IMPURITY Ray Clark (types of ebook readers .txt) 📖

over the events of the previous evening. Both women had been arrested, detained in separate cells. The legal wheels would start turning tomorrow. It was no way to spend Christmas Day, but it was out of his hands.

He’d returned in the early hours of the morning. Chris had been in bed, but his father was still up, watching an old black and white movie on the TV.

Gardener had joined him. The pair of them had a whiskey, then another, and the rest was history.

He felt bad. He struggled down the stairs. Despite the rude awakening, the soreness in his ribs was slightly milder than it had been yesterday. In the living room, Malcolm, Chris, and Spook were all seated around the fire, listening to Christmas carols. A smell of pine filled the air.

Underneath the tree, the few presents reflected the kind of run-up to Christmas they’d had – a pretty horrendous week. He was, however, pleased with the effort his father had made with a last-minute dash to the shops.

Each of them exchanged cards, presents, and Christmas greetings. Before Gardener attempted to open any of his, he stood up. “I’ll make us a cup of tea first, I think.”

“I’ll do it,” offered Malcolm.

“No, you’ve done enough. Let me.”

Gardener ruffled Chris’s hair and stroked Spook before entering the kitchen. As he did, a box on the kitchen table was the only thing he noticed, as if he had tunnel vision. Next to the box was a card. The writing was Jacqueline’s.

After making the tea, he stood at the kitchen table, smelled the perfumed card, and read the inscription. “Ma daruri si ma dragoste pentru voi. Se cu ma intotdeauna.”

Carefully, he opened the box. Inside was a perfectly carved replica of the Kiss Gate. A Romanian gift, signifying true love.

“Dad! Dad! Look what I’ve got.” Gardener raised his head to see Chris in his striped pyjamas, holding two smartphones. “Two phones! There’s certainly no excuse not to keep in touch now.” Gardener smiled, realizing how alike he and his father were.

Chris walked over to the table. “I want you to have one.”

“I can’t do that, Chris. They’re yours.”

“Please. You wouldn’t have lost yours if you hadn’t come looking for me. And besides, I haven’t had the time to buy you a present myself.”

He hesitated, but then took it. “Thanks, son.”

Malcolm appeared at the doorway with a magazine in his hand. Gardener glanced at his father, who merely nodded and smiled. Chris ran back into the living room.

Gardener showed Malcolm the card. “Any idea what it says?”

Malcolm took his time before answering. “I’m not too sure, I’m not very fluent.”

He held the card closer. “My gift and my love for you. Be with me always.”

Gardener said nothing. Inside, he felt empty. His father put the card back on the table, next to the Kiss Gate. He held out a brochure for him to see.

“What’s this?” asked Gardener, realizing it was the catalogue with the seats for the Bonneville.

Malcolm opened the page at the King and Queen seat, the one he wanted but didn’t think he could afford. “The bloke who runs the place dropped it off yesterday. That’s the one you want, isn’t it?”

“I was certainly thinking about it.”

“Well, you don’t have to think anymore. You deserve it after the year you’ve had. Merry Christmas, son. But you will have to wait three months. It’s being customized.”

Gardener didn’t know what to say. His dad patted him on the shoulder and went back into the living room to see Chris. Gardener heard his son’s infectious laughter. There was a point when he thought he would never hear it again, which made him realize how important his family was. He also realized that, wrong as it was to take the law into her own hands, Jacqueline had indirectly saved the life of his son and Lord knows how many other children. For that much, he would be eternally grateful.

He studied the card and the inscription again, before sparing another thought for the minister, hoping what little family she had would be enough. On his way into the living room, a radio newsflash distracted him.

“...the perfectly preserved corpse of Wilfred Bradshaw was found in a house in Rawston. Police are anxious to trace the previous owner, a Mrs Olive Bradshaw, to discuss the mystery surrounding her brother’s death. Police pathologist Doctor George Fitzgerald estimated the time of death at around twelve months ago...”

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