The Marriage, K.L. Slater [best pdf ebook reader for android TXT] 📗

‘She’ll live to regret it if she keeps this attitude up.’ I took a breath and tried to calm down a little. ‘If she tries to keep me away from Ellis, she’s heading for a very dark place. She’ll wish she never crossed me.’

Eighteen Jill

Three days later, I stood in the kitchen making myself an omelette. Robert said he’d grab something later because he had counselling appointments booked in until 6.30.

I cracked the eggs into a jug, added salt and pepper and a dash of milk. I picked up a fork intending to whisk the mixture but found myself instead staring out of the kitchen window at the silver birch at the bottom of the garden. It was a sapling when Robert had planted it twenty-odd years ago. Now it towered there, regal and strong. Almost as tall as the house itself.

Tom had always loved that tree. When there was a full moon, the spot where it stood in the garden was a magnet for the ethereal light. Tom would sometimes wrap a quilt around himself and sit on the back doorstep, entranced and slightly terrified by the luminous trunk that Robert had once told him was made of bone. I’d threaten, beg and finally manage to coerce him back inside to bed with the promise of cocoa and a biscuit.

Those were the days when I still had influence in his life. Still had the power to protect him.

I glanced at my phone, feeling a compulsion to check Bridget’s social media accounts again. There had been nothing else since the Facebook photograph of their wedding, and I felt desperate to see more of that day. At the same time, I dreaded seeing my son’s handsome face plastered all over social media.

We’d heard nothing from Tom all weekend. I didn’t have his mobile phone number and I hadn’t a clue where they were living. I’d thought about contacting Bridget directly on Messenger. Asking to meet up and speak to her, find out more about the wedding. See the photos. Ask questions and find out what was in her head.

I tore my eyes away from the phone. I’d been checking it all morning and it was making me feel sick inside. Still, I’d used my time well this past couple of days. I’d had a bit of a brainwave and researched something online. I’d made comprehensive notes to discuss with Tom when I got a chance.

All at once, my throat felt swollen, clogged up with all the things I wanted to say, wanted to scream. I wanted Tom to see what she was doing, to shatter the spell she seemed to have cast on him.

When he was growing up, she’d always had this way of turning his head – in an innocent way back then, of course. We ran a more ordered house here, and whenever Tom was challenged about his behaviour, we got the retort ‘Bridget lets Jesse do this’ or ‘Bridget doesn’t moan at Jesse about that’. Tidying his room, doing his homework, eating and drinking at the table rather than in front of the television – the list went on. He wasn’t exaggerating. I’d seen Bridget’s non-existent parenting for myself. Treating the two boys like her mates when they were round there, letting them scoff crisps and biscuits before tea, the sort of thing most parents tried to avoid.

One time I’d forgotten to pack Tom’s pyjamas in his rucksack, so I popped around there to drop them off. The living room curtains were open and I peeked in before ringing the bell. The three of them were sitting together on the sofa, howling with laughter at some childish cartoon they were watching. South Park, I remember it was called. I’d never heard of it at the time, but Bridget obviously had and was laughing just as hard as the boys she was supposed to be in charge of.

Now, she was acting as if she was in her late twenties too. Marrying a boy young enough to be her son, dressing inappropriately for her age.

What did Tom see in her? Did he look at her and see that young mum who used to be so much fun when his own mother was a bit stuffy?

It was embarrassing and stomach-churning. Most of all, it was terrifying. She’d already somehow convinced him to marry her – what might she convince him to do next? How easy would it be for her to lead him astray and end up ruining him?

I forced my attention back to the eggs.

Robert thought I was in denial, I knew that. I accepted Tom was a grown man and that I couldn’t run his life any more, but I also knew something else. I knew Bridget Wilson had the power and, I feared, the intention to devastate my son’s second chance at life.

Nobody knew her like I did. Only I understood that she’d stop at nothing to achieve her goals. It was what she had in mind that I had to somehow figure out.

To give her credit, when Jesse was young, she had always worked two or more cleaning or shop jobs to try and make ends meet. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that at that point in time, when we met, she was a struggling single mother with zero sign of a rosy future ahead of her.

Yet within a short time of getting to know her, I’d seen glimpses of her iron will, an unshakeable belief in the future. I think that deep down I knew, even back then, she would make something of herself in order to carve out a better future for her and Jesse.

I was in a different position when our boys were young. I never really gave it much thought at the time, but now I can see I had an altogether more comfortable life that I largely took for granted. A nice house bought prior to a property boom in a respected part of town,