Читать книгу Maggie Jamieson Crime Thriller - Noelle Holten - Страница 27

Shell couldn’t seem to get Patrick out of her head as she worked. She pushed the vacuum across the floor of the office, careful to avoid the plant pots as her thoughts returned to him once again. Who was this guy? She was reluctant to get involved with him, even as friend, but she had to admit there was something about him.

Shell’s own experience of a violent father made her portray herself as hard and overly cautious. But Patrick seemed really genuine when talking about his children, and Shell knew that some women were bitter when relationships ended. Maybe things had been blown out of proportion.

The anger she felt towards her father, who was currently serving time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, often invaded her thoughts. She couldn’t believe that nearly seventeen years had passed; even though she was now thirty years old, it only seemed like yesterday.

Shell knew what happened to her mother wasn’t her fault, but there were days when guilt still ate away at her. She’d only been thirteen years old – what could she have done?

The nights when Shell managed to get some sleep were filled with nightmares. Her mother screaming as Shell hid in her room, hoping she hadn’t been heard, wanting to run down and stop her father. The glass table shattering. The million pieces of ice-like shards rotating through the air and scattering across the floor. Her life had been changed forever the moment she had gone downstairs and seen her mother’s battered body, barely breathing, in a heap on the living room floor.

She shuddered when she recalled the smirk on her father’s face. Him standing in the doorway watching her. Shell running towards him, him shoving her back so hard she hit her head on the corner of the broken table.

‘Get the fuck away from me, you little bitch. Just like your mum.’ The memories after that still only came to Shell in brief flashes. Hazy. According to the police reports and pictures from the night, Shell sustained a head injury that affected her memory.

Shell had drifted in and out of consciousness that night in the hospital, but she’d never forget the look of pure hatred and disgust in her father’s eyes. How he had kicked her mother, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.

Shell felt a cold chill up her spine as she bent over to switch the vacuum off. At the time, she’d spent a few nights in hospital and now, as she subconsciously rubbed her head, it was only the psychological scars that remained. It didn’t take the police long to find her father, though. He was arrested a few days later, pissed up in a pub a few miles away, and charged with the attempted murder of her mother.

Her father had initially pleaded not guilty – which meant Shell had had to give evidence in court, thankfully via video link– but it was all part of his desire to exert power and control over the women in his life.

He argued publicly with his solicitor during the trial. But continued the mind games after the damage had already been done to Shell’s fragile emotional state by eventually changing his plea. He was convicted of attempted murder against her mother and GBH against her. Due to the brutality of the offence – he’d beat Shell’s mother so bad that nearly all her bones were broken – he received the maximum sentence: life.

The thought of what she and her mother had had to endure all those years ago was still too much to bear. Shell hated when the post arrived; she was crippled by the constant fear that she’d find out he was eligible for parole.

Her mother’s diary had been produced as evidence. It detailed the years of abuse, both sexual and physical, that she’d endured at the hands of Shell’s father. Shell had kept this diary and it made for a very dark read. Her mother had survived the brutal attack, but something had died inside her that day. Shell had been taken into care as her mother turned to alcohol and drugs to escape the memories, and eventually prostitution, to pay for her mind-numbing addiction. She overdosed a few years later and Shell would never forgive her father for that.

Shell snapped out of the painful stroll down memory lane and carried on with the job at hand. She picked up her cloth and cleaner before she leaned against the window and looked down at the traffic rushing past in the street below. Never forgotten, she knew this abyss would rear its ugly head again. She was just grateful that she was able to push the dark thoughts aside and focus on the positive things in her life. She had made something of herself and wouldn’t let her father get the last laugh. She had to admit though, sometimes it was hard to keep her anger in check and she feared what that could lead to. Would she turn out like him?