Read Online The Truth About Melody Browne by Lisa Jewell - Free Book Online Page B

pictures of her mum that were taken before the baby had died, it was like looking at a picture of another person entirely. Her hair was dull, her eyes were dull and there were two big lines on her forehead, deep and painful, like they’d been carved in with a blunt knife.
    ‘I’m hungry,’ said Melody, who’d eaten only three wine gums since the previous lunchtime because her mother had been in such a hurry to get them out of Susie’s house.
    Her mother sighed. ‘Come on then,’ she said, ‘let’s see if we can find you something to eat.’
    The kitchen in Ken’s house was at the very bottom of the house, a warm subterranean room with a big green oven, an old pine table and a dozen mismatched chairs. Underneath a window that cowered below street level was an old sofa on which lay a large white dog with droopy jowls. A woman wearing a turban sat at the kitchen table slicing a huge carrot into discs. A black cat sat on a chair next to her, purring very loudly. On the floor by her feet sat a small baby with fat cheeks, chewing on a plastic teaspoon.
    Melody and Jane stepped gingerly into the room and the woman looked up.
    ‘Hi!’ she said. ‘Jane? Melody? I’m Grace, Ken’s wife. So lovely to meet you.’
    She raised a ring-laden hand towards them and squeezed their hands with it. ‘And this,’ she pointed at the baby on the floor, ‘is Seth. Say hello, Seth.’
    Seth looked up at them curiously and a long string of drool fell from his mouth to his chest.
    ‘Let me make you a cup of tea. Sit down, sit down.’
    Melody watched Grace making tea. She was very surprised by the presence of Grace, by the existence of a ‘wife’ in the world of Ken. Grace was tall and slender in grey cheesecloth trousers, a tight black T-shirt and arms laden with clattering bangles. Her hair was pulled back tightly from her face by the red cotton turban. She was very beautiful indeed, with cheekbones that caught the light and dark-framed eyes. The only thing that spoiled her beauty was a big black mole, just by her ear, with a hair growing out of it, which made Melody think that maybe she didn’t particularly care about being beautiful.
    While she was at the sink, filling the kettle, the kitchen door swung open and another child ran in, a boy wearing camouflage trousers and a brown long-sleeved T-shirt. He stopped when he saw Melody and her mum and stared at them. After a moment, he said, ‘Hi.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Grace, turning from the sink, ‘hello there. Melody, Jane, this is my other son, Matty.’
    Matty had conker-coloured hair and bright hazel eyes and looked about ten years old. He smiled at them tightly, and then sighed. ‘Have you come here to live?’ he said.
    Jane nodded.
    ‘Great,’ he said, ‘just great.’
    Grace smiled apologetically. ‘Don’t worry about him,’ she said. ‘He’s just being territorial. Matty, why don’t you show Melody the garden?’
    He groaned and scuffed the toe of his shoe against the rug.
    ‘Please,’ said Grace.
    ‘OK.’
    Melody followed him through a door and into a small paved courtyard. A tall brick wall had been painted white and then decorated with strange paintings of peculiar creatures and flying children. There was a pine bench and an old rocking horse, and a box full of balls and ropes, and a bush of fat peachy roses. ‘This is the garden,’ said Matty. ‘It’s not very big. But we like it.’
    Melody stared at a blob of purple paint, on the wall, which had run and looked like a balloon on a piece of string. She didn’t know what to say.
    ‘You can play with anything in that box,’ Matty said. ‘That’s stuff for the kids. But don’t touch my bike.’ He banged his heel against the wall and put his hands in his pockets. ‘How old are you?’
    ‘Four,’ said Melody, ‘five in November, though.’
    Matty nodded. ‘And where’s your dad? Is he dead?’
    ‘No. He’s in London,’ said Melody.
    ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘so’s mine.’
    Melody thought of