The Marriage K.L. Slater (classic romance novels TXT) 📖

pictured the scene I’d imagined for so long, the scene I had craved. Tom marrying a nice girl at our local church, the same church he’d been christened in as a baby. A dream wedding that would have taken place in a few years’ time, when he was settled into a new career and had put the past firmly behind him. He’d have been surrounded by his friends and family, by the people who loved him, who wanted to celebrate this happy new stage in his life. Later there would be grandchildren I would adore and help to raise. Bridget had robbed me of all that and she had stolen Tom’s chance of having a normal life like other men his age.

Following Jesse’s death and long after I’d snubbed her invitation to talk on the phone, she’d called round at the house. I’d been so shocked to see her standing there and she’d looked me up and down, clearly startled at how dishevelled and exhausted I must have looked. I had a sudden urge to reach out but when I took a step towards her, she visibly shrank back from me, her eyes flashing.

‘Why have you come here if you’re still so angry? At the end of all this, we’re still two mothers,’ I’d told her. ‘We’re both grieving for our sons.’

‘The difference,’ Bridget had said, ‘is that you’re the mother of a boy who’s alive and I am the mother of a boy who is dead. And I hope and pray with all my heart that one day you know how I’m feeling at this moment.’

I’d closed the door without answering. She’d hammered a few times, left her finger on the doorbell for what seemed an eternity, but I’d shrunk back into the depths of the house. I shouldn’t have shut the door in her face but couldn’t handle a doorstep argument and truthfully, I’d felt quite intimidated. Even though she’d lost Jesse, she seemed so much more pulled together than I was.

The memory, still fresh in my mind, made me uncomfortable, and suddenly I felt even more afraid for Tom. Bridget was so determined, so resolved.

What lengths might she be prepared to go to, in order to destroy him?

Twenty-Nine Audrey

Audrey didn’t call at Jill’s house as much as she used to do. At one time they were always popping in to see each other but that all changed when Tom went to prison. When Jill became a virtual recluse.

This had affected their friendship in that it introduced a distance that hadn’t been there before. Their conversations lost a little depth. You only talked truthfully to people who understood you the most and you knew wouldn’t judge. Sadly, Audrey didn’t really feel this way with Jill any longer.

Once Audrey had convinced her to start working at the shop things had improved a bit. She’d given Jill a reason for getting up in the morning before she faded away. But gone were the days where they’d meet up out of work and regularly visit coffee shops or enjoy shopping trips.

Still, Audrey did still consider Jill to be a good friend and she felt it was her duty to support her, even if some of her actions were a form of tough love. She couldn’t tell Jill everything that was happening behind the scenes but her discovery online was something that would be of interest to her friend.

‘How was the dinner party?’ Audrey asked brightly when Jill opened the front door on Sunday morning.

‘Disastrous!’ Jill answered immediately. ‘But I’ll tell you about all that later. How nice to see you – to what do I owe this honour? Is everything OK?’

Jill ushered her inside and waited while Audrey slipped off her coat and shoes in the hall. She heard Robert talking on the phone and felt glad when he didn’t show his face.

‘Everything is fine.’ Audrey left her oversized handbag at the door, then reached down and plucked out her phone before hesitating. ‘There’s nothing wrong per se, but the reason I’ve called is that there’s something I think you need to see.’

Jill sighed and massaged her temples. ‘I’m not sure I can deal with more bad news. This is my first hangover for about fifteen years and it’s in its second day now.’

‘That good at Bridget’s party, was it?’

Jill grimaced and led her into the living room where they both sat down. ‘I’ll make us a drink but first, tell me. What’s wrong?’

‘It’s easiest to just take a look.’

Audrey passed her phone over and watched as Jill stared at the flattering photograph of Bridget and Tom looking into each other’s eyes. The national newspaper headline read: Grieving mother finds love with son’s killer.

‘Oh no, I’ve been dreading something like this,’ Jill whispered, her hand shaking. ‘I’ve been checking Bridget’s Facebook regularly to see if she’s posted more wedding pictures, but it hadn’t occurred to me to search the general press.’

Audrey held her hand out for her phone back but Jill didn’t even notice she’d done so. She was unable to tear her eyes away from the photograph. Audrey understood. She herself had been shocked. Bridget looked about thirty-five years old in the picture, dressed in flattering colours of pale gold and honey. Tom was handsome and rugged in a navy open-necked shirt and with his hair swept back in a dashing style Audrey hadn’t seen him sport before.

The camera had caught them at a magical moment. The buzz of electricity between them was almost tangible and almost made you want a piece of what they had … that transparent yearning for each other that not everyone got to experience.

Jill was stuck in some sort of trance staring at the photograph, so Audrey gently took the phone out of her hands and began to read the report out loud.

Ten years ago, Bridget Wilson thought her own life was over when her eighteen-year-old son, Jesse, was killed by a single punch issued by his best friend, Tom Billinghurst, also