Read Online Killing a Stranger by Jane A. Adams - Free Book Online Page B

relationships had deepened. Conversely, others had been abandoned altogether.
    Similarly, after the bank siege, having dealt with the genuine fear that they would not get out alive, Naomi had drawn another line, crossed it and left behind any part of herself not determined to live life to the absolute max. Unfortunately, the Naomi that had moved on was also possessed of, or possessed by, a dissatisfaction that the old Naomi would never have given house room to. She was restless, irritated, unable to settle.
    Post traumatic stress, Alec called it. Mari wondered, tentatively, if she might be depressed, an irony that was not lost on Naomi. After all, she had no right, did she, to be depressed or self-indulgent; she was alive and safe and loved and it could all have been very different. Or perhaps that was the problem? Was she so conscious of the need to be grateful and for her every action to be life-affirming that she somehow felt she was cheating or cheapening the experience should she, even for a moment, forget to be either?
    She recognized a similar sense of confusion in Patrick. It had been present after the bank siege. It was heightened now. Patrick, though, was trying the opposite tack. While Naomi, to Alec’s horror, signed up to do a tandem charity skydive and wondered if she could find a salsa class that could cope with someone not only blind but totally lacking in that kind of co-ordination, Patrick immersed himself in the ordinary and the mundane. For the first time in his school career, he was up to date with his assignments and didn’t have to be nagged to get his homework done. Harry, while glad that Patrick’s grades were improving, nonetheless admitted his anxiety; it didn’t seem normal, at least, not for Patrick. And, while previously he’d been someone content with his own company, Patrick now hated to be alone in the house. After school, when not with his friends, Patrick inevitably showed up at Naomi’s flat. The third time she came back to find him sitting on the wall outside, she went and got him a key cut. He could, he said, cope with her flat. It was small, there was nothing upstairs. He could look out and see the sea if he cricked his neck sideways and, as if it were relevant, she had a filter coffee machine.
    His visits, always frequent, became so commonplace that Harry would now stop off on his way home to collect his son, knowing that their house would be empty.
    This was not normal either. Not for Patrick.
    â€˜Do you still have bad dreams?’
    It was rare for Harry to accept her offer of coffee. Usually he just called in to say hello, check that she was all right, gather Patrick’s belongings and leave for home, eager to get a meal and a rest after a long day. Today, though, he had accepted the coffee and seated himself next to his son on the old blue sofa.
    Naomi heard Patrick shift, his feet scuffing the floor as he reacted in surprise to his dad’s question.
    â€˜Bad dreams. You mean about the siege?’ she asked.
    â€˜The siege, and other things.’
    Helen. He meant Helen, Naomi thought. She nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, sometimes. I find it harder to sleep. The smallest thing wakes me.’ She laughed. ‘Not that Alec notices; he sleeps like the dead.’ She regretted the simile even as it escaped. She heard Patrick stand up.
    â€˜We ready then?’
    â€˜Your dad hasn’t finished his coffee,’ Naomi said gently.
    Patrick sat back down.
    â€˜What makes you ask?’ It wasn’t a Harry sort of question.
    â€˜I don’t know. I suppose, because
I
still do. I suppose I wanted to know if that was normal.’
    â€˜I think it probably is.’ She paused. ‘Sometimes, I wake up and I’m back there, locked in, waiting … just waiting. I have to put the light on, check the time, make sure I’m back in my own bed in my own room.’
    â€˜You put the light on?’ Harry was intrigued.
    â€˜Old