Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best interesting books to read TXT) 📕

I’m in a private room. Of course I am, we are rich. I’d forgotten. When we won the lottery, I thought being rich meant I’d be indulged, protected. I guess it can mean that, but it can also mean I’m exploited, threatened. “I’m thirsty.” Mum reaches for some water at my bedside. She drips it carefully into my mouth, like a bird feeding a chick. It reminds me of something.

Something to do with the abduction, but I can’t remember what. “What happened?” I ask.

“You were kidnapped,” says Mum. “Some very bad people held you hostage for money.” I almost want to laugh at Mum’s words “some very bad people.” That doesn’t get close. They kicked me, starved me, bound me and drugged me. Yes, I think I was drugged. I guess she will know all this now, there will be medical evidence. I suppose she’s trying not to distress me by being too explicit. I’m far too weak and weary to point out that she can’t protect me—I was the one who lived through it.

“Hey, Dad.” It shouldn’t be up to me to cheer things up, but Dad looks literally done for. Like battered. Suffering.

He stands up and kisses my forehead, then says, “I’ll go and get a doctor, tell them she’s awake.”

I get the feeling he’s making himself scarce, as though he’s finding it a struggle to be around me. I glance at Mum, afraid. Dad often leaves the tricky stuff to her. Like when me and Logan really wanted a dog and they’d more or less agreed we could have one and then they changed their minds—Dad left it up to Mum to tell us. Or if we aren’t allowed to go somewhere like a gig, or buy something—you know, before the big win—Dad would avoid answering the tricky questions and just say, “Check with your mum.”

“What is it, Mum?”

“You’ve lost your baby, angel.” She just says it like that. Like we both knew there was a baby before. She makes it uncomplicated. “I’m sorry, my darling. I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t cry, Mum. I’m not sure I wanted it, anyway.” I try to make it sound like I’ve just lost out on buying a dress because they didn’t have it in my size. But then suddenly I’m sobbing. Ridley’s baby is gone. Ridley’s and my baby is gone. “I didn’t look after it. I didn’t keep it safe,” I say.

Mum jumps up and wraps her arms around me, buries her face into my neck. All this hurts, but it’s worth it. She tells me over and over again that it’s not my fault. None of this is my fault. Eventually, she tells me the police want to talk to me when I’m ready. “We are going to catch these bastards that did this to you.” I agree to be interviewed, but ask Mum to stay with me. She immediately understands it’s not the police I am afraid of. Obviously, I’m actually safer if there are a couple of coppers in my room, but I don’t want Mum out of my sight. “You are safe now,” she says firmly.

“What happens if someone does it again?” I demand.

She smiles ruefully. “That’s unlikely. There’s no money left.” I wonder whether they’ve given her some sort of tranquilizer drug, a happy pill because how come she’s not acting like that’s the end of the world?

CHAPTER 45

Lexi

Tuesday, June 11

We have paid to stay in the rental house for six months and the money is nonrefundable so there’s no point in suggesting we leave it and find somewhere more affordable, although there’s no more talk about buying it. Jake now knows that there’s only just under four million left in the bank: “I thought we had more.” He groaned on discovering the balance.

“I gave a lot away,” I admitted.

“Away?”

“To charity.” I’m vague, and whilst he looked shocked, confounded, he didn’t pursue the matter. I had expected him to be more challenging. I’m disturbed by his passive acceptance; it seems just a smidge away from indifference. “Okay, well, we have four million, Lexi. We don’t need to panic. It’s a substantial amount of money, it just seems less substantial because not so long ago we had almost eighteen.” He’s right, four million is a huge amount of money. What he doesn’t know yet is that I have promised Fred three of it after he divorces Jen. That’s not a conversation I can find my way into.

Things are not great between the two of us. I don’t know if Jennifer has told him about what I said to her at the party. Is he aware that I know of their affair? We should probably get it all out in the open. Fight, say dreadful things to each other, hurl hurt and abuse and then move on. Or at least around it. But could we move on or around? I don’t know. Bringing the matter into the open is too risky. I’m hideously aware that once it is out of the bag, I won’t ever be able to put it back in. I will forever be the woman who accepted his affair and whilst initially he may be grateful for that, somewhere down the line he might feel smug about it, invincible. He might have another affair, assuming I’ll stomach that one, too. Or, worse yet, once it is an acknowledged thing, he might confess to loving Jennifer. He might just leave. The tissue-thin veneer of family life carrying on as usual shrouds us for now. The children have been through so much lately. I can’t bear the idea of putting them through anything more. We just need some time to let things settle. We are still a family.

Although I’m not sure we are a couple any longer.

We sleep in the same bed, but have consciously uncoupled, as the A-listers might say. We are tremendously careful never to make any physical contact, not even an accidental banging together of feet. We cling to our own bed