Two parts thriller, one part ghost story... Maria Barrett threads these troubled lives together with much skill and foreboding' DAILY MIRROR
A missing student.
The shock of betrayal.
Two lives bound by secrets and the pursuit of the truthâŚ
Charles Meredith is an esteemed history professor whose work focuses on unravelling the threads of a Victorian crime of passion. When one of the professorâs students disappears, the spotlight of suspicion falls upon him, casting a shadow of doubt over his every move.
Meanwhile, Lotte Graham is reeling from the discovery of her husbandâs affair. Juggling small children and no income, she must learn to become her own woman, independent of her husband.
Charles and Lotte have one thing in common, something that will bind their fates together forever.
As Charles searches for Lotte to give him his alibi, she in turn leads him to a voice that speaks from a watery grave.
In this gripping psychological crime thriller, love and death are never far apart, and the addictive mystery weaves its way between the two, racing towards a shocking conclusion.
Two parts thriller, one part ghost story... Maria Barrett threads these troubled lives together with much skill and foreboding' DAILY MIRROR
A missing student.
The shock of betrayal.
Two lives bound by secrets and the pursuit of the truthâŚ
Charles Meredith is an esteemed history professor whose work focuses on unravelling the threads of a Victorian crime of passion. When one of the professorâs students disappears, the spotlight of suspicion falls upon him, casting a shadow of doubt over his every move.
Meanwhile, Lotte Graham is reeling from the discovery of her husbandâs affair. Juggling small children and no income, she must learn to become her own woman, independent of her husband.
Charles and Lotte have one thing in common, something that will bind their fates together forever.
As Charles searches for Lotte to give him his alibi, she in turn leads him to a voice that speaks from a watery grave.
In this gripping psychological crime thriller, love and death are never far apart, and the addictive mystery weaves its way between the two, racing towards a shocking conclusion.
It was Monday morning, seven a.m., and Gordon had left for Glasgow on business on the last flight out Sunday night. It annoyed Lotte that he couldnât go first thing Monday, of course it did, sheâd had to drive him to Heathrow at six that evening, having prepared an early lunch of roast beef and apple crumble and got the children bathed and ready for bed by five so that the baby-sitter â a fifteen-year-old from up the road who she didnât really trust but who could stand in at short notice on a Sunday night â didnât have much to do except put them to bed. But she hadnât said anything, she never did. Lotte had gone past saying things, she had been beaten down so often by Gordonâs clever, aggressive mind, and outwitted so easily, that she couldnât be bothered any more. She was tired, worn out by two young children who rarely slept and often whined, and worn down by one husband who rarely thanked and often criticised. She was, as her friends said, the proverbial doormat. They all joked about it and often Lotte joined in, but the truth was that it was far from a joke. She was too bullied and too depressed to see anything even remotely funny in the situation.
So, after an exhausting Sunday â Gordon was out at tennis in the morning while she prepared the lunch; he watched sport on Sky while she packed for him and snoozed in the car while she drove him to the airport â this morning, Monday, seven a.m., Lotte was having a lie-in. She could hear Milly playing in her bedroom as she lay in the dark, luxuriating under the warm, solitary duvet; she could hear Freddie moaning gently for his milk, but she didnât get up, she stayed where she was and lulled herself into a false sense of security. The next thing she knew there was an almighty scream, a stomach-churning series of thumps, then silence. She jumped out of bed, ran to the stairs and saw Milly lying on the floor at the bottom of them, her arm bent back under her, her long blonde hair fanned out around her still, pale face. The child-gate was open.
âMilly!â she screamed, running down the stairs. She knelt at the bottom by her daughter and put her fingers to Millyâs neck. The pulse was there. She gently patted her cheeks. âMilly? Oh God, Milly, please, please speak to me.â Panicked, not having the first clue what to do, she jumped up and ran to the phone. Upstairs, Freddie had started to wail. She dialled 999, spoke to the operator and asked for an ambulance. She was told there would be an immediate response. Then she called Gordonâs mobile, waited the forty seconds or so for it to connect, then heard his voice and said: âOh God, Gordon, Millyâs fallen down the stairs, sheâs ... oh God, I canât get her to open her eyes, I ...â
âCall an ambulance, Lotte, do it now!â
âIâve done it, theyâre on their way.â
âRight. Donât move her, donât do anything until the ambulance arrives, OK? Iâll get the next plane home. Ring me as soon as you know whatâs going on.â
Lotte hung up and ran back to Milly. She knelt down again and tried to get some response. Nothing. Freddieâs wail became a howl. She put her face close to Millyâs: âOh Milly, oh God, please be all right, Milly, please speak to me, please.â Freddie was howling and screaming upstairs and Milly was sickeningly silent downstairs. A minute passed. Lotte struggled to breathe properly, not to hyperventilate. She stroked her daughterâs brow with the tip of a finger and with her entire being willed her child to be all right. A moment later, Milly opened her eyes. She blinked several times and started to cry.
By the time the immediate-response ambulance arrived, twenty minutes later, Milly was sitting up, whimpering in pain, her arm swollen and distended. Lotte was still in her nightdress and Freddie had whipped himself into a hysterical frenzy in his cot. Lotte opened the door with Milly in her arms; two paramedics came in and she handed her daughter over. Then she ran upstairs, heaved Freddie out of his cot and tried to calm him down. She carried him into the bedroom, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater over her nightie, slipped her feet into shoes and hurried back downstairs. She was so upset that she could hardly think straight.
âSheâs broken her arm,â one of the paramedics said. âLooks quite nasty. Weâd better take her in.â He had wrapped Milly in a blanket and was directing the other paramedic, who had just come back in with a stretcher.
âYes, yes, of course. Iâd better come with you, Iâd, erm ...â Lotte looked up as her neighbour put her head round the door.
âYou OK, Lotte? I saw the ambulance and ...â Mrs Prior was sixty-eight, not a particularly nice neighbour, always criticizing the kids, always moaning at the noise and the fact that the front garden wasnât kept as neat as it should be.
âNo, no, Iâm not. Madge, could you have Freddie for me? Iâve got to go in the van with Milly to hospital. Sheâs fallen down the stairs.â
âOh, I, oh dear, Iâm not sure I ...â
Lotte held out a still wailing Freddie and Mrs Prior simply had to take him.
âI really appreciate it, thank you so much.â Milly was being wheeled out of the house and Lotte was about to follow. âThereâs cereal in the cupboard,â she called, âformula in the fridge, warm it in the microwave. Do anything you like, thanks so much ...â
As she disappeared out of the house, Mrs Prior came to the door. âLotte dear, what time ...?â
The ambulance door was slammed shut and Lotte was out of earshot.
âOh well, Freddie, weâd better have some breakfast, hadnât we?â And Freddie, who was in a complete state by now, screamed for Lotte then threw up all down Mrs Priorâs front.
It was eleven thirty, and Lotte sat in the A&E reception, with Milly on her lap, waiting for someone to set her daughterâs arm. Milly had been X-rayed and examined: she had mild concussion and a break just above the elbow of her right arm, but of course it was Monday, and after the weekend they were rushed off their feet, so Milly, a non-urgent case, had to wait. Lotte was watching The Morning Show, with the sound turned down; a celebrity chef was doing something terrific with tofu and she let the image on the screen pass before her eyes without it even registering. Then a phone-in came on. Declan and Amy and their resident agony aunt were talking about mistresses and inviting viewers to call in with their experiences. This should be good, Lotte thought, and the woman next to her stood on a chair to turn the volume up. Lotte shifted Milly on her lap to get a better view.
And it was good. It was bloody interesting. Lotte wondered how the women who rang got themselves into such complicated relationships for the sake of sex and someone to watch the telly with. Was it really love? Lotte wasnât sure she believed in love any more; she thought it was just another name for exploitation.
âSilly cow,â she muttered to a caller from Macclesfield whoâd spent five years waiting for a married man to leave his wife. The woman beside her gave her a look and she piped down. The next caller was anonymous, calling on a mobile. Lotte shook her head but resisted making another remark.
âIâve been having an affair with a married man for three years,â the caller said. âItâs been a very fulfilling and loving relationship and I think Iâve provided him with the love and warmth that he doesnât get at home. Recently weâve become very close indeed and heâs talked of his problems at home and how heâs been thinking about leaving ...â At this point, the caller, who was noticeably upset, stopped, and Declan said: âAre you all right?â
âYes, fine,â came the reply. âIâm just about keeping myself together.â
âMay we ask where youâre calling from?â
âGlasgow, but I live in London,â came the reply. âThree years weâve been together, I accompany him on all his business trips, we even manage to spend some time together at weekends, and although Iâve never initiated it, recently heâs been saying that he thinks we might have a future together. Heâs led me to believe that one day we might ...â
âOuch!â Lotte was leaning on Millyâs head as she strained to hear the programme.
âSorry, darling.â
âThis must be very difficult for you,â said Amy, âbut can you tell us whatâs happened?â
âThis morning,â the caller said, âthis morning, at seven a.m., despite a wonderful night in bed and some very tender moments, he got a call from his wife, who told him that his daughter had had an accident, and he upped and left, just walked out. Within ten minutes heâd gone, without a word of comfort or explanation. All that stuff last night about leaving his wife and about how I mean everything to him was all rubbish, it was just lies. All he said this morning was âI have to go.â Nothing else, not another word; he just packed and walked out.â
âI see,â said Amy,
âDo you?â asked the caller. âI mean nothing to him, Iâm just his mistress, to be used whenever it suits him, I ...â
Lotte didnât hear any more. She snatched Milly off her lap, took a lunge forward to the bin, missed it and was sick all over the floor.
Still Voices is a novel that follows Lotte Graham and Charles Meredith, Lottie is a wife and a mother who has just found out about her husbandâs longstanding affair and Charles is a history professor who is digging up secrets from the past and shedding light on a Victorian crime of passion.  When one of Charlesâs students goes missing and Charles needs an alibi he turns to Lottie and instead, she leads him to a far greater discovery.Â
Barrettâs writing is fast-paced and immersive drawing you into a world of nothing but secrets, deception, and lies. The plot twists in this story alone are enough to keep you engaged and gasping in surprise. The characters are well-developed and relatable which makes it easy to connect with them and their outcomes. The transition between the historical past and the modern is written so well that at times it almost feels like you are part of the story.Â
While there are some heavy topics in this story I feel that Barrett wrote this story with so much passion and emotion that you can connect with the characters and tap into what they are feeling during those times.
What also makes this story a little more fun is finding out whoâs speaking from the watery grave because I thought I had it all figured out and it turns out I was wrong the entire book. The conclusion will have you rattled, at least I was shaking in my boots.
I kept deciding as I was reading who the guilty party was and in every chapter I changed my mind at least until I got about halfway through because the plot twists were unexpected and the stakes kept getting higher. Maria proves herself to be a talented writer and I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys thriller or crime novels that are thought-provoking and entertaining.Â