Read Online My Husband's Son: A dark and gripping psychological thriller by Deborah O'Connor - Free Book Online
Authors: Deborah O'Connor
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here?’
‘I didn’t mean for you to see me. I just wanted to check you were OK.’ She put her key in the ignition. ‘I’ll go now.’
‘You drove all the way from Kent to check on me?’
She gave me a look.
‘Shall we talk about what happened last year?’
‘That was a misunderstanding.’
‘I called you five times this morning. Five.’
‘I was at work. If you can’t get hold of me and you feel worried, you should phone Jason.’
She blinked fast and reached up to fiddle with the diamond in her left ear.
‘Do you want to come inside?’ I removed my hand from the car door and saw that I’d left a smudge on its buffed black paintwork. ‘Jason’s teaching. I could make you something to eat.’ At the mention of his name she looked down at her lap. ‘Or there’s a park at the top of the hill.’ I gestured behind me. ‘Stretch your legs?’
She took a few moments to consider and, after buttoning up her wax jacket, got out of the car.
We embraced briefly, Mum squinting at the houses to her left and then, across the road, to my front door.
‘It doesn’t bother you?’
‘What?’
‘Coming straight out onto the street like that. Just your hall, your door, the step and then the pavement?’
I made a start up the hill. Mum scurried to catch up and we walked the rest of the way in silence, the low sun pushing our shadows forward onto the path. I looked at the collection of spindly grey limbs forging ahead. Stretched out like this, my shadow seemed to be holding Mum’s hand, our arms swinging in perfect time.
We reached the park and headed for a row of metal benches in the corner. A long, narrow scrub of grass overlooking a children’s play area, the space was full of people throwing sticks for a variety of skittish, twirling dogs. We took a seat and almost instantly the cold began to seep through my skirt. As it hit the back of my thighs I shivered. Mum pulled her wax jacket close.
‘We went to visit her grave first thing and then your dad spent the rest of the morning in the garden.’ She pulled her jacket even closer and the fabric made a crumpling, cardboard sound. ‘You know he’s taken to finishing off the edges of the lawn with my nail scissors?’ She clicked her tongue and I tried not to flinch. ‘They’re so clogged with grass, I think I’m going to have to buy a new pair.’
When I’d first realised Lauren was missing, I’d run into the caravan’s small living room to raise the alarm with Mum and Dad. Clicking her tongue, Mum had dismissed my panic and instead had offered benign theories about where she might have gone. After asking neighbouring holidaymakers to help us search the park section by section, we’d walked around, calling Lauren’s name; Mum, all the while, was certain that she’d wandered off in search of one of the collie dogs that belonged to the family in the van next to ours.
I wrapped my arms around my chest and looked at the children’s play area, empty except for a gaggle of teenagers packed into a small, dark space underneath the slide. The dropping sun had spread a buttery glow over the swings, climbing frame and roundabout. The teenagers were smoking and talking in low, serious voices; the tips of their cigarettes pinpricking the gloam, orange against black.
‘I never noticed before. There aren’t many trees. Not like home. The orchards. Is that why you moved?’
‘Orchards? What have orchards got to do with anything?’
‘It is hard to imagine her in a place like this. Does that help?’
‘Mum, can we talk about why you’re here?’
‘Twelve years old today.’ She pulled a fingernail across the needlecord on her jacket collar. The ridged material vibrated dully. ‘You were awful at twelve. Answering back, kissing boys, shortening your skirts.’ She nodded at the teenagers under the slide. ‘Smoking out of your bedroom window.’
I did a double take. All these years and she’d not once let on she knew. When I was fourteen I’d
‘I didn’t mean for you to see me. I just wanted to check you were OK.’ She put her key in the ignition. ‘I’ll go now.’
‘You drove all the way from Kent to check on me?’
She gave me a look.
‘Shall we talk about what happened last year?’
‘That was a misunderstanding.’
‘I called you five times this morning. Five.’
‘I was at work. If you can’t get hold of me and you feel worried, you should phone Jason.’
She blinked fast and reached up to fiddle with the diamond in her left ear.
‘Do you want to come inside?’ I removed my hand from the car door and saw that I’d left a smudge on its buffed black paintwork. ‘Jason’s teaching. I could make you something to eat.’ At the mention of his name she looked down at her lap. ‘Or there’s a park at the top of the hill.’ I gestured behind me. ‘Stretch your legs?’
She took a few moments to consider and, after buttoning up her wax jacket, got out of the car.
We embraced briefly, Mum squinting at the houses to her left and then, across the road, to my front door.
‘It doesn’t bother you?’
‘What?’
‘Coming straight out onto the street like that. Just your hall, your door, the step and then the pavement?’
I made a start up the hill. Mum scurried to catch up and we walked the rest of the way in silence, the low sun pushing our shadows forward onto the path. I looked at the collection of spindly grey limbs forging ahead. Stretched out like this, my shadow seemed to be holding Mum’s hand, our arms swinging in perfect time.
We reached the park and headed for a row of metal benches in the corner. A long, narrow scrub of grass overlooking a children’s play area, the space was full of people throwing sticks for a variety of skittish, twirling dogs. We took a seat and almost instantly the cold began to seep through my skirt. As it hit the back of my thighs I shivered. Mum pulled her wax jacket close.
‘We went to visit her grave first thing and then your dad spent the rest of the morning in the garden.’ She pulled her jacket even closer and the fabric made a crumpling, cardboard sound. ‘You know he’s taken to finishing off the edges of the lawn with my nail scissors?’ She clicked her tongue and I tried not to flinch. ‘They’re so clogged with grass, I think I’m going to have to buy a new pair.’
When I’d first realised Lauren was missing, I’d run into the caravan’s small living room to raise the alarm with Mum and Dad. Clicking her tongue, Mum had dismissed my panic and instead had offered benign theories about where she might have gone. After asking neighbouring holidaymakers to help us search the park section by section, we’d walked around, calling Lauren’s name; Mum, all the while, was certain that she’d wandered off in search of one of the collie dogs that belonged to the family in the van next to ours.
I wrapped my arms around my chest and looked at the children’s play area, empty except for a gaggle of teenagers packed into a small, dark space underneath the slide. The dropping sun had spread a buttery glow over the swings, climbing frame and roundabout. The teenagers were smoking and talking in low, serious voices; the tips of their cigarettes pinpricking the gloam, orange against black.
‘I never noticed before. There aren’t many trees. Not like home. The orchards. Is that why you moved?’
‘Orchards? What have orchards got to do with anything?’
‘It is hard to imagine her in a place like this. Does that help?’
‘Mum, can we talk about why you’re here?’
‘Twelve years old today.’ She pulled a fingernail across the needlecord on her jacket collar. The ridged material vibrated dully. ‘You were awful at twelve. Answering back, kissing boys, shortening your skirts.’ She nodded at the teenagers under the slide. ‘Smoking out of your bedroom window.’
I did a double take. All these years and she’d not once let on she knew. When I was fourteen I’d
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