Читать книгу All the Little Lies - Chris Curran - Страница 7

She had to go. And quickly. Before they woke up. But still Eve stood by her daughter’s cradle, looking down at her in the glow of the night light, longing to stroke the warm little head once more. To run her finger down Ivy’s fat cheek and across her tiny damp mouth. The baby snuffled and shifted, and Eve held her breath. It was midwinter and still dark outside, but morning was on its way. She had to go now or it would be too late.

She crept barefoot past the bedroom where her husband was sleeping, but didn’t look in. The baby monitor would wake him when Ivy cried. Since her birth he had done as much for her as Eve had. And managed it better. He often did the first morning feed and there was breast milk in the fridge and stored in the freezer too.

She had left a note on the kitchen table. There was nothing more to do.

Her clothes and trainers were in a plastic carrier in the cupboard under the stairs. She threw them on and shoved her dressing gown inside. With any luck Alex would see it wasn’t hanging on the back of the bedroom door when he woke and assume she was with the baby or downstairs. It might give her a bit more time.

For once she was thankful they had no driveway or garage and it was nearly impossible to park outside their house. So Alex must have thought the car was down at the other end of the road when he got home. It was actually a few streets away.

Everything was so still and silent in the early morning chill that she was aware of her own footsteps even though she was wearing soft-soled trainers. The icy air bit into her lungs. Plumes of white steamed out as she breathed and the atmosphere had that heavy feeling that means snow is not far off.

There was a forlorn-looking Christmas tree in the window of one house and a string of lights twinkling from the gables of another. It was still officially the Christmas season. Today was the sixth of January – Twelfth Night – and the Eliot poem about the three wise men came into her head. Something about a journey, a long cold journey.

In the glimmer of the street lights the pavement had a frosty glitter and she told herself to concentrate. It wouldn’t do to fall.

Once, she thought she heard footsteps behind her and stopped, holding her breath. The footsteps stopped too, and she looked back down the street. There was a shape, totally still, under a tree at the end. It could be a figure, but might just be a shadow. And she needed to hurry.

The car windows were thick with white and she used the de-icer and scraper as quietly as she could. The rucksack she’d packed with a few essentials was already in the boot, so all she had to do was to climb in and start the engine. But when it was humming she sat for a moment breathing heavily.

And asking herself if she really wanted to go through with this.