Broken Promises: A gripping detective crime thriller (Detective Allie Shenton Series Book 4) by Mel Sherratt

Author:Mel Sherratt [Sherratt, Mel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blood Red Books
Published: 2022-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

In the bedroom, Irene was awake. She was waiting for the detectives to go; didn’t want to face them. She knew what they must think of Debbie, and yet Irene had tried so hard to make things right.

She had broken her promise as a mother. She’d said she would look after her daughter, but she hadn’t known what was going on with Debbie and her uncle until it was too late.

What kind of a mother did that make her? Of course she’d tried to make up for it, even though he’d never been charged with what he’d done. Now it was too late as he’d died last year.

Her body wouldn’t stop shaking, she supposed it must be due to the shock. And relief perhaps, because it meant Debbie might be at peace now.

Her daughter had been a huge part of her life, but for the most, Debbie had been disruptive and emotionally damaged by what had happened to her when she was fifteen. It had taken her until she was in her thirties to tell her what had happened.

Irene had never told a soul, not even Mary. More out of shame really. Because Ralph had taken advantage of her too, soon after her husband, Stan, had died.

Stan hadn’t got on with his brother, and they’d lost touch over the years. It was at Stan’s funeral that she’d reconnected with him again. At first, Ralph had been friendly and, when he’d started to visit her unannounced, it had been nice. He’d be attentive to her needs, bringing her flowers and chocolates.

It hadn’t been long before she’d realised his motive. Ralph wanted to sell his bungalow, pocket the money and move in with her. And that wasn’t on.

When he’d said he loved her, Irene had been surprised. She hadn’t wanted to hurt his pride because she didn’t feel the same. But she had to be sure he understood. She liked her own space and had no intentions at her time in life of starting again. Memories of Stan were all she needed. She had a good social life, seeing friends most days and some evenings.

But Ralph had been hurt by the rejection. He hadn’t visited for a fortnight, and then out of the blue, one evening, he’d knocked on the door. It had been ten p.m., and Irene hadn’t wanted to see him. He’d been drinking too.

Eventually, he’d talked his way in. Irene had been worried about upsetting the neighbours with the noise he was making.

It was the worst thing she could have done. She was in the kitchen, making a cup of tea when he’d come behind her, wrapped his hands around her waist, and kissed her neck. She’d squirmed, told him to stop and tried to push him away. But he’d turned nasty. She would never forget the look on his face.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of what he’d done next.

At her age, it had hurt very much. All he’d done afterwards was gone to sleep.

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