Flesh and Blood, Sian Rosé [most difficult books to read TXT] 📗

imagine her parent’s potential reaction to her sudden appearance after so many years. It was hard to imagine they’d be anything but furious with her for letting them believe she was dead all this time.

“They’re not going to be pissed off,” Ross said firmly, reading her mind. “Jesus, Minnie. You’re a mother yourself now. How would you react? Come on. Please. Just stay for dinner?”

She ran her tongue along the top row of her teeth. Ronnie wouldn’t like it. In fact, she was certain that Ronnie would be distinctly pissed off if she agreed. Perhaps she could just pretend they’d follow along in the RV after Ross had fixed it. She felt a stab of guilt pierce her in the stomach as the thought crossed her mind. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to her brother.

Pathetic, she thought privately to herself. She’d literally witnessed a full-blown massacre just hours before, and here she was feeling uncertain over a white lie to an estranged relative.

Except, it wasn’t just an estranged relative. It was her beloved big brother, whom she’d missed very much over the years.

“How do I know they won’t call the police?” Minnie asked finally.

Ross smiled grimly and held out his hand. She clasped it tightly.

“You have my word,” he said.

She believed him.

Chapter Forty-six

Summer, 2000

It had been yet another deliciously warm and gloriously sunny summer’s day.

On the long stretch of luscious, emerald green grass that took up much of her lavish back garden, Willa Matthews sat with friends, sipping on an ice-cold glass of Pimms, savouring the sweet breeze that the evening was now blowing around the group. The sky was still light; swirls of pink now easing up against the electric blue canvas, and a pleasant fuzz had settled over the successful businesswoman as she sat back in her garden chair.

Finally, she’d made it.

By many people’s standards, Willa Matthews had made it a long time ago. Her empire of beauty salons had evolved and gone from strength to strength over the last decade, making her rich enough to retire at the tender age of just thirty. Her house was stunning and was set in a wealthy, picturesque part of London. It was there that she enjoyed hosting parties and dinners with her equally successful husband, Don Matthews. When the two were not in London, they enjoyed up to ten holidays abroad each year, travelling first class and staying in 5-star hotels, enjoying the best of absolutely everything that the world had to offer.

Yes, life for Willa and Don Matthews had been, by all accounts, perfect in every way. Except for just one.

But eight weeks ago, all of that had finally changed.

And now, Willa, at last, believed that she really had it all.

The adoption agency had finally found them a baby. And in the blink of an eye, Willa was a mother.

Still, it felt too good to be true.  Most days, she had to pinch herself just to convince herself that it was all real. As delighted as she was, her intelligent, logical brain struggled to accept that someone out there had willingly given up a perfect little miracle, and he had been given to her.

“More drinks, ladies?” one of the women around the table asked hopefully, gesturing towards the empty jug.

Willa sighed and shook her head, placing the remainder of her glass down onto the table. “I’d better not,” she said, “no doubt I’ll be up again all night!” She tried to imitate the same fed-up tone that most mothers with young babies adopted because she enjoyed finally feeling like she was one of them. However, there was no concealing the joy that made her face seem to glow and made each word ring out like the lyric of a song. Truthfully, Willa loved the fact that the baby, little Patrick, woke up almost every hour during the night, crying for her. Needing her.

The other women nodded apologetically and offered mutters of advice, even though each of them knew full well that this was just the nature of newborns, and nothing could truly be done about their night-time antics. Whilst the conversation between friends sputtered to a natural end, Willa stood up and leaned down into the bassinet beside her chair, carefully lifting her sleeping son off of the mattress and onto her shoulder. He stirred, wrinkling his tiny face and letting out a tiny squeak of noise, causing fresh echoes of adoration from Willa’s friends.

Half an hour later, and Willa was standing at the foot of her driveway, still cradling Patrick’s sleeping body in her arms. She waved off the taxis, seeing off her visitors, secretly glad to finally be able to have her little boy all to herself once again.

She loved being the socialite- the lady of leisure; however, it didn’t even come close to being a mother.

“Now, are you hungry, little man?” she whispered, fussing with Patrick’s sun hat as she began to turn and walk back up the driveway. “Hmm? You want some…”

The sudden crack of a twig startled her.

Willa spun around, gripping her baby more tightly.

The Matthews’ home was a three-storey townhouse perched on a hill that lay at the end of a close of lavish houses. Its position meant that it was sort of tucked away out of sight from the rest of the neighbours- a feature which Willa had always loved. It was a romantic setting that gave off the impression that the house was isolated in the midst of a woodland; but was still conveniently close to central London, which she had grown so fond of.

But occasionally, it could feel eerie.

Only when she was alone, which she rarely was.

Willa almost always had company, and even when she didn’t, Don was never away for too long. On that particular day, he was at the golf course and would no doubt stay for a drink or two afterwards.

“Hello?” she called out, staring around the foot of the driveway. The taxi that had taken her friends was now out