The Other Child Read Online Free Page A
canât put up with it any more. Not for any amount of money, she resolved.
She weighed up her options. None of them seemed particularly promising. She could walk back across the bridge to St Nicholas Cliff and then take the long Filey Road up through town â but that would take ages. Then there was always the bus, but she had no idea if her bus was still running this late at night. And a few weeks ago she had used the bus one day when the weather was bad, and she had been picked on at the bus stop by some drunken, pierced youths with shaved heads. She had been scared to death and had sworn that in future she would rather be soaked to the bone and risk a cold than find herself in such a situation once again. Fear â yet again. Fear of walking through the dark park. Fear of waiting at the bus stop. Fear, fear, fear.
She was in charge of her life and it could not go on like this. She could no longer let herself stumble from one crisis to the next, trying to avoid one fear and so inevitably raising another. And in the end standing paralysed in a cool, rainy July night, listening to her own panting breath, feeling her heart pound like a fast and heavy hammer, and asking herself which of her fears was the least worst. In the end it was the infamous choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, and that felt terrible.
The man was now on a level with her. He stopped and looked at her.
He seemed to be waiting for something, maybe for what she would say or do, and as Amy was a girl who had been taught to meet peopleâs expectations, she opened her mouth.
âThe ⦠path is closed,â she said. Her voice croaked a little, and she cleared her throat. âThe fencing ⦠blocking the path.â
He gave a brief nod, turned away and took the path towards the beach. The lit path.
Amy breathed a sigh of relief. Harmless, it had been completely harmless. He wanted to go home, normally he would no doubt have taken the steps. Now he would probably walk to the Spa Complex and then up from there, and curse inwardly that the journey home took longer than expected. His wife was waiting at home. She would have a go at him. It had got late in the pub with his friends, and now this detour. Not his day. Sometimes everything happened at once.
She giggled, but noticed how nervous she sounded. She had a tendency to dream up the details of the lives of people completely unknown to her. Probably because she was on her own too much. When you did not communicate enough with people of flesh and blood you had to dwell in your own imagination.
One more glance back at the bridge. No one to see there.
The stranger had disappeared towards the beach. The steps were closed off. Amy did not dither any longer. She took the middle path, the unlit one. The little bit of moonlight that trickled through the long veils of cloud was enough to let her guess where the path at her feet led. She would come up at the Esplanade without breaking any bones.
The closely planted bushes, whose full summer foliage was heavy with raindrops, swallowed her up within seconds.
Amy Mills disappeared into the darkness.
OCTOBER 2008
Thursday, 9th October
1
When the phone in Fiona Barnesâs living room rang, the old lady jumped. She left the window, where she had been standing and gazing out over Scarborough Bay, and walked over to the side table the phone stood on, unsure whether or not to lift up the receiver. She had received an anonymous call that morning, and the morning before, and last week too there had been two of these harassing calls. She was not even sure if what was happening could be called anonymous calls, as no one said anything on the other end of the line; all she could hear was breathing. If she did not slam the receiver down on its cradle in annoyance, as she had done that morning, then the unknown person always hung up after about a minute of silence.
Fiona was not easily scared, she was proud of her cool head and that she
She weighed up her options. None of them seemed particularly promising. She could walk back across the bridge to St Nicholas Cliff and then take the long Filey Road up through town â but that would take ages. Then there was always the bus, but she had no idea if her bus was still running this late at night. And a few weeks ago she had used the bus one day when the weather was bad, and she had been picked on at the bus stop by some drunken, pierced youths with shaved heads. She had been scared to death and had sworn that in future she would rather be soaked to the bone and risk a cold than find herself in such a situation once again. Fear â yet again. Fear of walking through the dark park. Fear of waiting at the bus stop. Fear, fear, fear.
She was in charge of her life and it could not go on like this. She could no longer let herself stumble from one crisis to the next, trying to avoid one fear and so inevitably raising another. And in the end standing paralysed in a cool, rainy July night, listening to her own panting breath, feeling her heart pound like a fast and heavy hammer, and asking herself which of her fears was the least worst. In the end it was the infamous choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, and that felt terrible.
The man was now on a level with her. He stopped and looked at her.
He seemed to be waiting for something, maybe for what she would say or do, and as Amy was a girl who had been taught to meet peopleâs expectations, she opened her mouth.
âThe ⦠path is closed,â she said. Her voice croaked a little, and she cleared her throat. âThe fencing ⦠blocking the path.â
He gave a brief nod, turned away and took the path towards the beach. The lit path.
Amy breathed a sigh of relief. Harmless, it had been completely harmless. He wanted to go home, normally he would no doubt have taken the steps. Now he would probably walk to the Spa Complex and then up from there, and curse inwardly that the journey home took longer than expected. His wife was waiting at home. She would have a go at him. It had got late in the pub with his friends, and now this detour. Not his day. Sometimes everything happened at once.
She giggled, but noticed how nervous she sounded. She had a tendency to dream up the details of the lives of people completely unknown to her. Probably because she was on her own too much. When you did not communicate enough with people of flesh and blood you had to dwell in your own imagination.
One more glance back at the bridge. No one to see there.
The stranger had disappeared towards the beach. The steps were closed off. Amy did not dither any longer. She took the middle path, the unlit one. The little bit of moonlight that trickled through the long veils of cloud was enough to let her guess where the path at her feet led. She would come up at the Esplanade without breaking any bones.
The closely planted bushes, whose full summer foliage was heavy with raindrops, swallowed her up within seconds.
Amy Mills disappeared into the darkness.
OCTOBER 2008
Thursday, 9th October
1
When the phone in Fiona Barnesâs living room rang, the old lady jumped. She left the window, where she had been standing and gazing out over Scarborough Bay, and walked over to the side table the phone stood on, unsure whether or not to lift up the receiver. She had received an anonymous call that morning, and the morning before, and last week too there had been two of these harassing calls. She was not even sure if what was happening could be called anonymous calls, as no one said anything on the other end of the line; all she could hear was breathing. If she did not slam the receiver down on its cradle in annoyance, as she had done that morning, then the unknown person always hung up after about a minute of silence.
Fiona was not easily scared, she was proud of her cool head and that she
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