The Maidens: The new thriller from the author of the global bestselling debut The Silent Patient

Tell me tales of thy first love—
April hopes, the fools of chance;
Till the graves begin to move,
And the dead begin to dance.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Vision of Sin

What emerges from the ashes is not a phoenix, but an uglier creature: deformed, incapable of flight, a predator using its claws to cut and rip.

succumbing to pathological mourning, which he called melancholia – and we call depression.

she was still in love and didn’t know what to do with all this love of hers. There was so much of it, and it was so messy: leaking, spilling, tumbling out of her, like stuffing falling out of an old rag doll that was coming apart at the seams.

The liminal is between two worlds – on the very edge of what it means to be human – where everything is stripped away from you; where you transcend this life, and experience something beyond it. And when the tragedies are working, they give us a glimpse of what that feels like.

For Mariana this was the clue – the suffering – the sense that these monsters were also in pain. Thinking about them as victims allowed her to be more rational in her approach, and more compassionate. Psychopathy or sadism never appeared from nowhere. It was not a virus, infecting someone out of the blue. It had a long prehistory in childhood.

She felt a sudden and unfamiliar sense of contentment: the age of these walls, these columns and arches, untouched by time or change, made her momentarily able to put her grief into some kind of perspective. She saw that this magical place did not belong to her or Sebastian; it was not theirs – it belonged to itself. And their story was only one in a myriad that had taken place here, no more important than any other.

Mariana glanced at the bench. But she didn’t sit down. Instead, she kept going. She walked up to the door at the end of the corridor.

She stopped outside it. She hesitated.

Then she reached out, turned the handle—

And went inside

Zoe’s extremely unwell, Mariana. You’ll find her quite changed. I think you should prepare yourself.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m so glad you came. It will really help. She speaks of you often, you know. She frequently requests to see you.’

Mariana didn’t reply. Theo gave her a sidelong look.

‘Look, I know this can’t be easy,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect you to feel in any way benign towards her.’

I don’t, Mariana thought.

Theo seemed to read her mind. He nodded. ‘I understand. I know she tried to hurt you.’

‘She tried to kill me, Theo.’

‘I don’t think it’s quite that simple, Mariana.’ Theo hesitated. ‘He tried to kill you. She was merely his proxy. His puppet. She was entirely controlled by him. But that was only part of her, you know – in another part of her mind, she still loves you – and needs you.’

Mariana was feeling increasingly apprehensive. Coming here had been a mistake. She wasn’t ready to see Zoe; wasn’t ready for how it would make her feel – and what she might say, or do.

As they reached his office, Theo nodded at another door at the end of the corridor.

‘Zoe’s in the recreation room, through there. She doesn’t tend to socialise with the others, but we always make her join them during free periods.’ He glanced at his watch and frowned. ‘I’m so sorry – but would you mind waiting a couple of minutes? There’s another patient I must see in my office for a moment. Then I’ll facilitate a meeting between you and Zoe.’

Before Mariana could reply, Theo gestured at the long wooden bench against the wall outside his office. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

Mariana nodded. ‘Thanks.’

In his letter, Theo asked Mariana once again to reconsider her refusal to visit Zoe. He wrote insightfully about Zoe, with great empathy, before turning his attention to Mariana.

I can’t help but feel it might benefit you as much as her – and provide you with some kind of closure. I know it won’t be pleasant, but I think it might help. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through. Zoe is beginning to open up more – and I’m deeply disturbed by the secret world she shared with your late husband. I’m hearing things that are truly frightening. And I must say, Mariana, I think you’re extremely lucky to be alive.

Theo finished by saying this:

I know it’s not easy. But all I ask is that you consider, on some level, that she is a victim too.

That phrase made Mariana very angry. She tore up the letter, and threw it in the bin.

But that night, as she lay in bed and shut her eyes – a face appeared in her mind. Not the face of Sebastian, or her father’s face – but the face of a little girl.

A small, frightened girl of six.

Zoe’s face.

What happened to her? What had been done to that child? What did she endure – right under Mariana’s nose – in the shadows, in the wings, just behind the scenes?

Mariana had failed Zoe. She had failed to protect her – she had failed even to see – and she must take responsibility for that.

How had she been so blind? She needed to know. She had to understand. She had to confront it. She had to face it—

Or she would go mad.

Which is why, one snowy February morning, Mariana ended up making her way to North London, to Edgware hospital – and to the Grove. Theo was waiting for her in the reception. He greeted her warmly.

‘I never thought I’d see you here,’ he said. ‘Funny, the way things turn out.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’