Читать книгу I Invited Her In: The new domestic psychological thriller from Sunday Times bestselling author Adele Parks - Adele Parks, Adele Parks - Страница 7

Prologue

Becoming a Single Mum, for the first time, is like someone has just thrown you out of a car that’s travelling at high speed on a motorway. Door flung open, a gush of blustery, sharp wind, a mean, forceful shove and there you are, face down on the tarmac in the middle of the fast lane. You scramble to your feet, cling to your offspring. Both of you are in utter peril.

The thing is, you do not have time to be outraged at the fact you’ve just been shoved out of the car – a car you’d assumed would comfortably, carefully take you on your life’s journey to a destination unspecified but simply and certainly lovely. A future that included a nice home and the active participation of the father — however, no time to dwell. You’re too busy dodging the on-coming traffic.

The cars zoom past – swoosh, whizz, honk – you duck, dive, dart, and dodge. A small Fiat speeds by and the driver winds down the window to shout, ‘Children of single parents are more likely to do badly at school.’ You do not have a crystal ball that would show you the day he picks up his stonking GCSE results, so you panic. Next, a big family saloon (which is basically insulting because it is a big family saloon) drives by. The parents lean out of their windows and yell, in unison, ‘Children who grow up without fathers are more likely to end up unemployed, homeless, or imprisoned, you know?’ You kiss your baby’s head and promise him you won’t let that happen. Vehicle after vehicle speeds by. People are crying out about a new government report that insists kids from lone-parent families are more at risk of poverty, poor health, depression. Other drivers add that they’re also more likely to run away from home, drink, and smoke heavily. Then, finally, a juggernaut of a vehicle tries to flatten you. A paunchy, smug fella wearing a vest top and tattoos toots on his horn then screams, ‘Kids from lone-parent families are more likely to suffer sexual and physical abuse, indulge in drug-taking, fall into crime, have early sex and, finally, complete the circle by becoming teenage parents themselves! You silly bitch!’

Presumably this pillar of society (who farts in his cab) read all this in a tabloid, on a pit-stop in a layby (just after he’d had a wank), so he is now an expert. Everyone is. You cover your baby’s ears. You don’t want him to hear this stuff.

Of course, they have to say, ‘lone–parent’ but since ninety per cent of single families are headed up by mums, it’s clear who is being blamed. Not the absentee father, because that would be too logical, but rather the Boudica who is battling on alone.

It makes my blood fucking boil, it really does. Sorry about my language but sometimes, you know, no other word can do the job.

It seems everyone is out to get you. No one says that you’re a warrior, a Trojan, a veritable saint. Can’t they see these babies, these children, are total miracles – little soldiers in their own right?

Still, no time to ponder. You hop and jump, weave and scurry because your life depends on it. You cling to your child, tight, taut, tense. You’re prepared to lie down in front of one of those cars for him, if you have to, but you know that act of martyrdom would be pointless. What you really must do is stay alive and look after him, no matter what comes hurtling your way.

You just have to look after him.