Читать книгу Her Turn to Cry: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming - Chris Curran - Страница 18
ОглавлениеShe was rocking back and forth, the letters clutched to her chest, when Marcus came into the garden. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘you must be starving. Let’s have some lunch at Franco’s.’
She was still wearing the silk evening gown under her jeans and sweater so she changed into slacks, a blouse, and flat shoes and hung the silk on the hook behind the door, hoping some of the creases might fall out. Then she shoved the brown envelope into the box on top of her wardrobe where she kept the few things she still had belonging to her mum. She wouldn’t think about the letters for now.
As they walked down to the Italian restaurant at the end of the street, Marcus smiled and took her hand, but didn’t speak. The restaurant was a tiny place with roughly plastered walls and checked tablecloths. It was busy at lunchtimes, but the customers were all regulars, mostly middle-aged, and if they recognized Marcus and Joycie they avoided showing it.
Their usual table was in a dim corner, where no one else wanted to sit, so it was still free. The waiter brought the Chianti right away, but Joycie’s stomach felt hollow, and she made herself crunch on a breadstick before taking a deep drink. She was very aware of Marcus’s blue eyes on her, but shook her head at him. ‘Can we wait till the food comes?’
They were halfway through their spaghetti when he said, ‘You know it just might help to talk about it.’
She sat back and put down her fork. ‘Either she was lying to her mother or she really was planning to take me with her.’
‘Any mention of a man?’
‘No, and if there was one I really don’t think he was her only reason for leaving. She said something had happened.’
‘That could mean your dad had found out she was cheating on him, I suppose. But it sounds like their relationship was very open, and he would have understood that she needed someone. More likely it was the boyfriend who gave her an ultimatum.’
Joycie dipped a chunk of bread into her bolognaise sauce. It made sense, but something told her it wasn’t right. Perhaps because she didn’t want to believe it. She shook her head. ‘But if she had a boyfriend, why would she want to stay with her family?’
‘I don’t know,’ Marcus said.
The food was delicious, and suddenly Joycie wished she’d never started all this. What she wanted more than anything was to enjoy the food and wine, maybe even get drunk, and put the whole thing out of her mind.
Marcus was still talking. ‘I wonder if we should stop looking for the boyfriend and just try to find out everything we can about your parents’ lives at the time.’
She was tempted to tell him to leave it alone just for an hour or so. But instead she gazed over his shoulder at a young couple sitting by the window. They were sharing an ice cream sundae and kissing between mouthfuls. The girl was very pretty, in the way Joycie had always longed to be, small and curvy with blonde curls and a turned-up nose.
‘I said, what about school friends?’ Marcus’s voice jolted her back.
She blinked and forced herself to look at him. ‘What?’
‘If we want to find out what really happened I think we need to stop focusing on the boyfriend and just talk to anyone who was around in those days. Another of the acts, or even someone you knew from school.’
She laughed and spooned more grated parmesan onto her spaghetti. ‘I was only in one school long enough to make friends. The one in Acton. Even there it was difficult because I was away every summer. And we moved lodgings after Mum disappeared, so I never went there again. By the time I was thirteen I’d more or less stopped going to school altogether. Explains why I’m so ignorant, I suppose.’ She emptied her glass, poured them both more wine and leaned back to drink hers.
‘There must be someone we can talk to,’ he said.
A wave of heat flooded through her, and she wanted to scream at him to leave her alone. She needed to think, but didn’t want to think now. Certainly didn’t want to talk about it. ‘Look, this isn’t your problem, Marcus, so please stop going on about it. Let me figure it out for myself.’ It came out all wrong, as if she was angry with him.
He sat looking at her for a moment then beckoned the waiter and asked for the bill. When it arrived he said, ‘Are you coming?’
‘You go. I’m going to have another glass of wine.’ Again it came out wrong. Too loud; too sharp. She had no reason to be angry with him. The kissing couple were staring at them, and their eyes followed Marcus as he left without looking back at her.
She ordered some more wine and forced herself to drink the whole glass although she no longer wanted it. At the door she stumbled and heard a giggle from the pretty girl. The door clanged hard behind her, and she could feel the couple’s eyes still on her as she passed the window where they sat.
Marcus had left their front door ajar. So stupid, anyone could have got in. She locked up and went into the living room. He was sitting on the sofa with two cups of coffee in front of him. ‘I made it nice and strong,’ he said.
She tried a laugh. ‘Not strong enough for me,’ and went to the sideboard. ‘I need a brandy.’ Some of it spilled on the polished wood as she poured, and she wiped it away with her sleeve, slumping down in the armchair opposite him.
He leaned forward. ‘Those letters must have upset you. You need time to let it all sink in. I shouldn’t have pushed you.’ His hands were on her knees, and when she flinched he pulled back. ‘Sorry.’
That hank of blond hair was falling over his eyes again, and his face was so sad and sweet she felt a sob rise into her throat. She stood and looked down at him, trying to smile. ‘I’m the one who should say sorry.’ She stroked his hair, and he pressed his face into her waist.
They stayed like that for a while then she knelt to give him a gentle kiss. But when he drew back she found herself looking at his lips and kissed him again, hard and greedy this time. He returned the pressure and moved to pushed her down onto the sofa, his hand pulling at the buttons of her blouse.
‘Oh, Joycie, I love you so much.’
She was aware only of him, the musky scent of him, the warmth of his hands and his lips, the length of his body against hers. She opened her mouth to him and let her knees fall apart.
