Fractured by Dawn Barker Read Free Book Online Page A

he wanted to hear but,
     on the other hand, he was terrified that he might, for once, have let his father down. Let his own son down.
    Ursula glanced at Jim, then took Tony’s elbow. ‘Go back to the car. I’ll just check on Lisa, then we’ll call the hospital
     and see if there’s any change. If not, we’ll go back to the house in case there’s any messages, or something we missed.’
    He nodded and tramped wearily back to the car, his head down. Ursula arrived a few minutes later. He slumped back in his seat
     and let her call the emergency ward. He couldn’t think any more; he’d run out of possible explanations. He closed his eyes
     and turned his head away from his mum. He didn’t say another word, not even when Ursula pulled up at the house. Like an infant
     roused from sleep, he was aware of his surroundings but didn’t want to wake up. He longed to be young again, to be carried
     into bed and tucked in, to fall into the long, deep sleep of a child.
    ‘Anthony? Anthony, we’re here.’
    He opened his eyes and looked around, then emerged into reality. Nothing had changed. He rubbed his face then got out of the
     car, walked up to the door, and unlocked it. Behind him he heard his mum lock the car.
    Inside, he went straight into the bedroom with a new-found sense of purpose. He needed to be methodical about this. He would
     start with Anna’s diary and notebooks, which she kept by the bed, then he would read every email, every document on her computer
     and every message in her phone, until he found … what? He opened the drawer of her bedside table and began raking through
     it. As he lifted up a book, he stopped suddenly and his heart raced. He picked up Anna’s box of medication and slid out the
     foil strip of tablets: there were only two missing. He closed his eyes and shook his head. This was all wrong; she had started
     these about two weeks ago. Why hadn’t she been taking them? He put the box back, trying to think clearly, and closed the drawer.
     Just then he heard the front door open, and smelled grease and garlic. It made him want to throw up. He heard his dad’s voice,
     the clang of plates, the oven door opening, the tap running.
    And then he heard his phone.
    The ring was like a scream.
    The tap stopped running, the murmurs ceased and the house seemed to hold its breath. Without even thinking about it, and before
     it had a chance to scream again, Tony raced down to the hall table, picked up the phone and answered it.
    * * *
    Ursula froze. Her right arm was raised, ready to put the pizza box into the oven to warm. Jim and Lisa also stopped mid-action,
     as though they were all playing some bizarre game of statues.
    Tony said his name. Then he said nothing. Finally, ‘I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
    She breathed out, then put the box on the kitchen bench. She looked at her husband and daughter. Lisa had tears running down
     her face; Jim was slowly shaking his head. She swallowed, then she walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards
     her son. Tony was standing still, staring at the phone in his hand as if he’d never seen anything like it before. His mouth
     was slightly open but he didn’t appear to be breathing. Ursula was afraid that if she spoke he’d shatter into a thousand brittle
     pieces.
    ‘Anthony? Who was it?’ She was practically whispering.
    Tony didn’t move; he just stared at the phone.
    ‘Anthony?’
    It seemed like an age before he lifted his gaze and turned towards her. His face was pale grey and waxy.
    ‘The police.’
    She gasped involuntarily, then clasped her hand to her mouth.
    ‘I have to go back to the hospital straightaway.’
    Until then she’d never believed that a person’s heart could actually stop for a moment, but she had no doubt that her own
     did as Tony covered his face with his hands.
    ‘Why? What’s wrong? Is Anna …’ She stopped as Tony shook his head. He took his hands away from his face and held them