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

let go of my son, turned around and saw her slim, lightly tanned arms outstretched towards me. My instinct was to turn my back on her, but Robert and Tom were watching, so I allowed her to place her hands on my shoulders and kiss my cheek. Close up, she was heavily made up with foundation and powder and didn’t look nearly as youthful as I’d initially thought. I guessed she was probably wearing eyelash extensions, and she’d outlined her lips in a nude shade the same colour as her lipstick so they appeared fuller than they actually were. Smoke and mirrors.

‘Love your hair, Jill … very eighties!’ She laughed a little cruelly, I felt, but nobody else seemed to notice. I pulled away.

‘Come through,’ she said to the others. ‘We’ll have a drink and I’ve got some nibbles. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.’

I walked ahead, but within seconds Bridget was there at my side. ‘How long is it since we spoke, Jill?’

My fingernails scraped at my palm. Was she goading me to refer to the time she came to our house after Jesse’s death? I’d closed the door in her face back then.

‘I can’t remember,’ I said, but of course I knew exactly when it was. ‘Sorry, I need to use the bathroom.’ She gave a little smirk as if she knew I wanted to get away from her and directed me to the small downstairs cloakroom.

Like the rest of the house, it was immaculate. Soft white porcelain and pale coffee walls. Very restful. It was such a relief to get away from Bridget’s intense focus. I had the disturbing sensation that everything she said to me was loaded. That she was laughing at me in plain sight because she’d taken away my son. But she was too clever to overplay it and risk anyone else noticing.

Feeling a little hot and light-headed, I splashed some water on my face and pulled at the neck of the grey wool dress. It had been a mistake to wear it, I should have dressed in layers, easy to slip off if I felt too hot.

I turned from the sink and froze as my eye rested on something on the opposite wall. It was a colourful framed poster, prettily illustrated with flowers and fruits and scripted writing that read: Karma has no menu. You get served what you deserve. The bold black words sprang out and branded themselves in my mind. Their irony was not lost on me. I held on to the sink and waited for the dizziness to pass. Robert would say, ‘It’s just a poster, Jill. Stop seeing such drama in everything.’

But was it just a poster? Tom had said she’d only been living in the house for six months. So I had to ask myself why, given the circumstances of Tom’s very recent release, she’d hung something so leading on the wall where every visitor would see it.

Twenty-Five

When I came out of the cloakroom, I walked slowly down the hall, listening to the hum of voices in the open-plan kitchen. This had to be the most unlikely of nightmare gatherings, and at the centre of it all, Bridget’s laughter. She seemed to relish holding court.

I passed the bottom of the stairs and glanced up, my eyes led by the silver-grey carpet and stylish glass banister. I stood very still, the breath catching in my throat. The wall of the staircase was covered, floor to ceiling, with photographs of Jesse.

I climbed up a couple of steps and peered closer.

‘Ah, I see you’ve found my memory wall.’

I jumped, and turned to see Bridget standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up, her hands on her hips as if she was ready for a challenge.

‘There are … so many of them,’ I said lightly.

‘You must have as many of Tom, I’m sure,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘Framed and hung around the house, no doubt.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said carefully, and then grabbed the opportunity. ‘Have you got a photo album of the wedding? I saw the picture in the hallway, but—’

‘All in good time.’ She smiled. ‘We’re getting the shots sorted, but don’t worry, you’ll see them soon enough.’

I nodded, feeling a pang for the dream wedding I’d once visualised for my son, a dream that had now turned to dust. I regarded the stairwell again. It was less of a memory wall and more of a shrine to Jesse.

Bridget said something, but I didn’t quite catch what it was, because at that exact moment I realised that Tom had been cut out of many of the photographs. I had some of them in my own collection, so I knew they had originally featured both boys.

‘I have lots of these photos at home,’ I said, looking at her pointedly. ‘And Jesse is still present in all of mine.’

She smiled. ‘How noble of you, Jill. But then Jesse didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘Seems strange that you couldn’t stand to see Tom in the photographs, and yet you’ve married him,’ I said, trying to match her boldness. ‘I can’t help thinking how conflicting that is.’ How screwed up was what I really meant.

But Bridget wasn’t fazed. ‘Not really,’ she said, placing one foot on the bottom step. I saw she’d removed her skyscraper heels. ‘I trimmed the photographs when Jesse died. I found it difficult to cope with seeing Tom on there, plus I wanted a wall of pictures of only my son. That’s all it was.’

‘But now you can stand seeing Tom. You’ve recovered sufficiently to marry him!’

I knew I was pushing it, but felt unable to stop. None of this added up.

‘Tom completely understands my thinking.’

‘I see.’ I stepped down. She didn’t budge, so I hovered close to her on the first step.

‘Good. I’m so glad you see.’ She dropped her voice so low I had to strain to hear. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten how well I know you, Jill. You’re a control freak at heart, but you need