Читать книгу The Bad Mother: The addictive, gripping thriller that will make you question everything - Amanda Brooke, Amanda Brooke - Страница 9

Lucy huddled against the corner of the large L-shaped sofa that took up most of the space in the living room. The black leather upholstery complemented the monotone colour scheme, as did the sixty-inch TV screen dominating one wall. With the exception of a couple of paintings Lucy had hung up to soften the sharp edges of Adam’s choice of décor, the entire house bore the hallmarks of a bachelor pad, although Lucy was grateful that no previous love had stamped her mark on the place before her.

There had been only one significant other in Adam’s life prior to Lucy, but Rosie had never moved in, which had been a lucky escape by all accounts. She had been a work colleague and had used Adam to rise up the career ladder by taking credit for his work and apportioning blame to everyone else when she messed up. Something had gone disastrously wrong and Adam had been forced to move jobs, but he had put his past mistakes behind him and Lucy was determined not to be the next.

Adam was different from the other men she had dated, and there had been quite a few. She had flitted from one casual affair to the next, avoiding commitment and responsibility as best she could. When Adam came along, the eight-year age difference had felt pronounced and she had been embarrassed by her immaturity. She had been a wild thing and he had tamed her, or so Adam told her. He was probably right, although Lucy was beginning to wonder if she had accepted the role of Adam’s wife under false pretences. She couldn’t be trusted to take care of herself or the house, and she didn’t know how she was going to look after a baby.

The transition might have been easier if she lived closer to her mum, but Lucy was getting used to life on the Wirral. She loved that it was a five-minute stroll to the beach, although that proposition had not been a tempting one today despite Adam’s helpful suggestion.

When she heard the front door opening, Lucy lifted her book higher to obscure her face. She hadn’t spoken to Adam since hanging up on him, nor had she replied to his text messages. He had apologized and she wished he hadn’t. She was the one acting like a child.

When the house fell silent, Lucy realized Adam had gone straight into the kitchen, confirmed a moment later when she heard the oven door slam. Adam had offered to pick up some food from Marks and Spencer on his way home and had asked her what she fancied. She wondered if he had responded to her radio silence by choosing his favourite cuisine, which was Chinese, or opting for hers. Her mouth watered at the thought of garlic dough balls; one of her many cravings in recent months.

Adam was head chef and they didn’t often resort to ready meals but she presumed he had thought his time would be better spent shoring up his wife’s fragile ego while keeping a safe distance from the offending gas hob. As the seconds ticked by, however, Lucy began to fear that he didn’t want to speak to her at all. She put down her book and tucked her knees as close to her chin as her bump would allow.

Rather than return to her studio after the argument, Lucy had spent the afternoon soaking in the bath and feeling sorry for herself. She had taken time on her make-up, which was perfectly understated, and had teased her damp mane into copper coils. She wore leggings and a sloppy jumper to give the illusion of vulnerability, but that feeling became unpleasantly real as she waited for Adam to appear.

Lucy chewed her lip and stared at the door as she listened to Adam coming out of the kitchen. Her pulse quickened when his footsteps paused and for a moment she feared he had retreated upstairs, but then the door swung open. A breakfast tray appeared with a single red rose in a vase, two glasses of what looked like pink champagne but would be sparkling cordial, and a bowl of cheese puffs; another of her cravings.

When Adam stepped through the door, his expression was one of caution, as if he were approaching a wild animal. ‘I know Valentine’s Day is a week off but I feel like I should make an effort,’ he said. ‘The lasagne’s going to be a while so these are to tide you over.’

Lucy went to speak but it came out as a sob. ‘I’m such an evil cow,’ she cried. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m being so horrible to you and I don’t deserve any of this!’

Hiding her face in shame, Lucy couldn’t see Adam’s reaction but she heard him place the tray on the coffee table. The sofa sagged and a moment later, he was pulling her into his arms. She heard him take a breath to speak but she got there first.

‘Don’t you dare say nice things to me,’ she warned. ‘Tell me I’m a bitch.’

He kissed the top of her head.

When she looked up into his face, she hoped their daughter would inherit Adam’s kind eyes. They melted her heart. ‘I know you’re only trying to take care of me.’

‘And failing miserably,’ he said.

‘No, you’re not,’ she replied as she relaxed into him. ‘I shouldn’t need taking care of.’

Adam had taken off his suit jacket and tie but, despite a day in the office, Lucy could still smell the fabric conditioner on his shirt. Adam could choose to go to work in T-shirt and jeans if he wasn’t meeting clients but he liked to dress smartly. He had been wearing a formal jacket when she had first met him that fateful summer’s evening, albeit matched with chinos.

Adam’s boss, Ranjit, had organized an impromptu mid-week barbecue to celebrate a big contract and make the most of the glorious weather. Lucy had simply been dropping off the painting his wife had commissioned and she had been in a rush, needing to get home to pick up her backpack and tent before catching a coach to Leeds. She was dressed in her festival gear complete with cut-off jeans and flowers in her hair and was champing at the bit to get moving, but Ranjit had insisted on introducing her to his friends and showing off the portrait of his two kids. Adam had shown a keen interest, despite having no children or pets for her to paint, and she had given him her number. She had moved in with him six months later, had married him the following summer and this summer they would be parents. It had all happened so fast.

‘This forgetfulness is really getting to you, isn’t it?’

‘I felt better after speaking to Mum but knowing it’s my hormones doesn’t make it any less frustrating.’

He gave her a quick squeeze. ‘Could it be that you’re not completely convinced it is this baby brain thing?’

‘It does make sense,’ she tried.

‘But …?’ he asked, and when she didn’t answer he added, ‘You’re thinking about your dad, aren’t you?’

Despite her best efforts, Lucy could feel her frustrations rise up again, twisting her insides. She was trying not to think about her dad, and while her little mishaps were getting to her, she could accept that they were the benign symptoms of life as a new wife and mother, or at least she would if Adam’s prodding didn’t unsettle her so much. Did he see her unravelling in ways that she could not?

‘I know you mean well but this has nothing to do with what happened with Dad. I’m not the first person who’s survived a troubled childhood.’

She shot him a pointed look but Adam didn’t flinch. He had told her only the salient facts about his early life, but it was enough for Lucy to realize that there was more than one way to rend apart a family. Adam had chosen to block out the pain of his past, which was fine, that was how some people survived. It had worked for her mum, and Lucy was eager to follow their example.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she continued. ‘I’m annoyed by my own carelessness, that’s all.’

‘Why won’t you talk about this, Lucy?’ he asked. ‘Is it too scary to admit that what happened with your dad might have left its mark?’

Adam scrutinized her features but before he could find what he was looking for, she dropped her head back down on his shoulder. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lucy let her mind fill with memories of her dad reading to her, playing with her, laughing and joking. There were darker memories too, sounds of raised voices, doors slamming, and silence. It was the silence that had scared her most, but she had been too young to understand why.

‘I’m not denying it left its mark. I was eight years old and I was confused, especially when no one would give me proper answers. I was scared that what happened to Dad would happen to Mum.’

‘Or to you?’

‘Maybe,’ she confessed, holding herself so taut that her body trembled.

With his chin resting on her head, Adam’s voice was muffled by her curls. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but I’m not sure this is something we should ignore. You’re about to give birth and it’s natural for you to worry about what one generation might have passed on to the next.’

‘I know, but worrying won’t make it go away and talking about it isn’t helping,’ Lucy said as she forced herself up and reached for the glass of cordial. Taking a generous sip, she swallowed her fear.

Adam tugged at her jumper to bring her back to him. ‘How about we start this again?’ he said. ‘Let’s forget about lost keys and gas hobs.’

‘Tell me about your day,’ she said as brightly as she could manage. ‘Did you sort out that interface thing, or will you have to go to Manchester tomorrow?’

‘It couldn’t be fixed,’ he said, ‘and I’m going to be on site for the rest of the week, so expect some early starts and late nights.’

‘I’ll try not to fidget so much in bed,’ said Lucy, recalling his earlier complaint. ‘I don’t want you driving all that way with no sleep.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s not like I haven’t got used to all your thrashing about.’

She dug her elbow into his side. ‘I do not thrash about.’

‘It’s worse when you stop. Then you snore.’

When Lucy giggled, she was surprised how quickly she could switch from tears to laughter. Her husband had a special gift. ‘Now I know you’re lying.’

They were quiet for a moment, comfortable in each other’s arms. She felt safe enough to picture a scene four months from now when there would be chaos all about them. She imagined their panic as they threaded tiny limbs into complicated baby clothes, tripped over boxes of nappies or waged silent arguments over who had lost the TV remote as their baby slept. It was going to be amazing.

‘So what do you think?’ asked Adam.

‘Hmm?’ she said, coming back from her daydream.

‘The Sandstone Trail.’

‘What about the Sandstone Trail?’ she asked, confused by his non sequitur.

She knew the trail well because it was where Adam had taken her on one of their first dates. His firm had organized the gruelling two-day trek and one of their first stopping points had been a craggy outcrop on the sandstone ridge that ran from Frodsham to Whitchurch. Adam had lured her to the edge to take in the stunning view across the Cheshire plains and towards Liverpool, not realizing how she had trembled in fear. It was there, on the spot they now referred to as Heart’s Leap, that she had told him about her father and, if she wasn’t mistaken, it pinpointed the exact moment they had fallen in love.

‘Did you hear a word I was saying?’

Lucy straightened up, certain that her husband was teasing her and she would catch a sneaky smile on his face; instead his expression was one of concern. ‘But you didn’t say anything.’

Adam took a breath but whatever he was about to say was released with a sigh. ‘Never mind. I was saying that Ranjit’s organizing another charity walk this year.’

Lucy’s heart rattled against her ribcage. ‘You never spoke a word, Adam. Are you sure you weren’t simply thinking it in your head?’

Adam’s raised eyebrow spoke volumes, and while she didn’t understand how she could have remained oblivious to what was going on around her, she couldn’t face another debate that would only serve to highlight her shortcomings.

‘I must have been miles away,’ she said with a casual shrug that sent a cold shiver skittering down her spine. ‘I was thinking about the baby and how manic it’s going to be when she arrives.’ Draining her glass, she returned it to the tray with shaking hands. ‘So go on, tell me about the walk.’

‘Lucy …’ Adam began, less eager to gloss over what had just happened.

‘When is it?’

‘At the beginning of August,’ he said with a note of resignation. ‘I told Ranjit you probably wouldn’t want to do it.’

‘Too right. The baby will be less than two months old and I’d rather not risk it,’ she said. Although her lips were moving and words came out, her mind was elsewhere. She forced the panic to the corners of her mind where she wished it would stay. She needed to concentrate if she were to avoid another mistake. ‘Do you still want to do it?’

‘It depends on how you and the baby are doing. I wouldn’t leave you to cope on your own for the weekend if there were any problems.’

‘There won’t be,’ she said. ‘And I could always come and meet you at the refreshment stops.’

‘OK, I’ll put my name down,’ Adam said with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

Lifting her head slightly, Lucy said, ‘I can’t smell garlic. Are you sure you switched the oven on?’

Peeling himself away from his wife, Adam stood up. ‘Of course I switched it on,’ he said with an air of confidence that wasn’t meant to annoy, but it did. ‘I need to put the dough balls in for the last ten minutes though, and I might give the kitchen a quick wipe down while I’m waiting. There’s some interesting marks on the dining room table I think I should clean.’

Lucy winced. ‘That wasn’t a message for you.’

‘No?’

Adam remained looming over her until she gave in. ‘I told you I was an evil cow,’ she said.

Lucy’s sweet smile faded after Adam left the room. She swung her legs up and slumped back on the sofa so she could stare at the ceiling, but despite her brain’s apparent ability to disengage without notice, unwelcome thoughts turned inside her head. Like the orange reflector on the wheel of her pink bicycle, her mind spun faster and faster. She was ready for that horrible lurch of her stomach, but what she felt was a different kind of quickening.

‘Adam!’ she cried.

Having pulled up her jumper, Lucy’s hand was pressed over a spot a few inches above her groin when Adam burst into the room with a knife in his hand and his eyes open wide. It looked like a scene from a horror movie but Lucy was laughing.

‘I can feel her,’ she said.

Placing the knife on the coffee table, Adam dropped to his knees. ‘Are you sure?’

Leaving him to assume that this was the first time, Lucy took Adam’s hand and placed it where hers had been. ‘Can you feel anything?’

Since that first flutter, Lucy had been conscious of every gurgle in her stomach but she hadn’t felt anything as distinct as she had just now. Come meet your daddy, she told her daughter as she and Adam held their breath.

When her lungs started to burn, Lucy prepared to give up. ‘There!’ she said, pressing Adam’s fingers over the exact spot. ‘Did you feel that?’

Lucy wanted him to say yes. She needed the bond between them to be stronger than ever, but she could tell by Adam’s face that he hadn’t picked up the gentle flutter of butterfly wings inside her belly. She wouldn’t have minded a lie.

‘No,’ he said, tugging his hand away when she tried to keep it in place. Seeing the look of disappointment on his wife’s face, he added, ‘She needs to build up those footballer’s legs first. It won’t be long, and I can wait.’

When Adam returned to the kitchen, Lucy stayed where she was. She wished she had her husband’s patience but she was desperate to get past the last months of her pregnancy and, if she were honest, those first months after the birth. She wanted to be free of her raging hormones so that she could be reassured that they were the cause of her problems and nothing else. She was holding on by her fingernails to the hope that by the time Adam set off on the Sandstone Trail, normal service would be resumed.