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

I returned to my list.

‘I’ve bought him two pairs of jeans, a sweater, three T-shirts and a tracksuit, but I wondered whether I ought to get him a pair of smart black trousers and a nice shirt? You know, just in case we go out for a meal or if he meets up with an old friend for a drink. I’m sure he’ll have lots to catch up on.’

Robert traced the rim of his cup with a fingertip. ‘Tom will have his own ideas about what he wants to wear, and I doubt he’ll feel up to socialising for a little while. Hopefully he’ll spend some time reflecting on what a mess he’s made of his life so far.’

‘He’s had plenty of time to reflect on that in there,’ I said tersely. ‘He needs our support now, and to put it all behind him.’

Robert sniffed. ‘Started again already, have you? Defending him, making flimsy excuses for him. I’ve not missed all this one bit.’

‘That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just … I’m fretting that I’ve forgotten something important.’

‘Like you always do. Trying so desperately to control every detail before the panic sets in.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said, but of course, he was right.

I couldn’t just let life happen. I’d seen the results of that attitude as a child, when my father had to declare himself bankrupt and we lost everything. At eight years of age I remember him sitting there looking like he’d turned into an old man overnight, endlessly repeating, ‘I took my eye off the ball, I’m an idiot. I thought the business would take care of itself.’ Except it didn’t take care of itself at all. The partner Dad had trusted for twenty years betrayed him.

‘You’re thinking about your father again,’ Robert said drily. ‘I can tell. You’ve got that haunted look in your eyes.’

I watched as he put down his cup and ran a hand through his now mostly silver hair. The day Tom went to prison, ten years ago, it had been raven black. One thing that reminded me just how much time we’d lost.

‘I’m just making sure I’ve addressed everything for Tom coming home,’ I said quietly. ‘That’s all.’

Robert said, ‘We’ve already talked endlessly about this. You should do the bare minimum. You’ve always had this notion he’s a helpless little boy, when in fact what happened all those years ago proved he can be a nasty piece of work.’

I ignored the barb. As far as I was concerned, what happened to Jesse was a very unfortunate accident. Jesse had actually been the nasty one, he’d had a knife; Tom was simply trying to defend himself. Regardless, the jury had delivered a guilty verdict on the charge of manslaughter, though it wasn’t a unanimous decision. Upon sentencing, the presiding judge had said, ‘Thomas Billinghurst, you were a trained boxer and you used that training to position yourself to achieve maximum harm and to deliver a fatal punch.’

If Tom hadn’t boxed, there might well have been a different result. We’d appealed, of course, but lost.

I regarded my husband through narrowed eyes. Tom had never been his father’s priority. Robert had turned out to be that baffling type of man: the jealous father. He’d doubted and criticised our boy for most of his life, so it was no surprise to hear the old bitterness resurface now. He’d been quiet lately, nothing I could put my finger on, I just got the feeling he was a bit ‘off’. I decided I preferred him quieter than full of opinions like he was this morning.

‘I think I’ve remembered everything,’ I murmured to myself, ignoring Robert.

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry if you haven’t. Some ex-cons have no choice but to stay in a hostel when they get out of prison, with zero support from anyone else. Tom’s not a teenager any more, he’s a grown man who’s finally got to face reality. Some might say that’s long overdue.’

Ex-con. Would he never let it go? Massaging my temple, I picked up the paperwork and leafed through it yet again, but I didn’t take any of it in.

It was no use trying to talk to Robert when he was in this mood. We’d always been very different when it came to discussing our feelings. After a successful career as an architect that was cut short fifteen years ago, he’d retrained as a student counsellor at a local college on the outskirts of town. Considering his lack of empathy with his own family, there were raised eyebrows when he announced his decision, but he’d proven to be a popular, competent therapist able to build a rapport with the students.

As a qualified librarian, I preferred perfect order, leaving nothing to chance, particularly something as crucial as Tom’s homecoming. Goodness knows we’d waited long enough for it. I missed my job; it had been one of the casualties of Tom going away. Many times I’d thought about returning to work, but my confidence had gone and I just couldn’t see myself performing that role any more.

I’d let a lot of things go this past ten years. One of them had been driving. I was perfectly fine nipping out to the local shops, but I felt too nervous to negotiate the bigger, faster roads, and the motorway was completely out of the question. I’d had no choice but to ask Robert to drive us to HMP Nottingham today to pick up our son, though that had given him the chance to express his poor opinion of Tom. Again and again.

I gathered up the paperwork and gently tapped it on all sides to get a perfect stack before slotting it inside a foolscap folder.

Standing up to leave the room, a new thought crossed my mind. Tonight, Tom would be right here, in this very house. Back home where he belonged after enduring a nightmare. Finally he’d be able to put it all firmly behind him and catch up on life’s milestones that had been