Please Don't Leave Me Here Read Online Free

wants anything; he always says he’s just finished a cuppa.
    The twins are good for another ten minutes or so, and then it’s time to go. Papa puts his tobacco pouch and papers into his dressing-gown pocket and comes downstairs to see them out.
    â€˜Thanks for comin’, Brigi.’ He kisses her at the front gate.
    â€˜Love you.’ She holds his bony, brown-spotted hands. They’re cool, and feel like paper-tree bark. ‘We’ll see you soon.’
    The twins run off towards the car. The cigarette-smoking man waves as Brigitte rushes after them.
    Were his eyes dark brown or light brown? He had full lips ... She jumps when her phone rings.
    It’s Sam. The knife blade of guilt twists between her ribs. Nothing happened: just a dance. Not even a kiss. Not really. Thoughts don’t count. Sam says he’s coming home early — for a change — and asks her to put on some pasta; he’ll make the sauce. And he’s bringing a workmate home for dinner. Good — a distraction. It’s been hard to look into his eyes since …
    She opens a bottle of red wine — for Sam to use in the pasta sauce. Maybe she’ll have one small glass while she’s waiting for the water to boil.
    She’s on to her second small glass when she hears Sam’s keys rattle. She meets him at the front door. The smell of cold rushes in.
    â€˜Hey.’ He laughs, surprised by the passion in her kiss. His face is freezing, his breath steamy. He wipes his feet on the doormat. He’s holding a new heater in a box. Behind him, she can see that his workmate has a slab of beer cans under his arm. He steps out of the shadows — tall, long limbs — into the porch light, and follows Sam in.
    â€˜Brig, this is Aidan Serra.’
    No fucking way .
    â€˜He used to work with Manny.’
    He’s from the police! Not one of Manny’s filmmaker friends? You’ve got to be joking . Panic raises every hair on her skin.
    â€˜Brigitte.’ He reaches out and shakes her hand. ‘I think we met at Manny’s party.’
    She pulls her hand away. ‘Sorry, I don’t remember.’ Can Sam hear the quaver in her voice?
    â€˜Really? I was dressed up as Jeff Buckley.’
    Fuck, fuck, fuck . Her face burns.
    He brushes past her in the hallway, smirking. The floor seems to tip sideways beneath her feet.
    Sam unpacks and plugs in the heater in the living room. Brigitte glares at Aidan as he takes out two beers and puts the rest in the fridge. Make yourself at home, why don’t you? She pours herself another glass of wine — a big one — with her back to him, and spills some on the Laminex benchtop.
    â€˜Serra needs somewhere to crash while he’s looking for a new place.’ Sam takes some garlic and an onion from the cupboard under the sink. ‘I told him he could stay in the bungalow. If it’s OK with you.’
    She chokes on her wine, frowns, and tilts her head at the bathroom. Sam follows her and closes the door behind them. ‘Don’t worry. He’s OK. Won’t stay long.’
    â€˜Doesn’t he have family to stay with? Or a girlfriend?’
    â€˜Give him a break. He’s had a pretty rough time with his wife.’
    â€˜Is he in your squad?’
    â€˜No. The Cold Case Unit.’
    â€˜The Cold Case Unit! But— ’
    â€˜Keep your voice down.’
    She turns on the tap and washes her hands. Kitty — a ginger flash of fur — jumps in through the window.
    â€˜He shouldn’t be out this late.’ Sam winds the window shut and locks it. ‘I’ve put in for some leave.’
    Brigitte looks up as she continues to lather her hands with soap.
    â€˜Don’t look so shocked,’ Sam says. ‘We need a holiday.’
    â€˜You said we couldn’t afford a holiday.’
    â€˜Just down to Raymond Island. Why don’t you ask Ryan to come?’
    She nods, and dries her hands on a