Deep Water by Mark Ayre (best big ereader TXT) 📕

I wanted to confirm them. After we'd spoken, the picture became clearer, and I have to conclude Louis is not the enemy you fear he might be, nor the threat."

Alice stared at Abbie for a while. Earlier, they had built a degree of trust between one another. But trust is like concrete; once applied, it grows strong over time. The trust Abbie had earlier earned had yet to set; it crumbled beneath what Alice suspected to be a trick.

"You'll excuse me if I don't take your word for that.”

Abbie shook her head. "I'd never expect you to. That's why we're here. Louis and Alex have things they'd like to say to you while Tony can catch you up on what happened today with Angel—" Abbie raised a hand when Alice prepared to ask about that. "Hold on. Let them get to it in turns. Like you said, you've no reason to listen to me. I hope you can bring yourself to listen to them. If not, at least get a nice G&T out of it."

Alice looked around, to her daughter, her son, her enemy. Back to Abbie. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward, grabbed the gin and tonic, and took a swig. Symbolic gesture made, she placed the glass on the table and withdrew a compact handgun from her bag. Pointed it at Tony.

"I start to feel even the tiniest bit woozy, I will put a bullet in your head."

"Mum," Alex snapped.

"You do understand the effects of alcohol on the human body, right?" questioned Abbie.

Alice dropped into her chair, put the gun in her lap, and took another swig of gin. "Better make this quick then because I'm thirsty."

Smiling, exceedingly calm, Louis took a drink from his tumbler and settled into the armchair. Tony sat beside his mother on the three-seater sofa while Alex spread out on the two-seater. Still standing, Abbie smiled at the group.

"Shall I call this meeting to order? I don't have a gavel. Doesn't it feel as though I should have a gavel?"

"Oh," said Louis, raising his hand. "Before we begin."

"Yes, you may go to the bathroom," said Abbie. "But make it quick."

"No. It's Jacob."

The humour left Abbie's face. She could not help but recall the argument between Angel and her son. Could not help but relive the cold determination in the eyes of Alice's eldest daughter. To Louis, she tried to show none of this.

"What is it?"

"He's, I, I think at the moment he might be…" Louis tailed off, struggled, tried to go again. "Obviously, something has… I mean, you told me about… But you said… Look because I know you went through… or certainly implied you did. Maybe you could… I don't know, it's probably—"

"Louis," Abbie cut in. "I know you have aspirations and dreams, just like the next man, but I honestly believe the Guinness World Record for most half-sentences spoken in quick succession is out of reach, at least for tonight. I'm only saying that because you're a friend. Not a proper friend. The kind of friend where I hate everything you stand for and probably would hate you too if I got to know you, like an enemy. Actually, a friend of convenience. That's better."

Tony was staring. Everyone was looking up at Abbie, and no one seemed quite sure what was going on.

Abbie squeezed Louis' shoulder. "Why don't you show me Jacob's room? I'll be happy to have a word with him."

Jacob's door was plain white with nothing to indicate it belonged to a teenage boy. Louis pointed it out, gave Abbie a hurried thanks, then backed away, as though Jacob had contracted a rare plague that would kill his father if he got too close to the teen’s bedroom.

"Attend your meeting," said Abbie. "I'll do what I can."

Louis gave a grateful but pathetic nod and scurried downstairs. Abbie might have been angrier, but for her own experience. After tearing herself apart to reveal to her family she had been raped, Abbie had watched her father stand and walk away without a word. For weeks, he had refused to look at or speak to her. Their relationship was never the same again. Abbie's mother blamed Abbie for breaking her father's heart. She also refused to believe Harry and his friends were rapists. She called her daughter a slut, and a disgrace. Somehow Abbie's father's refusal to acknowledge anything had happened, even as Abbie's stomach grew larger and even after she lost her baby, was worse than her mother's hideous insults.

That wasn't Louis. He wanted to help his son but didn't know how, didn't feel equipped. Abbie wished Louis could have shown some backbone, forcing himself to offer his son an ear if nothing else. But at least he was doing something. If Abbie wasn't here, she liked to think he would have sought someone else. Maybe that was wishful thinking.

Hampered by more nerves than was usual for her, Abbie hovered by the door as Louis descended the stairs and did not immediately knock. She wanted to help the boy, given her own suffering, but could she? Perhaps she was blowing it out of proportion. After all, nothing had happened to Jacob. Abbie had arrived in time. Ariana and Gray had been stopped.

She knew this was nonsense. That Jacob hadn't fulfilled Ariana's sick demand might mean he had an easier time moving past what had happened. It did not mean there would be no internal scarring, that he would obsess about it. Abbie didn't know if she could help. She knew she had to try.

Raising a fist, she knocked and waited. For five seconds, there was nothing, then she heard movement, shifting, and someone called, "What?"

"Hey, Jacob, it's Abbie. We met on the beach early this morning. I was hoping I could come in."

A longer wait this time. Maybe a minute. Abbie knocked again when that had passed, and Jacob forced her to wait yet another thirty seconds.

At last, he said, "Whatever."

Taking this as an affirmative, Abbie turned the