Two For Joy by Sarah A. Denzil

Author:Sarah A. Denzil [Denzil, Sarah A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When Tom turns back to the television screen, I excuse myself and rush to the laptop, where I pull up Google Maps. Geography isn’t my strong point, and I need to know where they found the body. I connect Kidderminster to our current location and let out a long sigh of relief. Too far. No one living in Clifton-on-Sea could travel there and back in one night.

“Tom, do you want a cuppa?” I call through into the living room.

“Are you fucking kidding?”

“Hey.” Angrily, I hurry back into the lounge. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

“Are you stupid, though?” he says. “A woman has been murdered, and you’re putting the kettle on like nothing has happened.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. You know full well that everyone puts the kettle on in times of crisis in this country. What do you think the policewoman did when she found me curled up in a ball, talking to James Gorden’s head? The first thing she did was make me a cup of tea.”

The blood drains from Tom’s face.

“What did Seb do when I ran to him at the farm, bloodied and cold? How fucking dare you believe I’m moving on like nothing’s happened when you damn well know I feel responsible for all of this? Why do you think I’m on medication? Why do you think my mind fucking broke? I’ve indulged this nonsense for too long. I know you’re in pain, but so am I. I know you’re traumatised, but so am I. You accuse me of not talking to you about what happened—well, here I am. What do you have to say to me?”

Tom shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know.”

“Got any secret Facebook accounts you want to tell me about?” I can’t help it. I’m out of control, my anger is a living thing, taking up space within my body, overtaking my brain.

“You’ve been spying on me,” he says.

“No, you idiot. Autofill completed the details on the log-in screen.”

I’m not sure Tom could get any paler, but somehow he does.

“I needed someone to talk to.”

“So did I,” I say. “For some strange reason, I thought I had you, but it appears that I don’t.”

Tom stands. Taller than me. Broader. Puppy fat almost gone, and a man left behind. Where did my boy go? And those eyes are ice-cold.

“I want to move out,” he says. “I want to move on and live my life the way I want to live it. That’s not going to happen here. I look at you, and all I see is Isabel.”

The words are like a knife to my gut. An image of Tom flashes through my mind: him plunging the knife into David Fielding. I run out of the room, barely making it to the kitchen sink before I vomit.

He follows me in. “Jesus.”

My hands are shaking as I pull the tea towel from the oven door and wipe my mouth.

“Are you ill? You’re very pale.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I just… I think it’s the new medication.

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