The Marriage - K.L. Slater (story books to read .TXT) 📗

second mum. Although Tom was now nearly thirty years old, it was impossible to wipe the past out.

It was – and there was no other word for it – obscene. I felt empty inside. Hollow.

My fingers touched my cheek and it was wet.

‘It’s disgusting,’ I whispered. ‘Vile.’ And then I realised I wasn’t whispering at all, I was shouting. Tom looked alarmed and Robert’s mouth moved as he glared at me, but I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t hold it back. ‘You lost your son and so you waited and waited and then you took mine. Is that it?’ I shrieked, my voice hoarse. ‘You came to steal his future, to ruin him and get your revenge!’

I shrugged off the concerned hands that were placed lightly on my shoulders. I knocked away a proffered glass of water. Faces loomed above me and merged into one blurry mess.

I felt something split inside me, and the panic rose, pushed its way up into my chest.

‘For God’s sake get out of here. Go!’ I heard Robert yell at Tom. ‘Do you realise this will kill your mother? She’ll never get over it. It will kill her and it will all be your fault.’

Thirteen Bridget

We said little on the journey back. We’d bolted from his parents’ house. Tom belted upstairs, grabbed his holdall and rucksack and rushed back out to me like a young runaway.

He’d fallen quiet and sat still in the passenger seat, his fingers fused together. I steered the Mercedes on to Main Road as Tom continued to stare vacantly out of the window.

‘You shouldn’t feel bad, you know.’ I kept one hand on the steering wheel while leaning across to pat his firm thigh. ‘You did the right thing in telling them as soon as you could. It’s not your fault they don’t agree with what we’ve done.’

He didn’t answer.

Halfway along the long, wide street, I pulled over and parked the car on the road behind a silver BMW. I turned off the engine.

‘Nice Beamer,’ Tom remarked. He’d told me he’d loved the brand since being a boy.

‘So here we are,’ I said. ‘This is home.’

Tom looked at me and then glanced at the three-storey red-brick house. It felt slightly bizarre that this was the first time he’d seen the place where we were going to start our married life together.

‘This is your house?’ he gasped.

‘Yep, all mine,’ I said, pleased with his reaction. I’d played the place down on purpose so it would be a pleasant surprise. ‘Or it will be mine once I’ve paid the mortgage.’ I hesitated. ‘Actually, ours. It’s our house, Tom.’

I watched with pleasure as he got out of the car and stared up at the house. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. It was one thing I loved about him, and something that hadn’t changed since he was a boy. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was easy to see it impressed him. Jesse had been far more crafty and able to cover up how he felt, but Tom was always the more innocent one.

Ten years ago, when he used to come over to the house to hang out with Jesse in the den – the name Jesse coined for our third bedroom, so poky it wouldn’t accommodate a double bed – I had lived somewhere very different. He knew I’d recently moved, but despite that, he’d probably been expecting something more modest.

‘It’s amazing,’ he said, still not moving. ‘You’re amazing, Brid, how far you’ve come.’

Thanks to money I’d invested from the GoFundMe community campaign when Jesse died, plus my substantial salary from the charity, I’d been able to buy the property off plan two years ago. I’d put down a hefty deposit and mortgaged the rest. It was in an exclusive cluster of brand-new three-storey detached houses on the outskirts of Ravenshead, a well-regarded residential area in Nottinghamshire and only about three miles from the house where Tom had grown up.

The gardens of these new-builds weren’t huge. They stood tightly packed together, because land was at a premium in the area, but the outlook from the front aspect was a rare one of space. The master bedroom, on the third floor, was high enough to enjoy unhampered views over open fields and woodland.

But I had another surprise waiting for my new husband. I took the car keys out of my handbag and held them in front of him.

‘What’s this?’ he said, grinning. ‘Are you gonna let me drive your motor, too?’

‘No need,’ I said, nodding to the BMW. ‘You’ve got your own little runaround now.’

‘What?’ His mouth dropped open as he looked at the keys and then the car.

‘Someone at work was selling it. I knew it was a good buy so … consider it my coming-home gift to you.’

‘No way!’ He took the keys and rushed over to the car. Then rushed back and kissed me. ‘Thank you! Thanks so much, Brid. This is unreal. To think I was driving Mum’s little Fiesta when I went away.’

I suggested we made a move inside the house.

‘Unless you’re planning on staying out here all day admiring the dashboard, we’d better get you inside.’ I grinned and led him up the short path through shared frontage to the glossy black front door. ‘We can get your stuff out of the car later once I’ve shown you around.’

I guided him across the ground floor, a big open-plan sweep of gleaming black and white kitchen units, a dining and living space, and pristine white ceilings dotted every few inches with silver spotlights. Outsize bifold doors led to a spacious decked patio complete with a built-in fire pit, and beyond that, a modest but reasonably sized lawn.

I pointed to a row of spindly trees. ‘Another year and the conifers will be mature, and then we’ll have great privacy here.’ There were houses behind, a couple of which had upper floors that overlooked the patio area. ‘Long summer nights and BBQs on