Killing a Stranger by Jane A. Adams Read Free Book Online Page B

to the cupboard and fridge and began to assemble the ingredients for sandwiches. They moved to help her, getting in one another’s way but glad of something to do. That magic of having your hands working, Patrick thought.
    â€˜Do you know what the letter was?’ he asked shyly.
    Clara paused, butter knife poised above bread. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s the thing. I shut all of that out of our lives, burned letters, threw out old photos. As far as I know, there was nothing there for Rob to have found.’

Seven
    I t was past midnight by the time Patrick arrived home and he knew he’d be in trouble. They had an agreement that on school nights Patrick would be home by eleven and, if he was likely to be late, he should call Harry and tell him. It was an agreement that cut both ways; Harry, Patrick’s dad, would never dream of leaving Patrick to worry should he be running late or have to change his plans. Patrick had switched his mobile off when they’d gone to see Clara; he’d completely forgotten to either switch it on or tell his dad when he might be back.
    Patrick and his dad shared a small terraced house about forty minutes walk from Rob’s place. The front door opened straight into the living room. Harry sat, television turned down, newspaper spread out on his lap, though Patrick could tell that neither the television nor the paper had held his attention in quite some time.
    Do you even know what’s on? Patrick wanted to ask, Instead, he offered, ‘Sorry I’m late,’ hoping that would do.
    Harry didn’t move. ‘I was worried about you,’ he said. ‘Where did you go?’
    â€˜Out. Just out.’
    â€˜It’s past twelve. You can’t have been “just out” all this time.’
    Patrick could both hear and feel the degree of control Harry was exercising just to keep his voice steady. Remorse and irritation – what right had his dad to make him feel guilty? He’d done nothing wrong – fought it out in Patrick’s head. ‘I was with Charlie,’ Patrick said. ‘And Becky.’
    â€˜I called Charlie’s parents. They didn’t know where you were either.’
    â€˜You did what?’ Irritation won. ‘You checking up on me?’
    â€˜You didn’t call, your phone was off. I told you, I was worried.’
    â€˜I don’t need you checking up on me.’
    Harry got out of his chair and faced his son. ‘And I don’t need to be sitting here, worried sick. Anything could have happened. Anything.’
    â€˜Nothing happened,’ Patrick stared sullenly at his feet. Guilt had been tagged by conscience and had now entered the ring. ‘I was just out, that’s all.’
    Harry took a deep breath. ‘Where did you go to? Am I at least allowed to know that?’
    Patrick shrugged. He wondered how Becky and Charlie’s parents were reacting now. Charlie, being a nominal adult, had parents who were pretty flexible about his comings and goings, but he could imagine Becky’s mum and step-dad would be less than pleased to know where their daughter had been. Harry rarely lost his temper. Sometimes, Patrick almost wished he would, then he could shout back, feel justified in being angry.
    â€˜Patrick?’ Harry prompted.
    Patrick sighed. ‘Becky got a phone call,’ he said. ‘Charlie and me, we went with her.’
    â€˜Went where? A phone call from …?’
    Wearily, Patrick threw himself into his father’s recently vacated chair. Harry hesitated for a moment and then settled on the sofa opposite and Patrick knew that he was partly off the hook. Harry wasn’t about to yell at him or get mad or interrogate or any of the things Patrick half wished he’d do. Harry was preparing to listen and in a strange sort of way, Patrick found that even harder. It meant he had to talk, to explain, to …
    â€˜We went to see Rob’s mum,’ he