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

step up when faced with the prospect of the cruel Leona, who he wanted to kill, raising his kin. When he had refused, she had wanted to part from him as soon as possible.

Now he wouldn’t reply to her texts. When she phoned, he didn’t answer.

Showing great restraint, she did not hurl her phone against the wall. Grabbing her drawstring bag and chucking the phone inside, she left.

An hour until she was due to meet Ben’s guy.

Time enough to knock Eddie into shape.

At 8.45, Abbie knocked on Eddie’s door. What felt like an hour later, Jess answered; huffing, puffing, one hand on her lower back, the other clinging to the door.

Before Abbie could speak, Jess said, “Thank God you’re here. I need you to get me out of these jeans.”

“Eddie not here?” Abbie asked, trying to play it off as casual interest. Not that Jess would have noticed as she struggled up the stairs. Abbie’s hand was on the pregnant woman’s back, praying Jess didn’t fall, unsure she could keep the mother-to-be up if she did.

“Went out this morning. For a walk, he said. But I could see something was wrong. Of course something’s wrong. He’s not been himself since Danny died, and I don’t know when he’ll be himself again. Why should he be? But I’m three days overdue, and all I can think is: what kind of father will Eddie be at the moment, with the spectre of Danny hanging over his shoulder? God, he’s just lost his brother, and that’s what I’m worried about. Selfish bitch, right?”

“Not at all,” said Abbie as they reached the top of the stairs without falling. “You’re not worried about yourself but about your baby. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing. That’s a mother’s job.”

Jess caught Abbie’s eyes as they moved from the rounded stomach. The mother-to-be’s cheeks flushed with guilt.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this.”

Abbie forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me. Now, these jeans…”

They moved into Jess’ bedroom, where the almost-mum dropped onto the mattress with a puff of air. The bed was a king and dominated the room. Cramped in one corner was a wardrobe. There were two bedside tables, a narrow chest of drawers and very little floor space. Swinging a cat would be out of the question and not just on cruelty grounds.

“Shouldn’t have put them on,” Jess said, referencing the jeans. “Why would I put them on? Baby could come today or tomorrow. Whenever. I should be in comfortable, loose-fitting clothing until at least after I’ve given birth. Don’t know what came over me.”

“I get it,” said Abbie. “Been a long time since you felt normal, right? Pregnancy, sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. But it’s never normal. Jeans are normal, so you think, if you can squeeze into them, maybe you’ll feel normal too. I remember that.”

Jess opened her mouth. Closed it again. Having learned that Abbie had lost her baby, Jess had made the natural assumption that she had miscarried within the first trimester. Because that was when most miscarriages happened. But, of course, some happened later. As it went, Abbie hadn’t miscarried at all. It had been past that point.

“I was a couple of weeks from full-term,” said Abbie. “I remember it all.”

Jess put her hand to her mouth. Tears sprung into her eyes. Abbie wasn’t sure why she had said it. If only Eddie would come home. Then Abbie could get on with saving his life.

Until then: “Jeans. Get them off. Where are your comfortable clothes?”

Fighting the tears, dragging her hand from her mouth, Jess pointed to the wardrobe.

“There’s a box at the bottom on the right side,” said Jess. “Loads of comfy clothes in there. You’re looking for a pair of loose trousers, halfway between pyjama bottoms and tracksuit. They have flowers around the waistline.”

To open the wardrobe, Abbie had to turn away from the bed, from Jess. As she went to her knees in front of the mentioned box, she heard Jess sniff, then dry her eyes.

As Abbie started routing through the box, Jess said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Blinking heavily, rapidly, Abbie didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. If she ignored it, maybe Jess’ sympathy and sadness would go away.

The box was deep and packed tight with what appeared to be hundreds of comfortable clothing items, 99% of which must have been bought pre-pregnancy and none of which were what Jess had requested.

While Abbie made her way through the pile, Jess shifted, uncomfortable, worried about something. Abbie had a nervous feeling she might soon need to make a decision.

“I didn’t think Eddie would be gone this long,” Jess said at last, As Abbie reached the halfway point of the box, moving into musty clothing territory. Clothing that needed airing out and washing or, more likely, binning.

“He was out last night, too. A couple of hours around midnight. Told me he couldn’t sleep—a nightmare. I told him I’d happily come downstairs, and we could chat, or watch telly, or whatever, but he said I needed to sleep. And he needed to go out.”

Three-quarters of the way down the box, Abbie’s hand became tangled in some tights and through the leg of a pair of boxers. Momentarily fearful she might find herself permanently trapped in this box in this wardrobe, Abbie had to restrict a yelp. This was stupid. She needed to calm down. Stupid Jess and her stupid questions, causing agitation.

“When he came home,” Jess continued. “I was still awake. I asked if the walk had done him good, and he said it had. I don’t know if he thinks me an idiot or if he was too worked up to see, but he was worse than ever. His hands kept working, balling into fists and straightening. His skin was pale, and he couldn’t get to sleep. I’m sure he tossed and turned all night.”

90% of the way through the box, Abbie paused. The question was coming. Abbie hadn’t yet decided how she should