Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5) by David Gatward (english reading book TXT) 📗

‘I’m sorry about my dad,’ Ruth said, sitting down opposite Liz. ‘He takes a lot of getting used to. By which I mean, never. I mean, he’s absolutely lovely, but right now, I don’t know what’s going on with him at all.’

Liz kept her response non-committal. ‘I’m really sorry about your mum,’ she said. ‘Must be very hard for you.’

Ruth nodded and Liz saw the pain in the woman’s eyes and the effort she was having to put into not breaking down. She was also still struck by how similar she looked to her mum.

‘It was a shock for us all,’ she said. ‘Mum was a wonderful woman.’

‘She looked very happy in the photos,’ Liz said.

Ruth just smiled but said nothing more.

‘You live with your son, next door,’ Liz said.

‘Yes,’ Ruth replied.

‘How old?’

‘Sixteen,’ Ruth said, then pulled out her phone and flicked the screen round to Liz. ‘There he is.’

Liz glanced at the screen to see a pale-faced boy smiling through long black hair. He was wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt. But what Liz noticed most of all was, once again, that striking family resemblance.

‘I like his style,’ Liz said. ‘Good taste in music.’

‘Yes.’ Ruth nodded. ‘He’s a good lad.’

Liz heard something in Ruth’s voice, something hidden, but wasn’t exactly sure what. ‘And he’s at school, yes?’ she asked.

Another nod, though with more hesitation.

‘And he’s getting on alright, is he?’

‘On and off,’ Ruth said. ‘But then who’s really ever truly happy at school? Like most teenager boys I think he’d rather be listening to music and playing Call of Duty.’

Liz took a sip of her tea wondering not only about what Ruth was hiding behind her words but also if it was relevant. And she was getting hungry now as well, but no biscuits were on offer, so she’d have to ignore that till they were back in Hawes.

‘When we were back in the study,’ Liz began, not really knowing quite how to approach what had happened after Ruth had entered the room. ‘You seemed to suggest that—’

‘That my dad is seeing things?’ Ruth said, finishing off what Liz was going to ask. ‘Of course, he is! You saw the whisky glass in his hand, right? It’s only a week since we lost Mum and he’s not dealing with it well. Not that he will admit that, of course. No, not Dad. That would be . . .’ She paused, staring off into the corner of the room for a moment, as though searching for what to say next. ‘He’s just a bit stubborn,’ she finally said. ‘But this whole thing with seeing an intruder that he thinks is Mum? It’s really not like him at all. I don’t understand any of it.’

Liz sat back in her chair. ‘Has this happened a lot then, since the accident?’ she asked. ‘You know, your dad seeing your mum?’

Liz watched as Ruth searched for what to say next, casting her eyes around the room as though trying to find the words behind the pictures on the wall.

‘He’s been talking about some strange stuff,’ Ruth said eventually, and Liz could tell that she was struggling with the words. ‘No, this sounds insane, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Actually, it does,’ Liz said. ‘Your dad is clearly in a bad place, you all are, I know, but if he’s seeing things and then calling us? We need to be aware of it. This is the second time now that we’ve come out, and we can’t just keep doing so if there’s nothing here. That doesn’t mean we can’t help, though, it’s just a case of resources really.’

‘I know,’ Ruth said.

‘It sounds cruel,’ Liz continued, ‘but it’s not. In fact, we’re here right now because we’re concerned and we need to make sure that things are okay, that he’s safe, I suppose.’

‘Safe?’

‘People suffering trauma can react in different ways,’ Liz said. ‘Wander off, disappear, behave really out of character. We don’t want him to come to any harm.’

‘No, I get that,’ Ruth said. ‘I really do, and it’s appreciated, and I promise you won’t get any more calls. I can’t allow this to happen again. It’s not on.’

‘You said that he’s been talking about something strange or odd?’ Liz asked. ‘How do you mean?’

‘A few days ago he started asking me about the afterlife,’ Ruth said. ‘Death, and if we exist beyond it. I didn’t think much of it, but he kept coming back to it, saying that he wanted to see Mum again, that he even speaks to her.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s understandable,’ Liz said. ‘Just needs a bit of reassurance.’

‘Yes, but it’s gone a bit further than that,’ Ruth said. ‘He wants proof. He wants to know where she is and that she’s okay. It’s because he blames himself, says he should have been driving.’

‘Perhaps it’s all part of how he’s dealing with it,’ Liz suggested, wondering now where the conversation was going, because wherever that was, none of what they were talking about now was what she had been expecting. A cup of tea and a bit of a listening ear, sure, but this? Well, it did sound a little bit out there. ‘Why does he say he should have been driving?’

‘It was his birthday and Mum drove so he could have a drink, but she really doesn’t like driving at night, never has.’

‘Why?’

Ruth shook her head. ‘Honestly, I always thought she was making it up, but she always said she couldn’t see very well at night, like her eyes just didn’t focus properly or something.’

‘Well, that’s a thing, you know,’ Liz said. ‘Some people do suffer from night blindness. There’s a posh name for it but I can’t remember what it is.’

‘Well, there was nothing wrong with her eyes, nothing serious anyway, but she was always a bit clumsy, walking into stuff in the evening, shutting doors on herself.’

‘No way.’

‘Honestly, it’s true,’ Ruth said, her voice momentarily lighter. ‘Even shut her head in a car door