My Husband's Son: A dark and gripping psychological thriller by Deborah O'Connor Page B
Authors: Deborah O'Connor
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arranged his hands on my body: one at the beginnings of my skirt, the other on my breast. But no sooner had I placed them there than he tried to turn me around to face him. I resisted and pushed myself back into his groin. He laughed.
‘OK, OK. But not here.’
Again he took my hand and, after kissing me gently, went to lead me away, towards our bedroom. This time I followed.
Chapter Fourteen
A few days later and an opportunity presented itself.
My diary was usually jammed with sales calls or meetings of one sort or another but, arriving at work, I discovered that two of the clients I’d scheduled for that afternoon had cancelled. That meant between 2.30 p.m. and an early client supper I had a window of free time. After much cajoling I’d managed to reschedule the meeting I’d missed with Mr McDonald from that day I was knocked over by the van. It was the perfect chance to return to the off-licence.
I knew Martin’s offer to help was probably nothing more than misguided pity; still, that aside, I was keen for a second look at the boy. Whether I could get the forensic artist a photo or not, I needed to be sure for myself and, more importantly, I need to be sure for Jason that I wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there.
Walking down the high street, I breathed in the mild autumnal air, enjoying the snick of my heels on the pavement. The sky was a high wide blue, flecked with cloud and, despite the season, most people were out without a coat.
My plan was simple. I’d go inside the shop and if the boy was in clear sight I’d ask the man behind the counter for something from the storeroom. With him gone, I’d use my camera-phone to take a picture of the child.
I was almost at the off-licence when a group of boys appeared up ahead. Backpacks dangling from shoulders, they were all clad in the same grey trousers, black shoes and royal blue sweatshirts. School uniform. Primary school, by the looks of it. One of them was kicking a football. Dribbling it in and around his friends’ ankles, he would snug the ball back under his foot and pretend to take it off to the right whenever they tried to challenge him for possession. Then, at the very last second, he would flick it in the totally opposite direction. The sleeves on his jumper were too long and he kept pushing them back up onto his elbows.
They drew closer.
I watched as the largest kid in the group launched a particularly aggressive tackle. Sweeping in low, he went for the boy’s shins, trying to bully the ball away. He almost succeeded in knocking him off balance, but the boy was too quick. Folding the ball back up into the air behind him, he turned to meet it and then used his knee to guide it down to the ground and over to the safety of the kerb. He lifted his face in triumph and his features came into focus.
I felt my heart jump.
Blond hair, wonky front teeth with a gap in the middle and dark brown, almost black eyes. It was the boy from the off-licence. Barney?
This was the first time I’d seen him up close, without mesh between us, and the effect was dizzying.
Without thinking, I got out my phone and started taking pictures. I was moving in for a better shot when I realised I’d caught the attention of a few passers-by. An elderly lady on a mobility scooter changed route and began gliding towards me, her face a mixture of suspicion and concern. Suddenly aware of how dubious I must seem I put my phone away, sidestepped into a nearby bus stop and pretended to study the timetable. The lady on the scooter came to within a few feet of where I stood and stopped. She sat there watching me, apparently debating whether or not to say something, while I kept my eyes fixed on the timetable. A few seconds later and I heard the squeak-thump of her scooter starting up. I waited until its battery-powered wail had faded into the distance and then I turned back to the group of boys.
They’d started a kick-around on the pavement directly in front of the
‘OK, OK. But not here.’
Again he took my hand and, after kissing me gently, went to lead me away, towards our bedroom. This time I followed.
Chapter Fourteen
A few days later and an opportunity presented itself.
My diary was usually jammed with sales calls or meetings of one sort or another but, arriving at work, I discovered that two of the clients I’d scheduled for that afternoon had cancelled. That meant between 2.30 p.m. and an early client supper I had a window of free time. After much cajoling I’d managed to reschedule the meeting I’d missed with Mr McDonald from that day I was knocked over by the van. It was the perfect chance to return to the off-licence.
I knew Martin’s offer to help was probably nothing more than misguided pity; still, that aside, I was keen for a second look at the boy. Whether I could get the forensic artist a photo or not, I needed to be sure for myself and, more importantly, I need to be sure for Jason that I wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there.
Walking down the high street, I breathed in the mild autumnal air, enjoying the snick of my heels on the pavement. The sky was a high wide blue, flecked with cloud and, despite the season, most people were out without a coat.
My plan was simple. I’d go inside the shop and if the boy was in clear sight I’d ask the man behind the counter for something from the storeroom. With him gone, I’d use my camera-phone to take a picture of the child.
I was almost at the off-licence when a group of boys appeared up ahead. Backpacks dangling from shoulders, they were all clad in the same grey trousers, black shoes and royal blue sweatshirts. School uniform. Primary school, by the looks of it. One of them was kicking a football. Dribbling it in and around his friends’ ankles, he would snug the ball back under his foot and pretend to take it off to the right whenever they tried to challenge him for possession. Then, at the very last second, he would flick it in the totally opposite direction. The sleeves on his jumper were too long and he kept pushing them back up onto his elbows.
They drew closer.
I watched as the largest kid in the group launched a particularly aggressive tackle. Sweeping in low, he went for the boy’s shins, trying to bully the ball away. He almost succeeded in knocking him off balance, but the boy was too quick. Folding the ball back up into the air behind him, he turned to meet it and then used his knee to guide it down to the ground and over to the safety of the kerb. He lifted his face in triumph and his features came into focus.
I felt my heart jump.
Blond hair, wonky front teeth with a gap in the middle and dark brown, almost black eyes. It was the boy from the off-licence. Barney?
This was the first time I’d seen him up close, without mesh between us, and the effect was dizzying.
Without thinking, I got out my phone and started taking pictures. I was moving in for a better shot when I realised I’d caught the attention of a few passers-by. An elderly lady on a mobility scooter changed route and began gliding towards me, her face a mixture of suspicion and concern. Suddenly aware of how dubious I must seem I put my phone away, sidestepped into a nearby bus stop and pretended to study the timetable. The lady on the scooter came to within a few feet of where I stood and stopped. She sat there watching me, apparently debating whether or not to say something, while I kept my eyes fixed on the timetable. A few seconds later and I heard the squeak-thump of her scooter starting up. I waited until its battery-powered wail had faded into the distance and then I turned back to the group of boys.
They’d started a kick-around on the pavement directly in front of the
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