The Nowhere Child: The bestselling debut psychological thriller you need to read in 2019. Christian White
above the mundane’.
‘If your life was a movie,’ he might ask, ‘what would the title be?’ ‘What law, if any, wouldn’t you break to save a loved one?’ ‘What are the three most interesting things about you and why?’
He rarely repeated a question, and always had his own well-thought-out answer prepared. I happened to like this particular quirk, but Amy, not so much. ‘Come on, Dad,’ she said now. ‘You know I can’t enjoy my food when I have to use my brain.’
A memory came to me: sitting in my mother’s hospice room, with its yellow wallpaper and the faint smell of shit that we all silently agreed to ignore. Amy had brought in sandwiches, and we were eating them around the bed. Dean brought in some instant coffee from the machine in the hall, turned off the TV – nobody was watching it anyway – and asked, ‘If you could send a message to every single person on the planet, what would it be?’
‘It’s every night with him,’ my mother had said. She was breaking her sandwich into pieces instead of eating it. ‘Last night we ordered in a large pepperoni and as he’s opening the box, he asks me, “What would you change about your life if you knew you would never die?” I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?’
Before she got sick, my mother was a strong, compact woman with piercing blue eyes. By that night in the hospice every part of her had shrunk and yellowed, except for her eyes. They were the same blue all the way to the end.
Had she wanted to tell me the truth? I wondered. Did that make her last few months even harder than they needed to be? Maybe holding on to that secret was what killed her. Maybe holding in something like that, a secret so big and bad, manifested into—
‘Well, I’d choose to be marooned with my worst enemy,’ Dean said as the memory swept away. ‘Because bad company is better than no company, and if things got too tense between us, at least I’d have someone to eat.’
Amy looked at me over the table. ‘Remember when we were kids and Dad was the strong silent type? I miss those times.’
‘Speaking of bad company, what’s wrong with you?’ said Dean.
Amy had been in a mood all night. She had hardly said a word, and when she did it was short and abrasive. If it had been me nobody would have noticed, but when Amy turned shy it was a big red flag.
‘Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine,’ she said.
‘She’s been like this all week,’ Wayne grumbled, still staring at his phone.
Dean leaned forward onto his elbows and studied Amy. ‘What’s going on, sweetheart?’
Amy glanced at me with an expression that seemed to say both tell him and don’t say a thing.
‘Fine,’ Dean said. ‘Forget my wonderfully thought-provoking and intellectual topic of conversation. Let’s talk about the weather, shall we? Or petrol prices, or politics.’
‘Let’s talk about Esmé Durand,’ Amy said.
‘Who’s Esmé Durand?’ Dean asked.
‘Do you remember my high-school friend Fiona Durand?’
Dean took a second to think it over. ‘Was Fiona the one who wet the bed?’
‘That was Michelle. Fiona was the redhead: petite, super cute. She was at Mum’s funeral.’
‘Was she the one who came home late after your deb and ate the last of my Jarlsberg?’
‘That was Natalie. The point is, her mother, Esmé, is single now. Her husband ran off with a woman from his work – he’s in finance or something, and she was his boss and, like, ten years older.’
‘Quite the scandal,’ Dean said, topping up his wine.
‘Yeah, so anyway, she’s single now.’
‘And?’
‘And she’s single, and cute, and I really think you guys would get along.’
‘Oh, well, thanks for the offer, Amy, but I don’t need my daughter to find me dates.’
‘Well, someone has to.’
He quieted then. ‘I’m not really looking for that sort of thing just yet.’
‘It’s been four years, Dad. Do you want to be alone forever?’
Her tone had turned hot and serious. Dean looked like a frightened mouse trying to escape a trap. ‘I’m fine, really. I just need to … It’s not that easy just to …’
‘Mum would have wanted you to find someone.’
‘Take it easy, Amy,’ I said. ‘He said he’s not ready.’
Her eyes turned red and wet.
‘What’s got into you?’ Dean asked, his own tone more serious now – and, if I had to guess, laced with a little anger. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘Nothing’s got into me,’ she snapped back, dabbing her eyes with her napkin. ‘I just don’t want you to be lonely.’
‘I’m not lonely. I have you guys, and Lisa, and Scout.’
Amy cried harder. Wayne sat and watched her with a stunned, terrified look on his face.
‘Darling …’ Dean moved to rise out of his chair, but Amy waved him away.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re the opposite of fine. What is it? Have I done something? Talk to me.’
‘This isn’t about you.’
‘Then what’s it about?’
She took the napkin away from her eyes long enough to glance at me. Then scornfully, bitterly, desperately, she said, ‘It’s about Sammy fucking Went.’
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.