Kate, able to work where she chooses, sublets her London flat and moves to the Isle of Wight, surprising her friends and family. Insisting she wants to revisit happy childhood memories, Kate discovers that the island in winter is nothing like the rosy hued memories of a summer vacation.

A portent of disaster, within the first few days of Kate’s arrival, a local woman goes missing from a boat, presumed drowned.

At first it’s hard to understand the intensity with which Kate identifies with the drowned woman. Kate seems moody, a bit depressed, perhaps a little paranoid.

It turns out she’s done a runner after breaking up with the man of her dreams. That explains her emotional instability and lulls the reader into a sense of understanding.

The island itself plays as big a role in this novel as any of the characters.

Icy water slapping at skiffs, the cries of birds in a greyscale landscape, the dreary poverty of a struggling holiday town in the off season all contribute to the mood.

Solitary walks and aimless drives around its bereft, wind swept parameters provide windows into the past to see Kate’s life with Richard.

For all intents and purposes her romance with the suave Richard seemed to be something special, it seemed intense, electric and exciting.

Obviously, Richard is a cad, or Kate wouldn’t be shivering on the Isle of Wight, missing what she calls ‘old Richard’.

What could have happened?

There is an expectation that Kate will settle as she makes friends and finds work with the locals, but with the turn of each page, the tension and an uncomfortable feeling that something is not quite right, grows.

As the story progresses love becomes fear, passion becomes danger, and what we are left with is a thriller that is engrossing reading.

The Bed I Made

By Lucie Whitehouse

(Bloomsbury, RRP $32.99)