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Back The Family Next Door Save as PDF
Chapters (117)
  1. Also by
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
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  8. 3
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  10. 5
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  116. Teaser chapter
  117. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When he had finished cleaning up, he opened his front door and scanned the street. It was empty. But he knew who they were. He recognized their voices.

And those little fuckers were going to pay.

19

19

Monday 30th July 2018, 12:01 P.M.

The Avenue

The kids on their bikes almost knocked into him as they flew up the street, their whooping laughter as cruel as the midday sun.

The postman shielded his eyes with his hand and watched them go. He thought about checking on the old guy—he’d seen them congregating outside his house earlier that morning—but decided it was none of his business.

Instead he walked up the path to number twenty-seven, more certain of his welcome there. He was thirsty, a fresh sheen of sweat coating his forehead. A couple of dried leaves clung to the cotton fibers of his shirt. Needing to kill some time, he had driven his van around to the northwest entrance of Blatches Woods, where he had sat on a bench amongst the quiet company of the trees and contemplated his next move. But now he was back in The Avenue, magnetized to this place.

As he bent to post the letter he had deliberately withheld, Audrina Clifton opened the door, floral apron tied around her waist, lamb’s wool slippers on her feet. “You again?” There was a teasing note to her voice. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

“Missed this one.” He waggled it. “Looks like a bill, I’m afraid, Mrs. C,” he said, straightening up and handing it to her.

She tutted good-naturedly. “The dreaded brown envelope.”

“Bane of my life.” As she shifted on the doorstep, transferring her weight from one leg to the other, he noticed her wince. “How’s your arthritis?”

A rueful shrug. “Comes and goes. Not too bad today.”

“And what’s Mr. Clifton doing on this fine afternoon? Still suffering with his back?”

Her smile disappeared, the sun behind a cloud. “In the garden, as usual. Fretting about his plants.” She peered skyward. “I hope the weather breaks soon. We’re in need of some rain.” Her eyes met his, and she said, surprised, as if seeing him properly for the first time, “Goodness, you look hot.”

“I’m slowly roasting to death out here. Still, it could be worse. I could be stuck in an office.” He grinned at her, his teeth bright against his suntanned skin.

“I expect you’d like a glass of something cold.”

“I hate to put you out.”

“It’s no bother. Iced water? Or I’ve got some orange juice.”

“Juice would be lovely.”

He loitered on the step. She didn’t invite him in. She never did. But it didn’t matter. He was happy to stand and chat in the sunshine. Inside or out, it made no difference.