The Role Model: A shocking psychological thriller with several twists Daniel Hurst (moboreader txt) 📖

is slow in verbally giving them right now. But her body language portrays nothing other than what I suspected, which is that it is bad.

She takes a long gulp of her wine before letting out a deep sigh.

‘Mum, tell me!’ I plead, reaching out for her hand to let her know that I’m here for her no matter what it is.

She looks into my eyes, and I can see now how much she is struggling with all of this. She looks broken, like one of the many dolls I used to take to her as a child after I played with them too vigorously.

Right now, she looks as lifeless as them too.

‘It’s money,’ she replies, nodding her head. ‘He wants money.’

I let out a deep breath and think that it probably could have been worse, although I don’t bother saying that because it’s not really the right time for it.

‘Okay. How much does he want?’ I ask.

‘A few thousand,’ Mum replies before taking another large glug from her glass.

‘Do you have it?’

Mum shrugs. ‘Yeah, I got it.’

‘So we just pay him then he’ll leave us alone?’

‘I guess so.’

Mum finishes her drink and pours herself another.

‘Mum, it’s going to be okay,’ I tell her, reaching out again and taking her hand before she can have another gulp. ‘He’s given us a way out.’

Mum raises her eyebrows, and I decide that it might be best not to say any more in case I make her feel worse. Just because Jimmy has asked for something Mum can give him, that doesn’t mean that she wants to give it.

‘How much is it that he wants, exactly?’ I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Mum takes a moment to answer me, instead swilling her wine around in her glass and causing it to ripple and sway.

‘Mum?’

‘Ten grand,’ she replies, her eyes on her alcohol and not me.

That’s a lot more than I thought, and I’m surprised Mum has that money to hand. Unless she doesn’t, and she is just trying to stop me from worrying.

‘You can take it from my uni fund,’ I suggest, nodding my head. ‘You know, the money you’ve saved for my accommodation. I’ll just get a part-time job when I go there. It’ll be fine.’

I was hoping not to have to work when I first started university so I could focus on learning a new place and making friends, but I feel like I have to at least offer.

‘No, that money is saved for you, and I’m not using it for anything else other than uni,’ Mum replies, shaking her head.

‘But do you have ten grand?’ I ask, doubting that paying this mortgage on her own for so many years has left her with a load of spare cash in the bank.

‘I’ve got it. It’s fine,’ Mum says, before quickly draining her second glass.

I wonder if she is going to dare go for a third one, but she doesn’t, at least not in my company anyway.

‘I’m going for a shower,’ she tells me, standing up from the table and leaving the bottle of wine open on top of it.

‘When does he want the money?’ I ask, swivelling around in my chair and looking at her as she leaves the room. But she doesn’t answer me. Instead, she just walks out and leaves me alone with almost as many questions as I had when she first arrived home a few minutes ago.

I sigh in frustration, annoyed that she won’t give me all the facts and let me try and help her with this problem. After all, we’re in this together, so we might as well work as a team to try and get through it. That’s what we did that night in the park, and I feel like that’s the only way we can get through this now.

I decide that I’ll go and speak to her again after her shower when hopefully she seems more willing to open up to me. Maybe the warm water will do her good. Or maybe the alcohol she just consumed will have kicked in by then, and she’ll be more at ease, even if it’s only false confidence.

Speaking of which, the sight of the wine in the bottle in front of me gives me the idea that I could take the edge off all this stress by following my mum’s lead and pouring myself a hearty glass. I decide to do just that, going into the kitchen cupboard for my own glass before picking up the bottle and helping myself to a much-needed drink.

The chilled liquid is instantly refreshing as it slips down my throat, and I don’t regret having it, even though I know Mum wouldn’t be impressed if she came down here now and caught me glugging wine on a weekday evening before six. But then again, I’m going to uni soon, and she must know that I’ll be consuming alcohol at all hours of the day there.

I hear the shower go on upstairs as I stand in the kitchen and enjoy the wine, listening as Mum’s footsteps trot across the floorboards of the bathroom above me before the door to the shower clicks shut.

Sometimes a good shower can make things seem a little better, as if the water can wash away some of your problems and leave you renewed for the challenges ahead. But it’s not a miracle cure, and all Mum’s problems are still going to be waiting for her when she gets out and dries herself off.

Rupert. Jimmy. The money.

Me.

25

HEATHER

I’ve never been one to take my time in the shower, usually just doing what I need to do and getting out quickly so I can get my clothes back on and get on with my day. But this time, I find myself lingering under the water for a lot longer than normal.

My head is directly underneath the jets of warm water, and the sensation of it on my scalp is soothing, if a little hot. I haven’t applied any soap,