The Atlas of Us
A DARK SECRET SHE’LL GO TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH TO UNCOVER …Louise’s mother is missing in the aftermath of the Boxing Day tsunami in Thailand.The only trace Louise can find is her mother’s distinctive bag. Inside it is a beautiful atlas belonging to a writer named Claire. But what is the connection between Claire and Louise’s missing mum, and can the atlas help Louise find her?Louise explores the mementoes slipped between the pages of the atlas and uncovers a life-changing revelation, a passionate love affair and a tragedy.And she learns a secret that nearly destroyed Claire and the man she loved – the same secret her mother has been guarding all these years …
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TRACY BUCHANAN
The Atlas Of Us
Published by Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2014
Copyright © Tracy Buchanan 2014
Cover photographs © Bill Brennan, Getty Images, Christophe Boisvieux
Cover design © Rose Cooper 2014
Tracy Buchanan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007579358
Ebook Edition © July 2014 ISBN: 9780007579365
Version: 2015-08-06
To the two atlases of my heart: my husband Rob and Scarlett, the daughter I thought I’d never have.
Everyone runs except her. Their movements are panicked, eyes wide, arms flailing. But she can’t move, legs frozen as she takes in the ferocity of the wave eating up the beach ahead of her. She takes a deep breath and wraps her arms tight around the atlas, her heart beating a strange beat against its cover: slow then fast then slow again.
Just a few moments before, she’d been walking along the shoreline, toes sinking into the warm sand. The soft beach had stretched out vast and gold before her, the walk to the bungalows seeming to take longer than usual.
Now the sea is buffeting against the bungalow three rows in front. It blasts around the sides, its bamboo walls rattling then breaking apart before disappearing into the watery depths.
Someone to her right screams. She turns, sees a long-tail boat thrashing about on top of the oncoming wave. It smashes into a palm tree, its wood splintering as the tree bends back. A man she’d seen swimming in the sea moments before is clinging to it. His eyes catch hers just before he tumbles into the whirlpool of water below, spinning around among deckchairs, beach bags and God knows what else.
Her legs find traction and she stumbles back, breath stuttering as the water surges towards her.
She peers behind her. There’s nowhere to run, just more flat ground, more palm trees.
The wave engulfs a small palm tree in front of her, its roar filling her ears. A food stall topples over in its path and careens towards her, fruit churning in the relentless gush of water.
The sharp smell of brine and seaweed fills her nostrils.
It’s so close now.
She suddenly feels a strange kind of serenity. She refuses to live what might be her last moments in a state of hopeless panic. This is what she has learned lately, a calm acceptance of what must be. It wasn’t always like this. She once fought against her fate, twisted out of its grasp, stumbled on regardless.
Not now.
She tries to face the wave, stand tall and strong, the atlas held against her like it might somehow protect her. But it’s no use, fear prevails. She runs into the tiny bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her and sliding down the wall until she feels the cool of the tiles against her thighs.
Maybe she’ll survive? She can swim, kick her way to the surface, see the sun and think how lucky she was. She’ll go back home, hold tight to the people she let down and never let them go.
Tears flood her eyes as she thinks of all she is leaving behind; of mistakes that may never be remedied.
Thank God she sent the letter.
There’s a creaking sound followed by a loud thud. The bathroom door quakes and she realises something has fallen against it.
She’s trapped. No chance now.
She quickly scours the room, eyes settling on the plastic bag used to line the bin. She grabs it, wraps the atlas in it then shoves the atlas into the bag slung around her chest, yanking at the adjustments until they’re so tight they hurt. She won’t let the atlas get destroyed, not after what she went through to get it back. The walls around her vibrate as objects are flung against them. She thinks of the man on the palm tree. That might be her soon, another piece of flotsam on the tide.
