Discarded M. Hunter (the snowy day read aloud TXT) 📖

Stepping slowly backwards, she kept her eyes fixed on him, waiting for any sudden movement or lunge that would indicate he’d been stringing her along but he remained where he was, the tears now dripping from his eyes.

‘Come with me, Chez,’ she tried again, still delicately stepping backwards.

‘I told you I can’t. Go now, before I change my mind.’ With that he turned and started making his way back across the grass towards the caravans.

Taking a deep breath, Joanna slipped between the trees and prayed he’d told her the truth about the stream and footbridge.

Chapter Twenty Now

Weymouth, Dorset

The taxi journey home from Mum’s has done little to ease the throbbing headache that developed as I was leaving Pam Ratchett’s office. To think, I’d gone to see Mum to gain some much-needed perspective and help me put my thoughts in order, and now I feel even more lost. Mum blames me for Anna’s leaving that day, and whilst I’ve always carried some guilt for the argument we had before she said she was going to Grandma’s house, I thought it was just me who blamed events on the argument. How many years has Mum been holding those thoughts in? Was it to protect me, and so that I wouldn’t experience the brunt of her anger as happened today?

It’s all very well Pam telling me not to pay too much attention to Mum’s outburst – given the absence of hay fever – but she didn’t hear how Mum phrased her statement: it was your fault she ran off that day.

There was real venom in her tone, as if years of bottling it up had turned it into pure hatred once uncorked. And if she secretly blamed me, did Dad too? I can’t ask him, and looking back on it now, I recognised we were spending less and less time together after Anna disappeared and before his sudden death at HMP Portland. I’d put that down to him ploughing his free time into work and his spare time into drinking away his sorrows; both roads were meant to serve as a distraction for him, but I’m not sure either ever did. Maybe it was less to distract him from the daughter he’d lost and more to distract him from the one who remained.

I wish Rachel were here. She’d probably tell me I need to pull myself together, and whilst I wouldn’t believe her words of warmth and sympathy, I’d appreciate her efforts. Right now, I have nobody to offer me a shoulder to cry on. I could phone Maddie, but I’ve never liked discussing family dynamics with her; it just doesn’t feel right. She’s been like a mother to me in the publishing world, and to mention my personal family would be like cheating on our relationship.

Part of me wants to phone Jack, not to pour out all my problems but so that we could talk about something to distract me for a few minutes, but he said he’s got the day off with Mila today and he probably needs that time as much as she does. I’m not prepared to disrupt that. Besides, Jack has enough on his plate without me adding my woes.

Closing the front door behind me, I’m glad to be home, even if the silence is overwhelming. I’ve always been so adamant that I’m happy with my ordered life; I haven’t wanted ties and commitment, allowing me to focus my time on searching for Anna and helping the families of missing children when the opportunity presents itself. If I want to stay up until the early hours writing and then sleep until midday I’m free to do so, and that’s where I’ve wanted to be. But right now, I would give anything for a warm, non-judgemental hug from a partner.

As if he can read my mind, my phone beeps with a message from PCSO Rick Underwood.

This is my number, so you have it. I’m really looking forward to seeing you later for that drink. Any preference where we should go? Would you like me to pick you up on the way? Rick x

I had forgotten about agreeing to meet him for a drink, and to be honest, I don’t think I’ll be very good company tonight. I’m about to type a response to that effect when my doorbell sounds, startling me as I’m still leaning against it.

‘Oh, are you off out?’ Freddie asks when I open the door and he spots I am still wearing my coat.

The rain seems to have eased off and I suddenly don’t want to be surrounded by all the silence of my flat. ‘Just for a walk,’ I tell him, closing the door behind me as I step out and join him. ‘Come with me?’

Freddie presses knuckles to his hips, allowing me to link my arm with his, and he leads me away from the doorstep. After the way we left things last night, after Jack’s aggressive outburst, I thought it would be days or weeks until I saw Freddie again. Resting my head on his shoulder, I don’t know how to tell him just how pleased I am to see him.

‘You know you have no chance of scoring with me tonight, right?’ he jokes, and my laugh comes out as part cry, part chuckle, and I press my head more firmly into the sleeveless denim jacket he’s rarely without.

We walk along the front, bypassing the town centre. At this time of year, there are no donkey rides on offer, no fairground attractions, and a distinct lack of beach-dwellers. Over the winter months, dogs are allowed to be walked on the beach, and right now a large German Shepherd tears past us towards the water’s edge, sending a flurry of sand into our faces. Neither of us breaks stride and we brush the sand from our faces and continue as if nothing has happened. I wish it was as easy to do the same with