The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Abbie. Words of consolation that meant nothing. But she’d never meant any words of consolation more.

“Thank you,” said Jess. Still circling her bump. “And loss is right, isn’t it? I told myself, after we left the hospital, it should be okay. I’m pro-choice. Had I got pregnant a couple of years before, when I wasn’t ready, I might have aborted, and that would have been okay. So this should be too. Should be, but it wasn’t. Because, because...”

“That was your child,” said Abbie. “I get it.”

Jess looked across the sofa. Abbie looked back.

“I know you do,” said Jess. “And I’m sorry for your loss, too.”

Abbie shrugged. Or tried to. Someone seemed to have encased her upper body in concrete.

“Long time ago,” she managed to say.

“And I bet it still hurts like hell,” said Jess.

Wasn’t that the truth? And as ever, Abbie couldn’t face it. The memories were always there but usually in the background. A nagging presence. Nothing else. Now they threatened to drown her.

Breaking above water, she stood.

“I should go.”

“You’re not going anywhere. It’s late. You’re tired. Besides, Ed’s already made up the bed. Don’t make me tell him it was for nothing.

On her feet, facing away from Jess, Abbie closed her eyes, rubbed them with the back of her hand. Took a deep breath to forestall any further waterworks.

“I’m not going to talk about what happened,” she said.

“And that’s fine. Of course. As long as you know you could, if you wanted to.”

Here it was. After assuming there was no way to easily earn Jess’ trust on night one, Abbie had stumbled upon the answer. How she wished she hadn’t. She’d take mistrust over companionship that came at the cost of her reliving those awful memories any day.

Before the weight of her grief became unbearable, Abbie turned back to Jess.

“If I’m to take you up on this offer of a room for the night, I must first make a confession.”

Jess tilted her head. “Oh?”

Sighing, Abbie looked into her mug, then offered it to Jess.

“I just can’t stand hot chocolate.”

The spare room was also the baby’s room. Neutral walls, a white cot fitted with a brand new mattress and sheet, a child-sized wardrobe, and a chest of drawers topped with a rim and changing mat. To the side of the mat was another table atop which was a nappy and wipes filled box. In one corner of the room, another box contained an assortment of toys, most of which Abbie guessed had been gifted by friends and family rather than bought by the parents-to-be. In front of the box, guarding it, was a teddy with beady black eyes and a beaming smile. The smile reminded Abbie of Bobby, the eyes of Ronson.

“Just got it finished last weekend,” said Eddie. “Right under the wire, what with Jess due any day. Course, we still have to get rid of that, but we’ve not yet decided what to do with it.”

He was pointing at the sofa, which he had recently transformed into an unpleasant looking bed. The mattress which topped it looked far harder, far less comfortable than the mattress on the baby’s bed, though it had size on its side. The sheets were stiff from years spent unused in a cupboard somewhere. There was a single, limp pillow.

“Don’t yet know where to put it,” he said. “Third bedroom, such that it is, is far too small. Might have to get rid.”

Abbie nodded but wasn’t really listening. Head swimming, she felt as though she could fall any minute. The cries grew louder and louder, to the point where she began to wonder if maybe Jess had given birth downstairs while Eddie showed Abbie the spare room.

All of a sudden, she needed to be alone.

“Thank you,” she said, “for putting me up.”

“Thanks for helping with Danny.”

Again, Abbie nodded but didn’t speak. She wasn’t facing Eddie. Her eyes were fixed on the cot.

Eddie said goodnight and left her alone in the dim light of a bedside lamp. Abbie never slept well. She wasn’t sure she’d get even a minute with that cot in the corner and the pregnant Jess next door, shifting and turning.

And the baby. The one from her past. Wailing and wailing though, in real life, Abbie was sure she had never heard it cry.

It. Abbie hated saying it, but what was the gender? Boy, girl? She wished she knew. She wished she could pick one and stick with it, but how?

Because her legs were shaking rather than because sleep was near, Abbie fell on the bed. Across from her was the table on which sat the box of nappies and wipes. Beside it was another photo: the smiling couple, a few months back. Jess was just starting to show.

Rising, Abbie crossed the room intending to put the photo on its front. Before she knew what was happening, it was in her hands, and she was back on the bed, staring at the glass, and the people captured in the photo beneath.

Losing a baby had left Jess heartbroken. Now the perfect life was within her grasp.

How would she cope with a second loss?

Abbie rose and placed the frame on the table, not face down, but facing away. She fell into bed and put her hands over her eyes.

She saw Eddie’s face again, twisted, contorted in pain and fear.

Jess was preparing for her happy ever after.

The clock was ticking, Jess’ baby was due any day, and if Abbie didn’t do something, Jess would be raising her child alone.

It was 04.30 in the morning.

Less than 44 hours to go.

Six

A few hours later, Eddie cooked Abbie breakfast. By the time they left the house, it was nine am, and Eddie possibly had only 39 hours to live.

It was only ten minutes to the hotel. Having banked some trust and goodwill the previous night, mainly by getting the wife onside, Abbie should have used