An Impossible Dilemma: A Psychological Thriller Novel Read Online Free

help?"
    "That's why I rang. I need a massive favour. I wondered if you can come to stay for a few weeks? I'm struggling with everything."
    "Oh, Vic, don't cry, of course I will. To be honest, my mum's driving me potty, and I need to get away—you’ll be doing me a favour."
    "I thought she would be,” I said, laughing through my tears and wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my blouse. I cleared my throat. “How is she?”
    “Oh, you know Mum. She never changes. Still keeping herself busy with her art groups.”
    “Say hi to her from me.”
    “Will do. So when do you want me?”
    “The problem is I won't be able to pay you much. Not right away, anyway."
    "Do you have wine?"
    "Some. I'll get more."
    "Fab. When do you want me?"
    "Yesterday."
    "Oh," she giggled. "Okay, give me till tomorrow and you're on."
    "Thanks, Steph. You're a diamond."
     
    So it was settled. Stephanie and Alex would both be joining us. The farmhouse had plenty of bedrooms, and I made one up for Steph. We’d always classed her as family anyway.
    Jon offered Alex the self-contained studio above the garage, and he was thrilled to have his own front door. He didn’t mind the fact it hadn’t been lived in for years and needed a lick of paint. At least he could come and go as he pleased without disturbing anyone.
    I warmed to Alex immediately. He had a mass of tight brown curls, green eyes and lean, wiry body, and seemed too young to be travelling the world alone. I figured his parents must be beside themselves.
    I felt the familiar protectiveness that always gripped me when presented with a stray or sick and injured animal. Not that I thought of Alex as an animal, but I did think he needed someone to care for him—if only to give another mother, living thousands of miles away, some peace of mind.
    In Manchester, we’d had a house full of strays. But we’d had to re-home them when we moved here. Frank didn’t agree with house pets. Animals had to have a purpose in his eyes. The semi-wild cats in the barn and the two farm dogs that were kept in kennels, all earned their keep.
     
    ***
     
    The following day, Steph bustled in as I was about to dish out the dinner.
    She gave a little scream when she saw me, and I almost dropped the dish I’d just taken out of the oven.
    She was always the same, like a tornado wherever she went. Her bubbly personality filled any room, which made up for her teeny five-foot-two stature. Her normally wild, bleached blonde hair had been scraped back into an elastic band, and her trademark black makeup surrounded her lovely pale blue eyes.
    "Sorry, I'm so late, Vic. I tried to get away, but Mum had hundreds of extra jobs that just couldn't wait. I think she's worried I won't be going back." She laughed.
    "Oh, don't be silly. You’re not late." I placed the dish on top of the stove and threw the oven gloves down beside it.
    I hugged her tightly, inhaling the familiar perfume she always wore.
    "Where's Em?" She dropped two canvas holdalls onto the tiled floor and looked around the room.
    I released her and took a step backwards. "Upstairs in bed. She doesn't want anything to eat, although she did have a bit of soup earlier," I said.
    Stephanie dropped to the floor and began rummaging around in one of her bags.
    "Can I pop up and say hi? I have something for her," she said, pulling a pair of maracas and a colourful Spanish fan from the huge holdall. She danced a little jig—the maracas in one hand and the fan in the other—and finished it off with, ‘Ole’,” and a double stamp of her heels.
    I laughed. "Oh Steph, I’m so glad you’re here. Of course you can go up—she'll be so excited. I didn't tell her you were coming; I wanted to surprise her."
    Steph ran up the stairs in search of her god-daughter.
    I continued dishing up the food, adding an extra plate to the already laid table.
    Steph walked down the stairs much more subdued than when she'd bounced up a few moment's ago. "Gosh, Vic, she's really sick, isn’t