Читать книгу Dark Waters: The addictive psychological thriller you won’t be able to put down - Mary-Jane Riley - Страница 9

Afterwards, Alex Devlin would associate the music of Wagner with the time her relatively settled life began to slip from her control.

The day hadn’t started well, beginning with a disjointed conversation with her parents, just as she wrote the last sentence of her most recent article for The Post.

‘Your father would like to see you, Alex,’ her mother said, her tone mildly censorious.

Guilt immediately corkscrewed through her. ‘I know, Mum, I will come.’

‘When though? You always say you’re going to visit and then you don’t. Here’s your father. Talk to him.’

There was the muffled sound of the phone being handed over.

‘Who is this?’ Her father’s once mellow voice now reedy.

Alex clutched her phone tightly. ‘Alex. Your daughter.’

‘Oh yes, Alex.’ He paused, and Alex could almost hear the effort he was making to form the right words. ‘When are you coming? Your mother says you haven’t been.’ Another pause. ‘For a long time,’ he finished.

‘I’m—’

‘You like balloon animals.’

She closed her eyes, hearing the note of anxiety in his voice. The making of animals out of balloons had been one of those things that they had done together when she was young, just her and him. It used to make her laugh.

‘I’ll make some for when you come round.’

Alex’s throat was blocked. The time for her father to make balloon animals had passed long ago.

‘The weather’s been nice.’ It was her mother again.

‘I’ll come over,’ said Alex, knowing she must.

‘Can you make it later? This afternoon some time?’

‘Of course.’ She looked out of her study window, and could just about see the sun glinting on the water of Sole Bay.

‘Thank you.’ Her mother put the phone down.

Her plan had been to spend the rest of the morning and the afternoon on the beach after having been immersed in the world of extreme couponing for the last few days. (Spend hours scouring the Internet! Browse newspapers and magazines and cut out vouchers! Organize your vouchers in folders and ring binders! Keep your vouchers handy in your purse!) Not exactly stretching the brain but it did at least help pay the bills. And gave her tips on how to save money at the supermarket, which was particularly appropriate as she was going to have to fill the fridge with food for Gus who was coming to stay with her in Suffolk. How was it that she spent a fortune in the supermarket (vouchers or no vouchers) and the food she bought was all gone in an instant as soon as her son turned up? Locusts could learn a lot from him, she thought. Still, it was going to be lovely to see him. It had been a long time. And thank God she’d finished that wretched article, and had sent it away with the press of a button. Couponing. Channel 4’s Cathy Newman she was not.

She sighed. It had to be done. No, she wanted to do it. God knew life had been hard enough for her mum and dad, what with having to cope with her sister, Sasha, as a troubled teenager – unsuitable boyfriends, self-harming, all spit and fire. Alex had done as much as she could, although she hadn’t been a model daughter either.

But it was so hard to see her once gentle father slowly turning into someone else. Early-onset dementia, they called it. A miserable twist of fate, she called it. And because she had found it hard, she had not given her mum as much support as she should have done. Her excuses had been her work, visiting Sasha in the mental health unit – anything, really. But it wasn’t good enough.

She looked out of the window of her study. The sun and the promise of the kiss of warm early summer air on her skin beckoned. An hour? Maybe half? To recharge her batteries, that was all. Then she would go and see her parents. She pushed back her chair and went to fetch a towel.

Alex settled on the sand, finding a comfortable spot where there weren’t any pebbles sticking into her skin. She was sheltered from the worst of the sharp sea breeze by the dunes.

The sun was warm on her face. She closed her eyes, feeling drowsy. A few more minutes she thought, though it was becoming more difficult to ignore the creeping guilt.

In the background, she heard the sea dragging on the shingle at the shoreline, mingling with the insistent barking of a dog, and children playing a game of volleyball on the beach.

‘It’s my serve,’ said a girl.

‘No, it’s not, it’s mine.’ A boy’s voice, younger. Brother perhaps?

A sigh. ‘Go on then.’

Thwack! The sound of the ball being hit.

‘Yesss!’

‘Oh.’ This from the girl. ‘Shall we call it a draw?’ she said.

‘No, you lost,’ said the boy.

Alex smiled. Kids arguing. Fine when they weren’t your own. She sat up and then leaned back on her elbows. A few hardy souls were trying to swim in the North Sea, their screams testament to how cold it was. A dragon kite was flying high above her. She was trying to clear her head – be mindful, as some yoga teacher had once told her – trying to think of nothing.

‘Ride of the Valkyries’ boomed out from her bag. Her phone.

For a brief moment she considered not answering it. But it could be anything – Gus finally telling her what time he was arriving (what was it about children that they didn’t realize you had a life, too, and to be able to organize it was helpful?), or (please God, no) something more to do with her sister, or maybe someone offering her work.

She sighed and rolled across to her bag, fishing inside until her fingers made contact with the hard case. She squinted at the screen, but the sun was reflecting off the sand and she couldn’t see a thing.

‘Hello?’

‘Alex Devlin?’

She didn’t recognize the voice, but all sorts of people had her number – it was how she often got commissions. ‘Yes, hello.’ She had her friendly I-can-do-work-for-you voice on.

‘I was wondering if you could help me.’ The voice was smooth.

‘I’ll try.’ She kept a smile in her voice.

‘It’s about your sister, Sasha Clements.’

Alex froze. ‘Who is this please?’

‘My name’s Penny, and I wondered what your reaction was to her being released from Leacher’s House?’

‘None of your bloody business.’ She stabbed at the screen and thrust the phone back in her bag.

She lay back on the sand, a knot of irritation tying itself up inside her stomach. And so it starts, she thought, all over again. Of course journos would want the story, want to rake over the events surrounding the killings for which her sister had been responsible.

And now Sasha was returning to society and Alex was to look after her. It was a chance to do more for her sister.

She was dreading it. And trying not to think about an email she’d received that morning about Sasha. It had to be a mistake, though, surely? Push it out of your mind, she told herself. Don’t worry about it now. Deal with it later.

‘Ride of the Valkyries’ again. She snatched up the phone, any pleasure leaching out of the day. ‘Go away, I don’t want to speak to you.’

‘Is that you, Alex?’ Uncertainty clouded her mother’s voice.

Alex suppressed a sigh and forced a smile onto her face. ‘Mum. Sorry. I thought it was a … never mind.’ Any mention of journalists or newspapers would send her mother into a right state. ‘I’ll be leaving soon,’ she said.

‘I was wondering if you could you go via Great Yarmouth and go to that Greek shop? I thought your dad might like some of the Greek tagliatelle he loves. And a pound of those special smoked sausages.’

Alex’s heart twisted. Her mother was trying so hard, but her father wouldn’t be in the least bit bothered what pasta or sausage he ate, not these days. And Great Yarmouth was hardly on the way to her parents – more like a bloody great detour. Still, her mum didn’t ask for much.

‘Of course I will,’ she said.