The Passenger Daniel Hurst (books for men to read .TXT) 📖

now I realise how much I have been doing that lately. Perhaps my daughter isn’t the only one to blame for our constant arguments. Maybe I should have been making an effort to be around more.

‘I don’t care about your stupid deadlines!’ Louise says, confirming what I just thought. ‘What kind of mother leaves her daughter alone all night without calling to say where she is?’

‘I was working. Where else would I be?’

‘I don’t know. The point is you didn’t even call!’

‘Because I was working!’

The initial fear I had about being seen entering my flat with my ill-gotten gains has faded a little, and I feel myself growing annoyed at my daughter for her attitude. She has no idea of what I’ve been through this evening, and while she can never know, I wish she weren’t giving me this problem right now.

‘Have you actually been working? Or have you been on a date?’ Louise asks, and my breath catches in my throat.

‘What are you talking about?’ I reply, looking down at my clothes nervously in case I have left something on that can give me away. But I haven’t. I always make sure to get changed in the toilets on the train on the way home after my escorting work, and tonight was no different.

Though of course, tonight was very different.

‘I don’t believe you’ve been working,’ Louise says. ‘I think you’re seeing someone. Are you?’

I’m not sure where she has got this idea from, but I decide that she is just speculating and taking her bad mood out on me.

‘I’m not going to argue with you at this time of night,’ I reply, heading for my bedroom. ‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Tell me about your new boyfriend? I can’t wait to hear all about this next guy. Is he going to take all of your money like the last one did?’

I grit my teeth as I resist the urge to turn around and have it out with my daughter. She blames me for what happened with Johnny and the money, which is a little harsh even though I could have been more careful, so I’d like nothing more than to give her a piece of my mind right now, but I can’t stop. I need to get Charles’s things into my safe as quickly as possible.

‘Why have you got a rucksack?’ she asks me, but I ignore that, which I know is only going to irritate her even more. ‘Great, just disappear on me like you always do!’ she cries as I enter my bedroom, and I make sure to close the door behind me before I remove the bag from my shoulder.

I hear the sound of my daughter’s bedroom door slamming as I go into my wardrobe where my safe is located. Kneeling down on the carpet, I enter the eight-digit code into the keypad and hear the click that lets me know I’m in.

Opening the safe, I see the money already in there, which consists mainly of my hard-earned savings from my dual jobs in purchasing and escorting. There’s nearly £20,000 in there already. But there’s about to be a whole lot more.

I reach into my handbag and take out the first stacks of cash and stuff them inside the safe as quickly as I can, paranoid that Louise might burst in here to continue the argument and catch me with all this money.

Then I unzip the rucksack and work fast until all the cash is out before searching around at the bottom of the bag for the watch and ring I also took in my haste.

It was a moment of madness to take more than just money, although it’s been a night full of such moments. I should just throw them away because I have no idea how I will sell these items. I obviously can’t do it legally in case they are traced back to Charles’s flat and I’m implicated. The safest thing to do would be to get rid of them. But how much are they worth? Can I really afford to throw money away? I might as well sell them, and a dodgy pawnshop in the East End will be my best bet, but that’s a problem for another day.

I locate the watch quickly and toss it on top of the money. But I can’t see the ring?

Where is it? Did I drop it on the way?

Another quick search of the rucksack yields no immediate results, so I tip the entire contents of my handbag out onto the carpet beside me to speed it up. I rummage through my possessions. Purse. Mobile phone. Mirror. Lipstick. A work email that I printed off before I left the office and really need to read before the big meeting tomorrow.

And one gold ring.

I pick it up off the carpet, but before I put into the safe, I take a second to have a closer look at it. The gold surface shimmers in the light from the bulb above my head, and I wonder how valuable it could be. Knowing Charles, it certainly won’t be cheap. Then I notice something on the inside of the band.

Is that an engraving?

I hold it up to my eye, and the writing is small, but I can just about make it out.

Charles & Mary Montague 23.05.70

The piece of jewellery falls from my hand as I realise what it says. This isn’t just any ring. This is Charles’s wedding ring.

It’s got his damn name on it.

Suddenly, my bedroom door swings open, and Louise bursts in.

‘What are you doing?’ I cry, but it’s not going to stop her seeing what I’m up to. I quickly scoop the ring up and stuff it into my back pocket before standing up and trying to close my wardrobe door before my daughter can see the open safe inside. But it’s too late.

‘Why are you being all secretive?’ she asks me, reaching out to pull the wardrobe door open again.

My safe sits open below us, and even though I