Читать книгу Obsession: The bestselling psychological thriller with a shocking ending - Amanda Robson, Amanda Robson - Страница 40

I press the buzzer of Jenni and Craig’s now Craig-less mockGeorgian townhouse. Craig has moved round the corner, back into his parents’ house where his old bedroom is still intact; a mausoleum waiting for him, walls still covered with school team photos and a poster of Pamela Anderson after her first boob job, so old now that it’s curling at the edges. The door opens and Matt and John are standing in the hallway.

‘Uncle Rob,’ they say almost in unison, clinging to my legs. ‘We thought you were Daddy. Daddy’s coming round now.’

And then Craig is there behind me, and the boys have relinquished my legs and are climbing up their father’s body. He hoists them up, one in each arm. They wrap their legs around his waist and for a second my heart lurches in agreement with Carly, who insists Jenni is being selfish, splitting up the family. But when I see Jenni standing in front of me, thin as a rake, her large eyes circled by the black tell-tale rings denoting lack of sleep, my heart lurches again.

‘Hello, Craig,’ she says, voice clipped, managing a tight smile in his direction.

Her hands are trembling. I want to take her in my arms and protect her. As Craig leaves with his sons, he whispers in my ear.

‘Thanks, mate. Thanks for coming to stick up for me.’

Jenni and I are alone in her hallway. She bursts into tears and moves towards me. She clings on to me so tightly and cries so hard that I fear she will never stop. Her body pushed against mine feels bony, so different to Carly’s soft curves. I cannot help myself, I lean down and kiss the top of her head, putting my nose into her soft shiny brown hair. She smells and tastes of patchouli oil and honey. She doesn’t seem to notice my indiscretion, her body continuing to heave against mine. Her sobs increase. I reach in my pocket for my handkerchief and hand it to her.

After what seems like an hour, but may only be ten or twenty minutes – I don’t know because my arms are holding her so tight I can’t see my watch – Jenni’s sobs eventually begin to quieten and she pulls away from me.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers. ‘Come in.’

I follow her through the rest of her tiny hallway, through the dining area of her open plan living room, into the seating area where she collapses into a small floral sofa. Feeling guilty about our physical contact which I fear Carly would not understand, I clear a few toys off the sofa opposite and sit down, as far away from her as possible. The room is in disarray; littered with Duplo and jigsaw pieces, soft toys and scattered dressing-up clothes. The glass coffee tables (not sensible with toddlers) are covered in crumbs and finger marks, empty plastic beakers and coffee cups. The curtains are unopened. I spring up and open them. Jenni blinks her red-rimmed doe eyes as the sunlight hits them.

When I am sitting down again, arms and legs crossed to signal my formality, Jenni sniffs and then says, ‘Rob, why are you here again?’

Almost a reprimand. But not, because of those soft brown chocolate-drop eyes. Fudge brownie, mixed with vanilla.

I uncross my legs, lean forward and say, ‘Craig asked me to come. He wanted me to tell you, on his behalf, just how sorry he is, how much he loves you, and that he will never ever do it again.’ I pause. ‘He wanted me to ask you to give him a break.’