Читать книгу One Little Lie: From the best selling author comes a new crime thriller book for 2018 - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 15

She doesn’t realise I know.

I sit here anyway, listening to her. I’ve made a pot of tea and I pour her a cup from the bone china teapot belonging to the set that once sat on my mother’s oak sideboard – reserved for special occasions; people she wanted to impress. I don’t know why I chose to dig it out from the back of the cupboard now. Or why I’m trying to impress this woman. I’m turning into my mother.

‘That’s a lovely picture of Sean,’ she says, gesturing to the large silver-framed photo on the mantelpiece.

I take a deep breath.

‘Yes.’ I force a smile. ‘Would you like a biscuit? I have chocolate digestives or rich tea.’ I want to avoid talking about my son. Even though I know that’s why she’s here.

‘Oh, um … chocolate, please. Although I really should be watching my waistline.’ She pats her belly. There’s no fat on the woman, but I refrain from remarking as I shake out some biscuits from the packet and offer them to her.

‘Thanks for letting me come in,’ she says as she dips the biscuit in her teacup. She leaves a trail of brown slush on its side. I look away. It’s a bone china cup for God’s sake, not a mug.

‘Well, I couldn’t leave you on the doorstep, could I?’ Although that’s exactly what I’d wanted to do at first – her babbling on about her son being at school with my Sean was irritating at best. My lips are tight; the smile harder to come this time. How polite should I be in this situation? A huge part of me doesn’t want to be polite at all – it wants to shout in her face, tell her to get out of my house. But there’s something about her – vulnerable, yet brave. It would be like kicking an inquisitive puppy. It must’ve taken some guts to turn up at my door, even though she’s yet to come clean and tell me who she really is. Didn’t she think I’d recognise her? I thought I’d hardened over the last few years, but the harsh words that spring into my mind – the ones telling this woman exactly what I think of her efforts to squirm her way into my life – evaporate before I can speak them.

Maybe it’s curiosity.

I find myself wanting to know why she thinks it’s a good idea for her to visit the mother of a murdered boy. He was only eighteen. Not even a man. He’d hardly lived, had so much to look forwards to.

She puts her cup and saucer down on the table, and I watch as her pale-blue eyes travel back to Sean’s photograph.

‘You must miss him terribly.’ Her words are quiet, almost inaudible – her face directed away from mine.

My skin is suddenly cold, as though someone has placed a blanket of ice on me. Of course I miss him. He was my only child; my life, up until that terrible day. I’ve had to learn to live without him, carry on with everyday things, all the while knowing my life would never again have meaning. Not the same meaning, anyway. I’m no longer someone’s mum. Tears come at this thought.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have allowed this woman in. Curiosity is not good for me.

I wipe my eyes with my sleeve.

‘Yes, it’s like I have a part of me missing. A hole that will never be filled.’ I can feel a bubble of anger. I should keep a cap on that.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, simply.

‘Oh, so am I. Sorry he ever encountered Kyle Mann. Sorry I wasn’t able to protect him.’ I must be careful, or years’ worth of hatred will erupt in this lounge. Amongst my mother’s bone china tea set. With the smiling face of my handsome Sean staring down at me.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have …’ She shifts awkwardly; she’s flustered. It looks as though she’s thinking about leaving.

‘No. Maybe not. But you’re here now,’ I say firmly. We lock eyes.

‘Yes, it’s taken quite a while to pluck up the courage.’ She gives a wavering smile.

‘Right.’ It’s time to stop the pretence. ‘So now that you’re here, what exactly do you want, Alice?’