All the Hidden Truths_Three Rivers by Claire Askew

Author:Claire Askew [Askew, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2018-08-08T23:00:00+00:00

28 May, 8.45 a.m.

Ishbel had been staring at Abigail’s prom dress for about fifteen minutes. It was hanging on the front of the wardrobe in Abigail’s bedroom, its watermark-patterned taffeta distorted through its clear plastic dry-cleaning bag. She was trying to conjure the memory of going to buy it – she and Abigail spending a giggly afternoon in the dress shop’s plush fitting room, coming home with the dress in one of the shop’s shiny, rope-handed totes. Did they go out for dinner afterwards, maybe? Did they buy the shoes that day, too, or some other time? Ishbel felt like she was digging through sticky tar, trying desperately to dredge up the memory. But all she could remember was that night, two weeks ago, when she and Abigail had argued in the car. Her daughter’s last words to her: ‘Mother, you’re on fucking crack.’

At the time, Ishbel had balked at the way she’d been spoken to. But the retort was also a drugs reference. Ishbel closed her eyes and tried – as she had several times since Grant Lockley’s revelations – to imagine her daughter taking drugs. Carrying drugs; taking money for them in risky, unwholesome exchanges. She tried to imagine Abigail high: messy and throwing up. The images refused to be summoned. She couldn’t believe it – wouldn’t believe it. The realisation of Aidan’s infidelity had hit her like a train she’d already heard coming: there was shock, and pain, but there was no surprise. I should have known, she thought. But Abigail? No. It simply couldn’t be true.

Ishbel had smoothed out some space on the still-unmade bed, and placed a holdall there. Then, as calmly as she could, she’d packed as many of her daughter’s things as the bag would fit. She’d found the coral sweater in the wardrobe, drooping lopsided on its hanger. Without any real idea why, Ishbel had unhooked it, folded it into a fat square, and placed it into the holdall. Then she’d rifled through the rest of the wardrobe. She found Abigail’s old school tie – navy with diagonal white stripes – and, having stood for a moment with it coiled loosely around her hand, Ishbel had folded that too, and placed it on top of the sweater.

Hanging on the back of the wardrobe door was Abigail’s satin dressing gown. It was powder blue with a pattern of tiny pink and red flowers. When Abigail had bought it, Ishbel had frowned at how adult it was – how like lingerie it seemed. But now she balled up the slippery fabric and added that, too, to the bag.

It became systematic. Ishbel had looked through every drawer. She’d found Abigail’s jewellery box and winkled a few things out, and dropped them into her own cardigan pocket. She’d pulled out the under-bed boxes, held their sheets and towels up to her face – though of course they were clean, and smelled only of lavender fabric softener. Shaking out one towel, Ishbel had heard a thud, and looked down to find a thick book lying at her feet.

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