The Son-in-Law by Charity Norman Read Free Book Online Page A

before anyone bothered to tell me. I normally walk home with a sixth-former called Rhiannon on Mondays. She lives in Faith Lane, and has judo. So I waved to her through the door of the gym, and set off alone.
    Evening was falling already. The streetlights had come on, and the Minster bell ringers were practising when I walked past the tennis courts and out through the school gates. I love the feeling of a winter afternoon, when it’s frosty and clear and the sky turns mauve as day slides into night. There’s nowhere more Christmassy than York in winter. It’s like a postcard come alive: lights in the old shops, and narrow streets, and the smell of roasting chestnuts from the man with his cart. The air felt like icy glass, as though it might shatter.
    There were the usual lost tourists wandering around, talking in French or German or Cantonese. A party of choristers from the Minster school passed in a crocodile, on their way to Evensong. I knew some of the older ones because our two schools do stuff together. They’re great singers but, believe me, they’re not as angelic as they look. Especially Zac. He’s hot and he knows it: tall and blond. He wolf-whistled quietly. I put up a finger, but I couldn’t help smiling.
    The pavement’s very wide just there. Once the boys had gone I began to play hopscotch along the paving stones. Not so that anyone would notice; I was playing it in my head. Suddenly I got this feeling that there was something absolutely crucial nearby, something I had to see. So I stopped counting stones and looked around.
    There’s a bench beside the pavement, where the lost tourists stop to peer at their maps. A man was sitting on this bench. He didn’t look like a tourist. He was wearing a black overcoat that fell almost to his ankles, and a satiny scarf, and he had a lot of dark hair falling across his face. His mouth was pressed into his hands and his eyes were closed. I couldn’t stop staring. It wasn’t that I recognised him; it was just that this person seemed really, really important.
    Then his eyes opened. He looked straight at me, and I was as scared as I’ve ever been since the day Mum died. In fact, it was as though Mum was dying all over again. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even breathe. It seemed as though I was going to catch on fire, the way he was staring with those crazy eyes.
    Then he whispered something: Zoe.
    That did it. I was running even before I’d told my legs to run. I rocketed down a snickelway that I often use as a shortcut, and I was sure I could hear his footsteps thudding along behind me. I didn’t stop running until I was in the middle of town, among shops and bright lights. I was gasping for breath as I dodged between the Christmas market stalls and shot down Coppergate. I looked back to see if he’d followed, and I’m sure I glimpsed that long coat in the crowd. I bumped into lots of people on the narrow pavement across the bridge, and kept having to say sorry. A really ugly woman wagged her finger and told me to watch where I was going, but I didn’t even answer. I just needed to be home.
    The scariest part was Faith Lane. It was very dark there, under the city wall. I was afraid he might have overtaken me somehow and be lying in wait. I knew it was stupid, but I started thinking perhaps he planned to kidnap me and smuggle me away. I’d just disappear. Children do disappear. I mean, what was he doing waiting outside my school?
    It wasn’t until I opened our front door, called out and heard Gramps reply, that I felt even half safe. I started to sniffle with fright, so I charged straight upstairs to my room. Flotsam and Jetsam were curled on my rug in a snowy heap of softness. Two pairs of doll-blue eyes looked up at me as I rushed in. Flotsam yawned, and Jetsam squeaked a contented ‘hello’. Mum’s cats. I didn’t stop to stroke them, though. I pushed a wedge against my bedroom door, rolled into bed and pulled the duvet over my head.
    The music was