BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. CONTACTS
  3. Dedication
  4. PART ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. PART TWO
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. PART THREE
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. EPILOGUE
  42. AUTHOR NOTE
  43. Keep Reading …
  44. About the Author
  45. Also by Mark Watson
  46. About the Publisher

Her hands were still cold. She scooted down through the numbers, to ‘Mum Home’. She could start by making her own mother feel better. When had she stopped doing that? Picking the phone up with the aim of actually engaging in conversation with Jean, rather than ticking it off a list. She could actually make everyone feel better, if she took the time to think. She pressed green and raised the phone to her ear.

26

BRISTOL, 05:47

But Jean was trying to call James, once again. She put the phone back into its cradle and retreated from the table back onto the second stair, where she had spent most of the last three hours. She drew her knees up in front of her. This was a fine state of affairs, wasn’t it. Jean gritted her teeth to warn off the onset of self-pity. It wouldn’t do any good to let herself cry. It was just all a bit much, this, wasn’t it. Who was she left with, if Sally wouldn’t reply, if James was wherever he was, and Alan …?

No. Come on. She could hear Alan’s voice. I don’t see why we shouldn’t get to the bottom of this. It was no good thinking about him, and yet it was also the only thing that really worked. If only he could be alive again just for special occasions. If she could just have, say, three more chances to chat to him, even just three in the rest of her life.

‘Are you sure you won’t have some more toast?’ asked Lee, who’d now showered and put on a creased T-shirt, and those awful chinos she still hadn’t made him get rid of. He had briefly left his post, upstairs on the computer, where he was making doomed attempts to get onto the internet. This was his fourth round of toast since all the chaos began. They were going to have to get a new toaster if he kept going like this. He was trying so hard. If the loss of her son was a problem that could be solved by carbohydrates alone, as he seemed to believe it was, it would all be over by now. But this was what Lee did, she supposed. If he sensed she was a bit down, he put up a shelf. If she talked about a health complaint he immediately emptied the dishwasher.

‘I’m fine, Lee.’

‘Tea? Coffee? Or a bit of … something else for breakfast?’