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

I had to stop him because he’d definitely have stabbed me. His eyes, they were wild.’

‘And to clarify, you hit him just the once?’ Irma said.

Tom nodded, looked down at the table. ‘The punch landed on the side of his jaw and he went down. I saw his head smash into the pavement and then … well, he lay very still and I panicked. I’ve seen enough boxing matches to know.’

‘To know what, Tom?’ Marcus pushed him.

‘To know that there was a chance he’d suffered a brain injury when his head hit the concrete. I had this feeling that I was in serious trouble. Listen … can you go and check if there’s any news yet?’

Irma gave Tom a hard look. ‘Not at this precise moment but rest assured, when we hear anything you’ll be the first to know.’

Twenty-Four Jill

October 2019

It was an hour before we were due to leave for the dinner party.

I’d already showered, scrubbed the soil from my fingernails and washed and dried my hair. After applying a little make-up, I stared into my dressing table mirror and tried to flatten my hairstyle.

Earlier, I’d dug out my heated rollers for the first time in years. My hair was longer than it used to be – through neglect rather than intention – and the effect had been a bigger and bouncier hairdo than I’d anticipated. I’d used extra-hold spray, and my hair felt voluminous but also very stiff, like cardboard.

With a light dusting of bronzer and blusher and a pink lipstick I’d found at the back of the drawer, I’d scrubbed up. I’d made an effort, at least.

Audrey rang. ‘How are you feeling? Remember what we said. Head held high, don’t let her get to you.’

When Tom left the house on Monday, I’d called her and poured out my heart and soul.

‘I don’t want to go for dinner because I can’t stand the thought of her smug face watching me suffer, but if I don’t go, I feel like I’m letting Tom down.’ I paused. ‘When I texted him to say we’d be there, he told me Coral and Ellis are going too. Awkward isn’t the word for it. That poor boy.’

‘You have to go and Robert must go too, whether he likes it or not,’ Audrey said firmly. ‘You have to show you’re being reasonable – on the surface, at least. If they close down communications, you’ll not find out a thing. At least if you play her at her own game, you can keep an eye on what’s happening.’

It had sounded like common sense. The last thing I wanted was for my relationship with my son to end up the same way as his father’s.

‘I don’t want to go any more than when we last spoke,’ I said now, putting the phone on to loudspeaker. I turned my head this way and that, evaluating my big hair in the mirror. ‘But I am going and I’m going to put on an act in the hope of getting up Bridget’s nose.’

‘Good girl,’ Audrey said with approval. ‘And what does Robert think about it all?’

‘He’s trying to squirm out of it again,’ I said.

‘Astonishing!’ Audrey murmured. ‘He finds it the easiest thing in the world to run away from responsibility, doesn’t he? Well, good luck. Let me know how it goes.’

We said our goodbyes and I ended the call. I stood up and straightened my knitted dress. It didn’t look as good on as when I’d bought it ten years ago. I was the same weight as back then, but my body shape had changed. The bits that used to go in stuck out a bit more now, with a thickening around the middle I could do little about.

I’d decided to wear opaque black tights, and on a whim, I slipped on a pair of barely worn red patent loafers I’d found at the bottom of the wardrobe. I hoped they added a touch of quirkiness against the dull grey of the dress. With Bridget flouncing around and looking half her age, I felt a growing determination to give myself a bit of an overhaul.

‘Cab’s here,’ Robert called up as I reached the top of the stairs. He’d decided he’d have a drink after all and leave the car at home. ‘Good Lord, what have you done to your hair? Looks like you’ve had a fright.’

I didn’t give him the courtesy of a reply. He opened the front door and I followed him out.

It was a fifteen-minute cab ride to Bridget’s house. While Robert paid the driver, I stood outside and looked at the brightly lit front of the three-storey house. So much illuminated glass! It must have cost a fortune to heat.

The front door opened and Tom appeared, waving.

‘Welcome, guys!’ He stood aside as we entered the house. He looked so happy, glowing from within, and was effortlessly smart and handsome in a paisley-print long-sleeved shirt that he wore loose outside his black trousers.

‘Dad.’ He nodded as Robert walked by him and left me standing inside the doorway, still trying to pat down the volume in my hair. I glanced around. Everything was so open and white and shiny and clean. And so modern! It made our house look like a mausoleum.

Tom moved sideways and my breath caught in my throat as a large, framed headshot of Tom and Bridget on their wedding day revealed itself on the wall behind him. It was a different one to the picture she’d put on Facebook, and I stepped forward and studied it. Her hair pinned up, delicate little flowers dotted throughout. Tom looked his usual handsome self, but Bridget’s skin, eyes, teeth were perfect, not a blemish or a wrinkle to be found. Filters. That was what all the celebrities used on their pictures these days. Filters that made them look wonderful, even on close-ups like this one.

‘Hi, Mum,’ Tom said, kissing my cheek. His eyes swept quickly from my hair down to my feet, where