Approaching the rear of the house, voices carried on the gentle breeze. His father was talking to someone. He was irritated. It was evident in his tone although he wasn’t letting on. If you knew him as well as any son knows their father you would easily recognise the tension. The other man was addressing him politely but, in a stern, authoritative way, just as the teachers did at school before he’d moved up to the sixth form. Now they were kinder, speaking with him and the others more like they were grown-ups. Holly flashed into his mind, still and lifeless. Dead. She would never get to grow up.
Hanging back, he dropped into the nearby tree line and crouched low, skirting around his home and taking up a position behind the brush to enable him to observe the exchange. There was a woman there as well, serious looking and attractive, but she didn’t speak. He watched as she got into the car. His father exchanged another word with the man. He was taller, blonde and didn’t seem to take to whatever was said to him. Mark couldn’t hear his response, try as he might, but his father didn’t like it. He tensed. Mark knew that look well. He half expected him to land a punch on the tall stranger but instead the man backed away and got into the car. They were police. There had been enough of them calling by over the years for him to recognise them as such.
A feeling of dread manifested in the pit of his stomach. His hunger all but forgotten. They were here for me. The car disappeared from view but he remained where he was. Shifting his weight saw him snap a small branch at his feet. His father looked around staring directly at the place he was hiding but still he didn’t move. He was rooted to the spot.
“Get out here boy!” his father called to him. “I think you and me need to have wee chat.”
Chapter Ten
Jane Francis stood in the garden to the front of their house, turning her face to the sun. Cupping the mug of tea with both hands, she warmed her fingers. The temperature outside was climbing but there was another mild frost overnight thanks to the clear skies and lack of wind. Soon, the onset of spring would march forward unabated and the freezing, mist-shrouded days would be quickly forgotten. Thankfully, the children were no longer badgering her for details about the macabre scene they envisioned their mother stumbling across the day before. William in particular was decidedly put out about the apparent lack of blood at the scene. Not that she would have said if there were. His persistence was eventually rewarded with the briefest of descriptions. She was careful to say just enough to satisfy his curiosity but offered nowhere near enough detail to feed his enthusiasm.
I’m sure it’s those damn computer games, she thought, remembering the gleam in his eyes as he asked her to recount what she’d seen. Ken didn’t see an issue, putting it down to the naivety of youth and a lack of understanding between action and consequence. Like he could lecture anyone on that subject. She found herself picturing Holly as she had seen her on the path, a far stretch away from the arrogant child with the haughty expression. She was a girl playing at being a woman. Still with so much to learn but already acting like the master. She was better off dead. Catching the thought as soon as it popped into her head, she immediately felt guilty. That wasn’t fair. The girl was misguided, intentionally so in her opinion, but she hadn’t deserved to die.
It’s still okay not to like her.
Stepping back into the house, the children were nowhere to be seen. The sound of thundering feet on the wooden floorboards above carried to her and she realised they were upstairs. Ken was sitting at the table in the kitchen, sketching something on his notepad with a pencil while he drank his coffee. She had slept in this morning. Ken, on the other hand, was up remarkably early for him. She pretended to be asleep not wanting to engage in conversation, but she knew he had been awake for some time before he got up and went downstairs having spent half an hour pacing around the bedroom.
Her husband appeared drawn and haggard. A far cry from the man she married years ago. He was older than her by nearly a decade at that time. Now, the distance between them was greater still, more so than just years. Everyone changed, grew older and less attractive. She knew she had peaked. The kids helped to drive that point home but she felt good, still looked great and attracted attention. Just not from Ken. Their marriage had become a trade-off. Had it always been so?
“Do you want more coffee?” She adopted a lighter tone than she normally offered, seeking to draw him out of his trance-like contemplation. Perhaps she was interested in what he might have to say after all. He had certainly gone quiet once the police left yesterday.
“No, thanks. I’m off to the studio.”
She watched as he finished his coffee, standing and placing the cup alongside the dishwasher but not in it. He sat down in order to put on his shoes. He hadn’t showered this morning or shaved. He was scruffy but didn’t manage to carry it off anywhere near as well as that fair-haired detective who visited the day before.
“You haven’t said anything about her.” Ken paused. He was bent over, tying up his shoe lace but he didn’t look up. Seconds later, he continued on with it.
“What’s there to say?”
Well, you could say how much you’re going to miss her. You could bemoan you won’t be having sex with
