The Bad Mother: The addictive, gripping thriller that will make you question everything. Amanda Brooke
for another, and besides, he had a point. ‘OK, I will take it easier,’ she said, which in her mind didn’t mean giving up completely. ‘No mural, but I do have to go out tomorrow. I think I’ve found a buyer for my new paintings.’
‘Don’t tell me, a housewife with more money than sense,’ guessed Adam.
Lucy didn’t correct him. Adam might suggest tagging along if he knew she were meeting a strange man on her own, and like he said, he had work to do.
‘I promise I won’t be out for long, I’m going to the café at Carr Farm garden centre and I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘It’s probably better that you’re not around to distract me.’
As if her presence alone were distraction enough, Adam put down the paint pot and took Lucy in his arms. ‘Hungry?’ he asked, and when Lucy smiled hopefully, he laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Later. I need sustenance.’
‘Me too,’ she admitted as all her anxieties fell away. ‘All I’ve had is a bowl of soup today and I didn’t finish that.’
Her ears pricked as she heard a gentle thud from the living room followed by a tiny mewl. Her kitten sounded more like a baby chick than a cat, and his chirping grew louder and more desperate as he searched for someone to take care of him.
‘Have we still got steak in the fridge?’ asked Adam, only to glance over his shoulder and add, ‘Or have you fed it to the cat?’
‘He’s a kitten, not a tiger,’ she said. ‘Hey, maybe that’s what we should call him. Tigger.’
‘Whatever. Your cat, your choice.’
Adam had forgiven her, but not enough to register more than a passing interest in their new addition, and he disappeared into the kitchen while Lucy crouched down to pick up the kitten. She caught up with Adam in time to hear him mutter something under his breath. Her blood ran cold. She could smell gas.
She watched in dismay as Adam raced to the patio doors and flung them open. ‘I didn’t leave the gas on,’ she said with absolute certainty. ‘I used the hob to heat up my soup but I definitely turned it off, and I checked it was off I don’t know how many times. It wasn’t on.’
Adam’s eyes narrowed.
Holding the kitten against her chest, Lucy could feel its tiny heart beating as fast as hers. ‘I – I suppose it’s possible I lowered the burner but didn’t turn it off completely. Was there a flame?’ she asked.
‘No, but it’s fine. These things are sent to try us,’ Adam said, looking at the cat.
She couldn’t read his expression as he approached, and for a split second she felt blinded by a flood of adrenaline – or fear. Holding on tightly to the kitten, she said, ‘I’m really, really s—’
‘Don’t say sorry,’ Adam ordered. ‘We both know you can’t help the way you are, especially when you’re so easily distracted.’
With some hesitation, Lucy was drawn into his arms with the kitten pressed between them and temporarily hidden from Adam’s sight.
‘It could be my hormones,’ Lucy offered, preferring the less terrifying explanation for her worsening condition. ‘And it won’t be for ever.’
‘Won’t it?’
The draught forcing its way through the kitchen was bitterly cold but as Adam kissed her forehead, Lucy felt a warmth rise up from her chest and she became choked with emotion. ‘I’m not my dad and I will do better – for as long as you’re willing to put up with me.’
Adam pulled away without giving her the answer she had been searching for. ‘You shouldn’t stay in here. The fumes won’t be good for you or the baby. Go and watch your garbage TV while I get on with the cooking.’
Lucy didn’t move. She wanted to tell him that she cared about their baby too. She would never repeat history and leave him with a child to bring up on his own, but to say such a thing would be to admit that the possibility existed. It wasn’t that she would ever do anything deliberately but, as the fading scent of gas in the air proved, she posed a real threat to the safety of herself and those around her – including her unborn child.
‘Go!’ Adam said, his eyes full of playful light.
Her husband seemed to have accepted her carelessness but Lucy knew that now was not the time to let her guard down.
Lucy had arrived to meet her potential buyer at Carr Farm but before heading over to the garden centre and the café, she felt compelled to check the boot. To her relief, she hadn’t imagined the struggle it had taken to fit three canvases into the limited space, and Mr Judson’s trip over from Southport wasn’t going to be wasted.
The garden centre was surprisingly busy for an overcast Thursday afternoon, and if Lucy hadn’t been there to sell her paintings she might have been tempted to take a look around, not that she would be buying any plants after last year’s fiasco. She had tried her best to nurture the raspberry and blueberry shrubs, but her best hadn’t been good enough and their leaves had blackened long before they had a chance to bear fruit.
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