Sea of Lies: A chilling psychological thriller about secrets and trust. (The Village Book 2) by Rachel McLean

Author:Rachel McLean [McLean, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catawampus Press
Published: 2019-03-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Are you alright?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened. I just wanted to talk to you.” She could feel the blood pulsing through her temples.

“In the middle of the night?”

“Sorry. I’ll go.” She backed away.

“No.” He stood up, filling the room with his height. She could barely see where he ended and the shadows began.

“It’s too dark,” she said. “And it stinks.”

“You want to go downstairs?”

She thought of the route they would have to take to get to the kitchen. Past Bill, no doubt.

“No. Come to my room.” She had a bedside lamp. It worked, amazingly; the first time she’d used an electric lamp in years. She’d been so astounded by it that she’d only allowed herself to keep it on for a minute at a time, and then waited half an hour before lighting it again.

“Sure.”

She turned into the hallway, half expecting to find Bill out there eavesdropping. But the corridor was quiet. The wind had picked up and the branch scraped more vigorously against the window pane. It needed pruning, she thought. In her village, such things were looked after, tended. If not by the inhabitants of the closest house, then by the gang that looked after the trees and shrubs that had been planted years ago, for the holidaymakers who’d once occupied the houses. Before they’d been allocated to refugees.

At her door she stopped to look back. Martin was padding silently behind her, his breathing regular.

She eased the door open then waited for him to follow her inside. She closed it again. She went to the bed and lit the lamp. She didn’t sit down, but stayed upright, watching Martin scratch his neck. He stayed by the door.

“So this was Robert’s room,” he said.

“You never came in here?”

“No. What’s that door?”

“A bathroom.”

He whistled under his breath. “Lucky bastard.” He reddened. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I know I’m a lucky bastard. Hot water and electric light.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

She sat down on the bed. It bowed under her weight then rebounded a little. “About tonight. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not. I’m scared. I’m—I’m confused. But that’s no excuse.”

“I don’t blame you Sarah, really I don’t. After all the things I’ve done…”

She patted the bed next to her, feeling her heart thud against her rib cage. “Sit down.”

“Next to you?”

She nodded, feeling ice run down her back.

He walked slowly to the bed, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. He looked wary, as if expecting her to change her mind. To lash out at him.

He sat a foot or so away from her. The bed dipped further.

He bounced up and down. “Nice. Better than a mattress on the floor.”

“Did you know he lived like this?”

A shrug. “I guessed as much. Never talked about it though. No point.”

Her mouth was dry. “You didn’t deserve it.”

He looked at his fingers, which were twisting in his lap. “Oh, I think I did.” He looked up. “I’ve done things. Bad things.”

“We all had to, after the floods.

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