Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) by Caroline Mitchell (best love novels of all time .TXT) 📗

Mo shook her head. ‘The second anyone got close, Lizzie would warn them off. All I wanted was a friend of my own. But nobody hung out with me – at least, not in school.’ Mo hated talking about this time in her life. She had been so small, so vulnerable back then. So weak, she thought, her jaw tensing with unresolved emotions.

‘And when you went home?’

Mo blinked, focusing on the question. ‘I spent my evenings looking after Jacob. I used to lie next to him on his narrow cot bed to get him to sleep. I remember listening to him breathing. It was the sweetest sound.’ Mo’s heart lifted as she thought of the little boy she had loved most in the world. ‘He’d play with my hair, while I’d stare at the ceiling, wishing for a better life for us both. Then I’d hear his soft snores, and I’d cover him up with his favourite blanket before sneaking out of the house.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Nowhere much. Sometimes I’d hang around the playground after dark. That’s where I met Jen.’ Mo paused to swig the plastic cup of water she had drawn from the water cooler when she came in. She had knocked back half a bottle of vodka in her room last night and had a hell of a thirst on. She smacked her lips, the roof of her mouth still feeling like it was coated in sand. ‘Can I have another one of these?’ she asked, rising to refill her cup.

‘Sure, no need to ask. We were talking about Jen?’ the therapist continued as Mo returned.

Mo knocked back another mouthful of water before sitting back down. She could have asked to use the toilet and wasted a few minutes in there. But she was only fooling herself. She would have to discuss Jen at some point, no matter how much it hurt. She inhaled deeply, gathered her reserves of strength, and began. ‘She was five years older than me, seventeen. I knew her from the estate, but she’d never given me the time of day before.’

The therapist scribbled a few words on her pad before returning her attention to Mo. ‘What was she like?’

‘Tall and skinny. And I don’t mean thin – Jen had a bony frame. She used to pad herself out with sanitary towels to make herself look curvy. She put them in her knickers to flesh out her bum.’ Mo rolled her eyes. ‘Seems daft now, but I felt so special that she was sharing her secrets with me.’ She looked at her hands. ‘She used to have these big long nails – painted neon pink. She nicked all her make-up from Boots. Never paid for a thing.’ Mo recalled the time they spent together. It seemed so different, now her perspective on life had changed. ‘We used to get the bigger boys to buy us booze from the local newsagents. You could get these great big bottles of fizzy cider for a couple of quid. Steve, my stepfather, was always losing money down the back of the sofa. He’d come home drunk, and it would slide from his pockets between the cracks in the leather seats. I found a twenty-pound note once. I made it last . . . I didn’t spend it all at once.’

‘What did you spend it on?’

‘Some ice cream for Jacob.’ Mo’s eyes glistened as she recalled the look on his face when she took him to their local cafe for a treat. The ice cream sundae was huge, laced with pieces of chocolate, jelly and whipped cream. She recalled dipping her spoon into the glass as he insisted she taste it first. His eyes watching her intently, asking her what it was like. It was clear he wanted to savour the moment, so unlike other kids his age. A smile almost touched her lips as she recalled telling him it was horrible and that she’d have to eat it all herself. His laugh had been infectious as he cottoned on to the joke. ‘He was so sweet and bright,’ she continued. ‘High on life.’ She paused for a sip of water as her voice threatened to break. It was too painful to dwell on Jacob for very long. ‘I spent the rest of it on booze and fags. The boys down the playground would sell us singles from their packs.’

‘At what age did you start smoking?’

‘Twelve,’ Mo said. ‘Mum was too wrapped up in herself to notice, stupid cow.’ She sighed, regretting her choice of words. Her mother’s life had been no picnic either. ‘She wasn’t a bad mum. She was young when she had us. Her home life was a mess. Her anxiety crippled her. She couldn’t cope.’ Mo sighed. It was hard, keeping her focus on the past. ‘I’d live for those times down the playground. Then one day, Jen invited me to a party. She gave me some clothes that she’d nicked from town earlier that day. It was like all my birthdays came at once.’ Mo shook her head. ‘I was too naive to see that she was using me. She . . .’ The words died on her tongue as the pull of the past became too strong. She had spent so long building her defences, it hurt to have her walls ripped down. ‘I can’t,’ she said, her breath accelerating, her fingers intertwining so tightly they hurt.

‘It’s OK. You’re safe here.’ The therapist’s words were soft and velvety, acting as a valve as they released some of the pressure within. Mo relaxed a little, taking in her surroundings and bringing herself back to ground. Those days were over. She was strong now, and people who displeased her had come to regret it. So why was she even here? The answer appeared instantly, because the question nagged her with intensity every day.

She needed to know exactly what she was.

CHAPTER NINE

‘What’s wrong?’ Amy said, stopping Donovan in his tracks. Given