Please Don't Leave Me Here Read Online Free Page B

idea. It’s nearly time for all four-year-olds to go to bed. And Mummy will be wondering where we are.’
    â€˜No she won’t.’
    â€˜Probably right, Georgi.’ Ryan drains his glass. ‘Bet she’s still at the gym.’
    â€˜Can we wait a few more minutes for Sam? He should be home by now.’ Brigitte chews her little fingernail. She’s about to call him again when her mobile rings. It’s Sam — she nods to Ryan. ‘You far away?’
    He says he’s stuck there. Another all-nighter. She hears a background conversation: it sounds like something about a body upstairs. She shivers.
    â€˜But it’s—’
    â€˜Sorry, babe.’
    â€˜Sam—’
    â€˜Won’t be a sec,’ he says to somebody at the crime scene. ‘I’ve really gotta go, Brig.’
    â€˜I love you.’ Too late — he’s hung up. She puts the phone into her skirt pocket, and curses Sam under her breath. She looks at the ceiling; there’s an abandoned spider web collecting dust in the corner.
    â€˜OK. Who wants cake?’ She smiles at the kids.
    â€˜Me! Me! Me!’
    She finishes her glass of wine on the way to the kitchen. Ryan follows, and puts his arm around her shoulders. ‘It’s OK. He’d be here if he could.’
    â€˜He forgot about their party.’ She sniffs.
    â€˜You know he loves you and the twins.’ He hands her a box of tissues; she takes a couple and blows her nose.
    â€˜Maybe.’ She throws the tissues at the bin, misses, picks them up, and karate-kicks the swing-top lid off. Her outburst is paid back with a bolt of pain through her body. She apologises, replaces the lid, and washes her hands at the sink.
    â€˜How about opening another bottle of wine?’ She follows Ryan back to the living room with the Palace of Dreams party cake that Kerry baked for them.
    The kids say ‘Ooh’ as she places it on the table. It’s a deep-purple castle, surrounded by marshmallow toadstools. A lolly-encrusted staircase leads to sherbet cone towers tiled with chocolate and hundreds and thousands.
    Brigitte lights the candles, and Ryan takes photos while they sing ‘Happy birthday’.
    The kids scoff the cake, and Brigitte pours more wine.
    â€˜What happened to not drinking?’ Ryan says.
    â€˜Changed my mind.’
    â€˜Fair enough. I can’t imagine having to listen sober to Rosie complain.’
    â€˜And worrying about Sam not coming home.’
    â€˜No fun at all.’ He goes to the stereo on the bookshelf, and walks his fingers across the tops of the CDs. ‘Nick Cave still your favourite?’
    The padlock clicks; the side gate squeaks. Ryan frowns at Brigitte.
    â€˜Aidan! Aidan!’ the twins squeal.
    â€˜Just the guy who’s staying in the bungalow.’ She dismisses it with a shrug.
    â€˜Oh, that’s right. Your tenant. How’s that going?’
    She rolls her eyes, and hopes Ryan doesn’t notice she’s blushing.
    Five minutes later, there’s a gentle knock on the kitchen door at the back of the house. She groans and gets up to answer it, muttering, ‘What does he want now?’
    He apologises for interrupting, says the light’s blown in the bungalow, and asks if she has any spare globes. His shirt is un-tucked. He smells sweaty and looks tired, dark shadows etched under his eyes. He sees Ryan over her shoulder, and frowns.
    She scrounges through the junk drawer in the kitchen cabinet. ‘Is it a bayonet?’
    â€˜No.’ He locks eyes with her — they’re cocoa-coloured — and says, ‘It’s a screw-in.’
    â€˜Sorry, don’t have any of those.’ She looks away and bangs the drawer shut, her heart rocketing.
    â€˜That’s OK. I’ve got a torch.’
    Phoebe walks into the kitchen, purple icing and hundreds and thousands all over her face. ‘Aidan, it’s my