The Bad Things: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns. Mary-Jane Riley

       1

      The day Alex Devlin’s life imploded for the second time was one of those bleak February days in Suffolk when the light never got above murky and spring seemed months away. Outside, whey-faced men and women were hunched inside their coats, trying to get their business done and move on. Shopping, working, maybe just passing the time in a warm coffee shop on the High Street. The streets of Sole Bay could be unforgiving.

      Standing in the kitchen of her little terraced house with her third cup of coffee of the day, Alex rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension in them. She turned on the radio, hoping some background noise would help her relax.

       ‘And now the news with Susan Rae.’

      She hoped the couple of hours’ work she’d put in polishing her news feature about an undercover policeman who’d infiltrated the murky world of Eastern European organized crime had been worth the early start. She’d been awake since four – Christ, always four; that time of night when everything seems to be at its worst – doing her usual bout of worrying about her sixteen-year-old and how she could make ends meet. Two hours of tossing and turning had been enough, and that was when she’d decided to get up and get on with some work.

       ‘Five people have died in a multiple-vehicle accident on the M25. It happened during the rush hour in thick fog…’

      Now she wanted a few minutes to herself before Gus blew in moaning and groaning.

      Too late.

      ‘So?’ He glared at her, mouth a sulky pout and arms crossed, his slightly aggressive ‘whatever’ stance perfected.

      It was as if the night, the dark, the four a.m. worrying hadn’t happened; her son was carrying on the argument that had begun the evening before. Alex hoped he’d forgotten about it. Some hope.

      She rubbed her temples, fighting against the headache that was slowly but inevitably building, pulsing behind one eye. ‘Choose your battles’ had been her mantra for the past two years, since her adorable boy with his blonde curls and loving cuddles had turned into a sullen teenager – all grunts and hormones.

       ‘The Ukrainian opposition in Kiev say they have pulled out of the City Hall they have been occupying for the…’

      ‘So no you can’t go skiing with the school. I’m sorry. Nothing’s changed overnight.’ Alex said it as gently as she could. She would have loved him to go; of course she would if she had the money. Cash was tight, work not exactly coming in thick and fast. But it wasn’t just the money. She had real difficulty letting her son go and allowing him to spread his wings. He knew it and resented her for it.

      ‘Why not?’

      Alex turned away and opened the fridge, taking out a bottle of milk and a tub of butter. ‘Cereal or toast?’ she asked, hoping an appeal to his stomach might defuse the situation.

      ‘Mum. This is like, really important to me. Everyone’s going. All my mates. And they need to fill up the places. If I don’t go I’ll really, really miss out. Like, I’ll be the odd one out and you don’t want that, do you?’

      She took the bread out of the bread bin and put a slice in the toaster. ‘You know why not, Gus.’

      ‘It’s just crap.’ His sudden shout made her jump. ‘I never get to do anything with my friends. Never get to go anywhere. It’s like you don’t want me to enjoy myself. Have mates or anything.’

      She filled the kettle, opened the cupboard, and took out a teabag and a cup. She waited for the kettle to boil and for her irritation to subside. Pushing her hair behind her ears, she realized it needed a good cut and another home dye job. ‘You know that’s not true, Gus. I only ever want the best for—’

      ‘Give it a rest, Mum.’

       ‘Downing Street has welcomed a further fall in unemployment and the Prime Minister said…’

      His slumped shoulders and look of defeat made her feel worse. Something shifted inside her, a realization that she had to loosen the ties just a little, had to put the trials and tribulations of the last few months behind her. Just be thankful he hadn’t been expelled: joyriding and smoking cannabis not being on the school curriculum.

      ‘Look,’ she said, knowing she was going to regret it, ‘when do you have to have the money by?’

      ‘You can still pay in instalments. About five now, I think.’ His sulky, cross expression had miraculously transformed into