Time To Play by KA Richardson (best book club books of all time TXT) 📗

feeling. It was like an emotional overload. First finding out that his dad wasn’t his dad, then finding out it was Fred – it had all just been too much. So, when he’d reported to work that morning, his mind had decided to shut down and ignore it all.

Now though, as he guided the RIB up onto the gravel shore, it all came flooding back. What good can possibly come out of this situation? Marie’s gunna be devastated. Or maybe she won’t, maybe she’ll understand. Fuck knows how though. I don’t care how desperate for kids Mum was, in Dad’s shoes I’d never have allowed it. And why, for bastard fucking fuck’s sake, did it have to be him?

Connor shook his head – he couldn’t do this now. Right now, he needed to get his head back in the game. This shit could wait until later, much later preferably. Like after he’d downed at least half of the bottle of single malt he had stowed away in the flat.

Shitty fucking day.

‘Shitty fucking life,’ his mind argued back.

Agreeing with himself, he nodded.

‘You OK?’ Marlo’s voice beside him startled him and he jerked the rudder slightly. Rectifying, he nodded, then realised she probably couldn’t see him.

‘Yeah, long day is all,’ he said.

‘The longest. Can’t wait to sit in a hot bath full of bubbles. It’s bloody freezing.’

Connor watched as she blew air from her mouth into her cupped hands. He was surprised to feel nothing. He’d always been a little in awe of Marlo. Her easy manner made her impossible to dislike, and at some point he’d realised he found her attractive. And his emotions became unsettled when she was around, until today.

Doesn’t matter, anyway: she’d never go for an arsehole like you.

Ignoring Marlo, he turned and jumped out of the RIB, dragging it with Mac further up the shore, then made his way over towards the edge of the trees.

Crankle Reservoir, South of Sunderland – 16 November

Marlo stared after him, a little confused. He’d been a grumpy sod all day; any attempts at conversation had been met with cold, unfeeling, one syllable answers. She wondered what it was that was bugging him but knew she wouldn’t press. If he wanted her to know, then he’d tell her in his own time.

She shivered as she walked over to the 4x4. She hadn’t been lying. It was freezing. All the vehicles that had been there longer than a few hours had a sheen of frost that sparkled under the artificial lights like the dust of a hundred fairies. Despite being cold to the bone, she smiled. She’d always loved the idea that frost was left by fairies. Stupid, but it allowed belief in something magic, something other than the real stuff like pulling six bodies out of the reservoir.

The sonar hadn’t shown any more in the immediate area, but it didn’t mean there weren’t more. Sharpie had already given orders that they would be out scanning the reservoir again tomorrow. The area itself would be retained with cops standing guard for at least a couple of weeks, regardless.

It should have been creepy. Someone had used the area for dumping bodies after they’d had God knew what done to them, yet the location still felt serene. The wind whistled lightly through the trees, causing the branches to stretch and whisper to each other softly. It was idyllic. It didn’t feel like a crime scene.

Now you’re just babbling on about nothing.

Giving herself a shake, she pulled open the door to the 4x4, activating the internal light, and methodically stripped out of her suit. The vest and shorts she wore beneath were thin and offered no protection against the chill of the breeze. Pulling the bottom of the drysuit over her legs, she stepped out with one leg then repeated the motion on the other side, wincing as it scraped down what felt suspiciously like a bruise. Remembering bashing her leg while she’d been in the water, she glanced down to assess the contusion. Only it wasn’t just a bruise. Blood had smeared over the whole front of her shin, drying and congealing around a large scrape and cut.

She looked up with glazed eyes as Ali came up behind her and started speaking. But his words swam together, blurring into a mess of garbled nonsense.

‘I’m bleeding,’ she whispered, her face going pale.

Crankle Reservoir, South of Sunderland – 16 November

Ali couldn’t say the specific moment he’d realised something was off. One minute she’d been stripping in front of him and he’d been babbling as he tried not to stare at her stepping out of the figure-hugging suit, and the next her eyes had rolled back in her head as she looked at him.

He barely had time to grab her as she fell toward him, but awkwardly he managed and lowered her to the ground. ‘Is Nigel still here?’ he yelled in the general direction of Sharpie.

Both Sharpie and Nigel Evans were at his side in seconds.

‘What the hell’s that on her leg?’ asked Sharpie, bending to take a closer look. ‘Bloody idiot, she didn’t tell me she’d banged herself. She’ll be fine. Anything recovered she can handle, no matter what the condition, but the first sniff of her own blood and she’s out like a light.’

Nigel agreed, checking her pulse and feeling it beat strongly beneath his fingers. ‘Easy, Marlo, you’re going to be just fine.’ She groaned, opening her eyes and staring up at the three worried men.

Realisation dawned, and she blushed bright red. ‘Aw shit, not again.’

‘The sight of your blood that bad, Buck?’ joked Sharpie with a grin.

Ali felt the gravel dig into his knees as he knelt beside her but held his arm out to help her sit when she reached for him. She blanched again as she caught sight of her leg and