Читать книгу One Little Lie - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 25

A chill ripples inside my body, shaking my foundation like a gust of wind through a tree threatening to shed its leaves. My fingers tremble as I flatten the yellowing newspaper page. I hide the tin full of cuttings from Nathan. He doesn’t think it’s good to brood over the past. Now, seeing the headlines again, I relive it all with frightening clarity.

I am there. Back on that day. I can feel all I felt then, only now it’s even worse. Because I know more now than I did when I was first told of my son’s death. His murder. I know far too much about Kyle Mann. I swallow the rising hatred.

Why does the media insist on displaying the faces of those who have committed such hideous crimes, name them, talk about them, dissect every area of their lives? Why give them the space, the attention? I can’t stand it. It’s the victims who should be the focus. I don’t want to read about how this murdering bastard had a hard life; a difficult upbringing. So what?

I had many of these thoughts back then. I told anyone who was willing to listen. Even those who weren’t. Looking at these articles again now, I’m aware my anger hasn’t subsided. I’ve just done a good job of distracting myself from it.

But now that distraction has gone, thanks to Marcie.

The driveway gravel crunches beneath a car. I jump up, place the cuttings back inside the old biscuit tin and push it under the pile of my jumpers on the shelf in the walk-in wardrobe. Nathan’s home. I haven’t told him I’m on ‘gardening leave’ yet. Not sure whether I should. Maybe I can keep it to myself, for a while at least.

He won’t know that I’m not leaving for work. He always leaves the house before me, and I’m home before him. I can keep up the facade easily. After all, I’m well-practised.