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

say to me will be repeated to Ollie or anyone else," said Alice. "Of course, if you don't feel comfortable breaking his trust, I understand."

Abbie might still have held off had she not believed the story was directly pertinent to the danger Alice and Jacob faced. As such, she revealed the broad strokes of Ollie's story about his dad.

When Abbie was done, Alice rose with a deep, furious breath. Though she hadn't finished breakfast, the birthday girl strode across the tiles and placed her hands on the back wall.

"What sort of mother am I?" she asked. "How did I allow this to happen?"

"You were probably in prison when it did."

"So?" said Alice. "When you revealed to me what Ariana had done, I hated myself for her actions. Alice, I told myself, this would never have happened if you'd been around to steer the girl during those difficult adolescent years. I loathed myself for abandoning Ariana, but isn't this worse? Because I did steer Angel through puberty. I wasn't arrested until she was in her thirties, so what does that mean? Maybe you won't be surprised. I was a criminal, after all, and I didn't hesitate to get Angel involved in that side of the business. Still, I liked to see myself as an honourable crook, and I thought she was too. I didn't think we were killers."

Abbie didn't say anything. She wanted to keep eating, but somehow it didn't feel appropriate. She waited.

"I was wrong," said Alice. "Not just about her but about myself because I am a killer. I may only have ended one life, and it may have been decades ago, but more important is who it was, right? Angel's father."

Pulling away from the wall, she turned back to Abbie.

"Do you know why I named her that? Angel."

Abbie shook her head.

Sighing, Alice lifted a hand, touched her stomach. Made small circles with her palm. Abbie recognised the action. One subconscious habit had Abbie doing the same in the presence of children, pregnant women, or when she thought of the baby she had lost.

"I was three months pregnant with Angel," said Alice, now looking at her circling hand. "Adam was six months old and having a difficult night. I couldn't settle him. After an hour of trying, my husband came in and slapped me to the ground. Told me he couldn't stand the racket so was going to the pub. Warned me I'd better shut up the brat before he returned, or he’d do it for me. Permanently."

Alice moved towards the table, reclaimed her seat. There was so much untouched food. Abbie couldn't stand the thought of it going to waste.

"Once my husband was gone, I finally settled Adam, then returned to my room and sobbed into a pillow until I fell asleep."

Alice began to eat, and Abbie thought this probably gave her permission to as well. Which was good. The food was delicious. Abbie wanted to eat as much as possible while it was hot.

"That night," said Alice, “I dreamed of a beautiful woman with a warning. She said that if I didn't deal with my husband before my second child was born, it would be too late. My husband would kill me; my body would never be found. Adam would grow up to be just like his father, and my second-born, who I was told would be a girl, would take my place as my husband’s house-bound servant and... plaything. Before she hit puberty.”

Alice served both women seconds and avoided Abbie's eye.

"I can't have slept for long. In the early hours, I awoke to the sound of my husband stumbling in, and I wasted no time. Before the sun rose that day, he was dead, and I was free.

Alice finished her coffee, mused over the empty cup.

"The woman who visited my dream that night was nothing more than a manifestation of my subconscious fears for myself and my children. I know that. Still, I choose to see her as my guardian angel and, more than that, the grown-up version of my daughter. That I was cleared of all charges relating to my husband's death on the day she was born solidified this theory. Angel, then, seemed a natural name to pick."

Alice tucked into the seconds she had served herself.

"I've told Angel this story," she said. "Can you believe that? I held her up as a hero for saving our lives from her monster of a father, but what was I really doing? Absolving myself of blame, that's what. I didn't kill him because I hated him; oh no, I killed him because my daughter came from the future, entered my dream, and told me to. How pathetic can one person be?"

"One person can be very pathetic," said Abbie. "But you're not."

Alice snorted.

"No, hear me out," said Abbie. "Your husband raped and abused you day after day, and you took it. When did you snap? When did you have this dream? When he threatened to permanently stop your son crying. You had to save your little boy’s life, but you were a teenager. Killing isn't easy. Your subconscious handed you a coping mechanism. That doesn’t make you pathetic. Far from it."

"But what did it do to my daughter?" said Alice. "She could never appreciate what a monster her father was. No matter what I told her, Angel could never comprehend that level of pain because Angel’s never suffered as I did. So what did she learn from my story? That her father inconvenienced me, so I killed him and got away with it. Now I'm rich and happy and surrounded by my family. With that story, I didn't just shift the blame of murder from myself but gave my daughter a license to use brutal means to improve her life without the fear of guilt or consequence. With that story, I was creating a monster, and I never realised.”

Alice closed her eyes and tilted her head to the ceiling. Abbie knew this was no longer an exercise in reminiscence. Alice