BooksBarbecue
Back The Widow Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. PART II
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. MORE FROM VALERIE KEOGH
  90. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  91. The Murder List
  92. About Boldwood Books

‘He fell. In King’s Cross. In front of a Tube.’

‘Shit!’ Obviously thinking this deserved more than a sip, Portia swallowed a quarter of the glass in one long mouthful. ‘He fell?’ Her face twisted in confusion. ‘How, for goodness’ sake? Or was he pushed, was that it? Was he involved with some dodgy client?’ She swirled the rest of her wine around the glass before emptying it in another long gulp.

Allison reached for the bottle and filled both glasses again. ‘The police are investigating. They said the platform was busier than usual because an earlier protest had delayed trains. Maybe he simply lost his balance.’ She didn’t mention what that horrible detective had said. That witness had been wrong. Peter wouldn’t have jumped. ‘Whatever the reason, Peter fell in front of the approaching train. The driver didn’t have a chance to stop.’

‘You don’t think…’ Portia stared into her wine before lifting her eyes to meet Allison’s quizzical gaze. ‘Did Peter know you weren’t happy?’

21

My obsession with Monica and her mother faded as a more dangerous one took over. If I could be adopted… if I had a mother like Monica’s, a life like hers… I’d be happy. My life would be perfect. It was all I wanted. It wasn’t much to ask for, was it? Happiness. Weren’t we all entitled to it? Wasn’t every child?

The more I thought of it, the more convinced I was that I’d been robbed of something that was rightfully mine. And the more convinced I became, the more I was determined to alter my fate.

Because it wasn’t written in stone. It could be changed. I could have the life I wanted.

I would have.

My plan was simple.

I’d wait till it was late, my parents asleep, and I’d kill them.

And then, I, and my siblings, would be adopted and live the life we deserved.

I wasn’t quite ten; my plans were airy-fairy constructions born of watching too many action movies, and the fire I lit that should have sent my parents to the hell they had earned wasn’t so easily contained and took more lives than my silly idea had considered.

A mistake I paid for, was still paying for.

Worse, it didn’t get me the life I’d desperately wanted.

22

Portia’s question, Did Peter know you weren’t happy?, floated in a speech bubble between them as Allison stared at her friend.

Portia filled her days not only with long hours in the gym but also in taking Open University courses. Having taken several in psychology, she considered herself to be somewhat of an authority and was only too happy to indulge in a little psychoanalysis if given half a chance.

But on that day, of all days, Allison didn’t need any dubious expert analysis. ‘I never said I was unhappy.’