What Doesn't Kill You

  What people are saying about this novel:

  I was immediately drawn into this story and intrigued by the cracks that are appearing in the marriage of Griff and Evie. Clearly he loves her so much and my heart went out to him. So … why? The writing is tense, emotional and compelling. Laura James’s love of the gorgeous West Dorset coastline certainly comes across in her vivid and atmospheric description.

  Bestselling author Rosanna Ley

  An emotional read confronting the darker issues of life, yet reassuringly life-affirming. Moved me to tears of both sadness and happiness. Laura E James is not afraid to tackle the more difficult issues in life and does so with great care and skill.

  Bestselling author and USA Today bestseller, Sue Fortin

  This was excellent writing. Laura handles extreme emotion as well as any author I know – the dialogue is incredibly real, the relationships wonderfully described in all their complexity, the pain of her characters something you feel. These are real people sharing very real problems, and the book has an immense emotional impact. I’d urge people to try it – I absolutely loved it.

  Amazon Top 500 Reviewer, Being Anne

  Titles in the Chesil Beach series:

  Truth or Dare?

  follow me follow you

  What Doesn’t Kill You

  Copyright © 2015 Laura E James

  Published 2015 by Choc Lit Limited

  Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

  www.choc-lit.com

  The right of Laura E James to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Barnards Inn, 86 Fetter Lane, London EC4A 1EN

  EPUB: ISBN 978-1-78189-270-1

  To the brave women and men who risk their lives to save ours

  Contents

  Endorsements

  Chesil Beach series

  Title page

  Copyright information

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Thank You

  About the Author

  More Choc Lit

  Introducing Choc Lit

  Preview of Follow Me Follow You by Laura E James

  Acknowledgements

  By way of a change, I thought I’d put my family first, because I’m very much aware that when I’m in writing mode, it’s not a position my husband and children often see.

  Thank you for your continued support, enthusiasm and love to:

  Alex, for always celebrating the small successes with me, for the restorative hugs and for making me laugh; to Eleanor, for sharing your amazing insight, for asking all the right questions, and for your willingness to talk books at any hour of the day; to Garry, for working hard, never complaining about my late nights, and for the thousand cups of coffee delivered to my desk. And for living this book with me.

  The Romaniacs, my writing sisters, who have the ability to pick me up, brush me down and set me in the right direction. They also make me laugh. Lots. The Romaniacs are Celia J Anderson, Jan Brigden, Sue Fortin, Debbie Fuller-White, Catherine Miller, Vanessa Savage, Lucie Wheeler, and me.

  The experts; Katherine, Elaine, and Neil, and the hard-working, selfless heroes who devote themselves to keeping us safe. Thank you for your advice, your patience and diligence in answering all my questions. Any mistakes are mine.

  My friends who talk through plotlines with me, bring chocolate to the house and keep my children occupied during the holidays when I’m in the edits cave – you’re fabulous and I thank you for your understanding. And for the chocolate. It is an essential ingredient in writing.

  For the continued support from members of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, Off The Cuff, and Littoralis.

  The readers, reviewers and bloggers for investing your time and energy into books and getting the word out there.

  And thank you to the entire team at Choc Lit including the Choc Lit Tasting Panel (Kirsty M, Claire W, Karen M, Lizzy D, Linda W, Sigi, Sharon M, Kate A and Cindy T).

  xxx

  Chapter One

  Griff

  The white horses of the English Channel were charging head first into the obelisk of Pulpit Rock, their remains spewing onto the cliff tops of Portland Bill, then receding, threatening to drag the winter tourists and spectators into the rough water below.

  The wild spray reached as far as the toes of Griff Hendry’s boots as, under the gaze of the red and white striped lighthouse, he stood firm. His instinct was to keep vigil over the families and photo-opportunists gripped by the sight of the huge breakers – people like him, restless and eager to engage with the outside world following the festivities of New Year. It made no difference he was off-duty; his experience as a coastguard and his years of living in West Dorset meant he knew the risk; nature was sometimes a beast – raw, savage, and powerful. She was to be admired, but with reverence. Much like love.

  Both could drown you without warning.

  He pulled his ranger’s coat tighter as he signalled to a man with two small boys to retreat from the brink of the cliff. The wind was gaining strength, and the desperate waves were grasping at the land. One violent gust and the sea would snatch the weakest person away.

  ‘Get back,’ Griff shouted. ‘You’re too close to the edge.’

  As he returned his attention to the water, he saw the worst possible scenario unfolding. A massive swell was heading directly for the Bill. And directly for the children.

  ‘Move!’ he yelled, covering the distance between him and the boys in seconds. He turned away from the onslaught, propelled the older child to the man, and grabbed the toddler. He thrust them forward, crashed on to the grass, and arched over the young boy, protecting him from the briny storm. He remained there until the noise of shifting shingle ceased, then he brushed the startled lad’s fringe from his eyes, and gave a smile of reassurance. ‘Okay?’

  The boy stared.

  Griff pushed away fro
m the ground, wiped his wet hands along his thighs, and helped his ward to his feet. Crouching at the boy’s level, he checked him over. ‘Are you hurt?’ Silence. ‘No broken bones?’ Still no reply. ‘Can you lift your arms like this?’ Griff raised his hands over his head, made a play of losing his balance, and launched himself onto his backside. The resulting squelch and Griff’s exaggerated call of ‘Oh, man!’ produced the desired response; the boy’s fixed expression broke with a chuckle.

  Having risen to his full height, Griff turned to the father. ‘He’s a little stunned, and his back is soaked, but he’ll be fine.’ He handed the lad over and accepted the nod of thanks the equally wet man offered. ‘It’s as dangerous as it is beautiful here,’ said Griff. ‘More so on days like this. Best to keep safe.’

  As he waved to the departing father and boys, his thoughts turned to his own family. He’d kept a close vigil over them, but the undercurrents were far more subtle than in any ocean. From riding high on wave after wave of ecstasy, his relationship with Evie had sunk without trace.

  And Griff hadn’t seen it coming.

  He needed Evie to talk, to tell him what the problem was so he could fix it, but communication was limited. Her usual reply was a shrug, or a silent diversion, and the more he pushed, the further she withdrew. The death blow came when Griff finally forced the issue with a question. A foolish, instantly-regretted question. ‘Is it because of someone else?’

  Evie, her green eyes fading to a silky grey, turned away and breathed her word into life. ‘Yes.’

  It was after that she asked Griff to leave.

  The fact it had been a week before Christmas – the week before the third anniversary of the day they met – proved to Griff the extent of Evie’s distress. Had she been thinking straight, she’d have put the children first, and she’d have kept the family together for the holidays at the very least.

  There had to be more to the situation than she was letting on.

  Griff raised his collar. Where had it all gone wrong?

  The fortnight he’d already spent apart from her felt like a lifetime. Together for three years and married for just half that, the end was hard to accept.

  ‘I should be here with you, and Tess and Dylan,’ he said, the squall whisking his words out to sea. ‘And Ozzy.’ He’d lost count of the number of times he’d turned to call his dog to heel. Walking the Bill wasn’t the same without the lumbering beast hurtling around, making Dylan squeal. Or without Evie’s hand to hold. He even missed Tess’s teenage objections to taking some exercise.

  As the icy January spray whipped Griff’s cheek, he stepped back, stiffness in his ankle eliciting a sharp intake of breath. He flexed his foot, releasing the old memory seizing his bones.

  At sixteen, he’d jumped from Pulpit Rock.

  It was that jump that broke his ankle.

  It was that day he lost his best friend to the undersea rocks.

  Twenty-four years on, and Griff hadn’t forgiven himself for allowing it to happen.

  And he wouldn’t forgive himself if he lost Evie.

  He raked his fingers through his hair and flicked the glacial drips to the ground. He’d grown tired of battling the gale for his hood, but his resolve to fight for his wife, his family, the life he loved, was greater than ever.

  ‘All right?’ The landlady of the Harbour Inn paused at Griff’s table. ‘Can I get you a fresh coffee? That must be stone cold.’ She nodded at his mug.

  Griff nudged it across the dark varnish. ‘No, thanks. I’m done. I should get going. I want to take Ozzy for his walk while the rain’s holding off.’

  ‘Good luck with that. I’ve never known weather like it. How’s your dad managing?’ The landlady claimed the cup and hooked it on her finger. ‘He’s in Burton Bradstock, isn’t he? There’s been dreadful flooding there.’

  Griff sighed. ‘There’s been terrible flooding everywhere. This place survived, though.’ He scanned the pub. ‘Good to see the storm shutters work.’

  The Harbour Inn, a ten-minute drive from Portland Bill, was situated a path’s width from Chesil Beach. Griff, with one leg resting on the bench and the other tucked beneath, was sitting by a window, peering at beachcombers searching for treasure in the flotsam and jetsam washed or, in recent days, thrown ashore.

  ‘The only drips that breached our defences were those from last night’s stag party.’ The woman’s eyes widened. ‘It’s a wonder they didn’t get swept out to sea.’

  Griff hummed in response as he gazed across to the horizon. ‘It’s been wild. Strong winds and a spring tide.’

  ‘Have you seen the dead cow?’ The landlady leaned against the table, and it pushed into Griff’s thigh. He swung round and planted his feet on the floor. ‘How on earth did it end up on the pebbles?’

  ‘Probably fell off a cliff, or was washed into a river.’ Griff shrugged. ‘There are dolphins too. And birds. It breaks my heart.’ Several times already, he’d walked the stretch of Chesil the recent bout of storms had affected most. ‘I’m shocked at the amount of debris.’ It was as if the sea had finally got sick of all the dumped waste and vomited it onto the shore. ‘It’s us. Humans. We’ve contaminated the ocean. Poisoned nature. And she’s had enough. She’s throwing it back.’ He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. ‘I’ve seen reports on social media about a washing machine. I’ll show you.’ He checked his mobile, grimaced at the lack of messages, and touched the application headed EweSpeak. After a few seconds of searching, he positioned the screen for the landlady to see. ‘Someone’s posted a picture of it.’

  ‘How the …’ Bewildered, the woman raised her empty hand to the air, sighed, and returned to the bar.

  Griff swept his thumb over the image, vanquishing the washing machine to the ether. He cast an eye to his messages again, and returned the phone to sleep mode. Still no word from Evie.

  He toyed with the wild thought that was waving the red rag behind his eyes – that Evie was with another man – then he chastised himself. She was a busy woman. She’d only contact him if there was something wrong with the children or Ozzy. She didn’t bother him with news of his father unless it was urgent.

  It was no less than Griff expected. Evie was either at his dad’s or at the baby and toddler group with Dylan, supporting all the new mums. She couldn’t help herself. Griff flinched at the thought. It was harsh, but accurate. But it was also why Evie had become his father’s carer. That, and Logan’s damnation of all care firms in England and Wales.

  ‘You’re a stubborn man, Dad,’ Griff muttered as he left the pub.

  His coat had dried in the hour he’d spent inside, but his jeans, still damp and clingy, pulled tight against his thighs as he walked along the shore. It was unpleasant, and it was cold, especially with the cutting wind slicing through the denim, but he gritted his teeth, and continued the uncomfortable journey to his car.

  As he neared a small group of people, each armed with grey litter pickers and black bin liners, he saluted. ‘You’re doing a great job,’ he said, entering the busy circle of workers.

  ‘Watch out. Here comes the only Welsh Highlander in the village.’ A spritely man with silver hair and a twinkle in his eyes put his bag on the stones, straightened his back, and gave Griff an appreciative pat on his shoulder. ‘Thanks for your help with this yesterday.’

  ‘Hey, no problem, Frank.’ Griff poked a foot at a tangle of frayed and twisted turquoise fishing net. ‘I bet Olivia’s making great use of this.’

  Frank chuckled. ‘You know Olivia. Never one to miss an opportunity.’

  Griff looked over to the buildings bordering the beach. Olivia’s shop, painted summer-sky blue, was a hive of activity. Children, wrapped in winter coats, hats and scarves, with driftwood, deformed lumps of plastic, and assorted tattered rope in their mittened hands, were disappearing inside, and then bursting out carrying overflowing cups and treat-laden plates. ‘Squash and biscuits in exchange for sea treasure?’

  ‘My darling lady’s
been supplying the volunteers with food and drink all day. Tea, coffee, cake, soup. She’s kept us going.’ Frank blew onto his hands and rubbed them together. ‘And she’s putting the money she makes from this terrible mess straight back into our conservation fund.’

  Griff wasn’t surprised. Olivia DeVere was generous with both her time and money. It was a mystery how Chiswell Craft Centre remained a viable business. ‘She’ll make some wonderful art from this. Tell her I’ll call by in the week. Perhaps she can enlighten me as to the workings of a teenager’s mind.’

  ‘I’m sure she can. She’s taught a few in her time.’ The older man retrieved his bin bag and returned to work. ‘But you’ve nothing to worry about with your Tess. She was here earlier. She grafted for two hours.’

  ‘Really?’ Tess was a stroppy, bold, defiant fifteen-year-old. She only emerged from her room on a Saturday if there was something in it for her. Evie said all teenagers were the same. Her advice hadn’t helped. Griff wasn’t stepfather to all teenagers. ‘I trust she behaved.’

  ‘Impeccably. You’ve a good one, there. She has your passion for the sea.’

  The last statement drew Griff up short. Tess never expressed an interest in anything he did. She took every opportunity to mock his beliefs and belittle his pursuits. But she loves the sea. It was a start. Common ground they could walk together. Three years Griff had known her. Finally he was having a positive effect. Never give up, Hendry. He grinned.

  ‘Right. I have to go before the storm kicks off and the road’s closed again. Don’t get cold out here, old man.’ Scuffing the stones as he turned, Griff laughed and waved goodbye.

  Climbing into his Land Rover, he pinched the damp jeans away from his skin, settled into his seat, and set course for Abbotsbury. Ozzy would be waiting for him at the cottage. He could rely on a warm welcome from his faithful dog. It was more than he expected from Evie. Chances were she was at his father’s house. She often took Dylan to visit on a Saturday, in addition to her thrice-daily duty calls. Hopefully, the road to Burton Bradstock was passable, and neither she nor Logan was stranded. The odds increased in extreme weather.