak peek into this domestic thriller.
COVER REVEAL: CLOSE TO ME
Jo Harding can't remember the last year of her life. And her husband wants to keep it that way.
When Jo falls down the stairs at home, she wakes up in the hospital with partial amnesia. In fact, she finds that she's lost an entire year of memories. She can't remember what she did, or anything that happened the night she fell. A lot can happen in a year, and she begins to discover that she may have been leading a double life before the accident.
As she questions the details of the past year and why her family wants her to stay in the dark, she begins to realize she might not be as good a wife and mother as she might have hoped . . .
EXCERPT: Close to Me by Amanda Reynolds
Quercus Publishing, December 2017
Twenty-One Days After the Fall
I turn away from my husband, shifting my weight onto my side, as far from him as the bed will allow. The movement is instinctive, dulled by the fact I’m only half awake, in the place between reality and unreality. I shiver, close my eyes tighter. Outside, the blanket of deepest night is unrelenting, the wind charging its way between the tall trees that edge the drive. I listen to the rain hitting the tiles as it pummels the roof and stone walls of our converted barn, a lone parapet at the top of the hill. I imagine the water tracking its way down the huge windows, swamping our garden and then soaking into the ground beneath.
My husband’s slow steady breaths and the familiar nighttime noises within the house find my ear. I pull the duvet around me and allow my subconscious to take over, unlatching from the present, an almost physical letting-go. As I succumb to sleep the memories come, but I know they are unreliable: broken and unpredictable. The harder I search the further they retreat, but then something breaks through, at once unbidden and yet desperately wanted. As much as I crave the past, I fear it too.
He lunges, his right arm raised, slamming me hard against the wall, the force of his body holding me there. In his eyes I recognize passion, but of what nature and from what emotion it’s derived I cannot tell. I reach out again to the memory, my hand touching his face, turning him toward me to read something in his expression, to look into his eyes, begging him to stop. He pushes me away, grasping my wrist to dig his fingers hard into the pale skin and then the veins beneath, his rapid breaths hot against my neck. Insistent and urgent he holds me there, pinned to the wall. I fought him, of that I’m certain, my nails deep in his skin until he cried out.
I open my eyes, traces of early-morning sunlight warming the room, creating patterns on the ceiling. I watch the rise and fall of my husband’s chest, the gentle sound of his breathing. Then he wakes too, turns to me and smiles, an easy smile, no trace of deceit; as though the last year had never happened.
The Day of the Fall
Cold and smooth, the flagstones of our hallway are reassuringly solid beneath me, each one a raised bump, the mortar crevices like emery boards to my touch, segmenting the repeating pattern. There’s no part of me I can move except for my left hand, and yet I feel I’m floating free.
“Jo, can you hear me?” my husband whispers, his skin damp to the touch as his top lip brushes my cheek. “Jo, answer me,” Rob insists. “For god’s sake, Jo. Are you okay? Just answer me!”
A loud sound echoes down the hallway, thuds so imperative they pierce the darkness, pulling me up to the surface gasping. There’s someone at the door, shouting to be let in, but Rob ignores them, asking me over and over what’s wrong. I don’t reply, the words forming, then gone. The door is opened, a chill blast of air rushing toward me as a woman’s voice draws near, calm and measured. Then at last blissful sleep, like a cool blanket enfolding me; releasing the tight fist of pain.
Consciousness arrives piecemeal; elements returning one by one, although I resist them. First there’s the light beyond my closed eyelids, then sounds and movement around me. I may have been lying here awhile, or no time at all. I try to recall what happened, my fingers worrying at the stones beneath me, their cool touch comforting. I was on the landing, I know that much, and Rob was behind me, too close, his long strides outpacing me. “No!”
“Jo, it’s okay, you passed out again, but I’m here to help.” She smells sharp and astringent, her breath warm. “Please try to stay still so I can help you.”
I shiver, the cold air funneling in through the open door, the wind whipping around the barn, relentless as always. I’d thought we could tame the elements, lay down roots, but fifteen years on, the constant battering of the wind still disturbs me. Nothing fragile survives up here, stringy shoots plucked from tender soil, saplings bent then snapped, gates snatched from hands, car doors wrenched open and slammed closed, tearing fingernails and bruising shins. “We live at the top of a hill, what do you expect?” Not this. Not every day.
“Jo, do you remember what happened?” Rob asks. “You fell, Jo. You fell down the stairs. Lost your footing. You were coming down in front of me. I tried to save you, Jo. I tried to save you.” He keeps saying it, as if that will make me remember.
A pinch to my finger, a cuff to my arm, sensors stuck to my skin. I try to sit up, but Rob tells me to stay still, his palms under my armpits, hoisting me onto his knees, the bones of them angular beneath my back. I loll against my husband, too weak to struggle, his long limbs now encircling me, but his hold on me is too tight, I can’t breathe.
“Jo, can you answer some questions?” the calm voice asks.
“She’s barely conscious!” Rob shouts, his words slicing through me. “Can’t it wait?”
The reply is firm. “Rob, you need to move back, let Jo speak.”
I open my eyes to the bright light, the stairs stretching up and over me, dizzying. “I don’t want him,” I say. Rob’s hands are hot on my skin, his fingers stroking my neck, my shoulder, pressing in. “Tell him to let me go!” I struggle and cry out in pain, but she insists I stay still.
“Can you move away, Rob? You need to let us do our job,” she says, then she leans over me, her face above mine, asking me so many questions and I try to answer, to tell her where it hurts, how I am. “Can you remember what you were doing before you fell, Jo?”
I look up the stairs to Fin’s door. “I was sad,” I tell her. “Because of Fin.”
“Fin?” the stranger echoes, her eyes kind.
“It’s our son,” Rob says, his hand now squeezing mine.
Pain shoots through my wrist and Rob drops my hand; says he’s sorry. He keeps repeating how sorry he is, and all I can think is, I don’t want him this close to me.
“Just give us some space, Rob,” the stranger tells him, taking my other wrist in her hand. “I’m giving you something for the pain, Jo.”
"I don’t want him,” I say. “Get him off me!” The throbbing in my head takes over, a searing heat beneath my skull. I close my eyes, their voices slipping away.
Different lights when I open my eyes, brighter than before, and movement. We’re winding down the hill away from the barn, and there’s no siren, but speed, and so many wires, so many questions, and Rob is beside me again, but I can’t get away from him because I’m tethered to the bed, strapped down, and now I don’t remember why I’d wanted to escape, although the urge hasn’t left me and when he touches me I flinch.
“How old is your wife, Rob?” the stranger asks, her face now in focus, younger than I’d imagined.
“Jo’s fifty-five,” Rob replies, his voice choked with emotion. He never cries; why now?
“No,” I whisper, my voice barely there. “Not yet.”
“What did you say, Jo?” Rob’s voice closer now.
I turn away, close my eyes, try to sleep, but I’m jolted awake by a thought. “The kids, do they know?”
“I’ll ring them once we get to the hospital,” Rob replies.
He shouldn’t worry them, I tell him. Especially Fin, he’s got enough to cope with on his first day.
“First day?” Rob asks. “Jo, what are you talking about?”
I close my eyes again, too tired to reply. My skull feels loose beneath my scalp, each bump and bend in the road spinning my head like a gyroscope. I imagine my brain sloshing around in liquid, like a fetus in the womb, its legs and arms kicking and punching from within. The need to sleep is overwhelming, but the pain keeps me awake, my lucidity only in thought, not speech. Why would Rob tell them I’m fifty-five? He’s normally such a stickler for detail. It’s two months until my birthday.
We turn a sharp corner and all I can hear is Rob’s voice, saying again that I fell. Then he leans over me, his mouth almost touching mine, and he whispers, “You’ll be fine, Jo. I promise.”
And I whisper back, “Don’t make me any more promises, you bastard.”
Excerpt courtesy of Quercus. No part of the above excerpt may be reproduced without the permission of the publisher.
Pre-order your copy of CLOSE TO ME by Amanda Reynolds below!
Hardcover: 384 pages
Publisher: Quercus (December 5, 2017)
Crime by the Book is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com. This in no way affects my opinion of the above book.
What do you think? Will this book be on your fall TBR? I'd love to hear from you!