The Other Child Read Online Free Page B

held her nerve. Yet these events disturbed and unsettled her. She would have preferred to just let the phone ring and ring without answering, but then of course she would miss calls that were important or that meant something to her. From her granddaughter Leslie Cramer, for example, who lived in London and was just going through the trauma of a divorce. Leslie no longer had any relatives except for her old grandmother in Scarborough, and Fiona wanted to be there for her now in particular.
    So she picked up after the fifth ring.
    â€˜Fiona Barnes,’ she said. She had a scratchy, rough voice from a life of chain-smoking.
    Silence on the other end of the line.
    Fiona sighed. She should get a new phone, one with caller display. At least then she could see when Leslie was calling and leave the rest.
    â€˜Who is it?’ she asked.
    Silence. Breathing.
    â€˜You are starting to get on my nerves,’ said Fiona. ‘You obviously have some problem with me. Perhaps we should talk about it. Your strange approach is not going to get us any further, I fear.’
    The breathing became heavier. If she had been younger, Fiona might have thought it possible that she had caught the eye of someone who was now satisfying a primal urge as he listened to her voice on the phone. But as she had turned seventy-nine in July that seemed rather unlikely. Nor did the breathing seem to suggest a sexual stimulation. The caller seemed excited in a different way. Stressed. Aggressive. In extreme turmoil.
    It was not about sex. What was it about then?
    â€˜I’m hanging up,’ Fiona said, but before she could make good on her threat, the other person had already interrupted the call. Fiona could only hear the monotonous beeping of the phone.
    â€˜I should go to the police!’ she said angrily, slamming down the phone and immediately lighting a cigarette. But she was afraid that the police would fob her off with excuses. She had not been verbally abused, showered in obscenities or threatened. Of course everyone would understand that repeated silences on the phone can also be considered a threat, but there were no clues as to who the caller might be. This case was so extremely vague that the police would not try to trace the calls. In any case, no doubt the caller was clever enough to use only public payphones and not to use the same one each time. People today had gained experience from detective series on TV. They knew how to do things and which mistakes to avoid.
    What was more …
    She stepped over to the window again. Outside it was a wonderful, sun-drenched October day, windy and clear-skied, and Scarborough Bay lay there, flooded with a golden light. The deep azure-blue sea was rough. The waves had shining white crests. Seeing this view, anyone would have been in transports of delight. Not Fiona at this moment. She did not even notice what was in front of her window.
    She knew why she was not going to the police. She knew why she had not told anyone yet, not even Leslie, about the strange calls. And why, for all her worrying, she kept the whole story to herself.
    The logical question of anyone hearing about it would be: ‘But is there someone who might have something against you? Someone who you could imagine might be involved in these calls?’
    If she was honest, she would have to say ‘yes’ to this question, which would inevitably lead to further questions. And required explanations from her. Everything would come to the surface again. The whole of the horrific story. All the things she wanted to forget. The things that Leslie, more than anyone else, should not hear about.
    If however she played dumb, claimed that she did not know anyone who could have something against her, who would torment her like this, then there was also no point in telling anyone about it.
    She took a deep drag on her cigarette. The only person to whom she could open herself was Chad. Because he knew in any case. Maybe she should