In Too Deep Read Free Page B

ignore her comment and put my tray on the sofa beside me. I fetch my laptop from the table in the window, gently nudging Cooper away from my food as I sit back down. I log in and go to the website I found earlier.
    ‘This hotel,’ I say, twisting the computer round so she can see the soft gingery stone façade of Fox Court. The main picture shows the building at night, lit up yellow and gold with a crown of snow on the rooftop. Christmas lights adorn a monkey puzzle tree in the foreground. It looks idyllic.
    Hannah studies the pictures as I scroll down, revealing yet more images of the hotel in spring and summer. The internal shots make her eyebrows rise as she forks up her food.
    ‘Very posh,’ she says, making an approving face. ‘But I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    The more I think about it, the more important I realisethis is. I’ve already decided to tell PC Kath Lane, let her know that Rick wasn’t even close to winding up his affairs, or facing an empty void in his future, or running away, or even planning suicide.
    He was booking a romantic trip for our anniversary.
    I fight back the tears. I mustn’t upset Hannah. The counsellor warned me about the temporary boundaries she’ll have put up to protect herself; made sure I understood how important it is that they stay intact for as long as she needs them.
    But then there’s the flip side of this new discovery. If Rick didn’t plan it, if he intended on coming home that morning after going to the shop, then all I’m left with is that something bad must have happened to him.
    After four months, it’s the not knowing that’s killing me.
    ‘Dad booked a break at this hotel,’ I explain. ‘He found a good deal online. It was going to be a surprise for me. It’s all paid for.’
    Saying it out loud makes me want to call the woman back, get her to tell me absolutely everything about the booking, what she knows, if she spoke to Rick personally, or if he did it all on the internet.
    Hannah still looks blank. I want her to sense my excitement. I want her to know what this means – that Rick still loved me, that he wanted to take me away and celebrate our special day together.
    ‘That was a waste of money then,’ she says flatly. She turns up the volume again, her back rounded against thecushions on the sofa. She puts her tray on the floor, her food virtually untouched. Cooper moves in immediately, but Hannah pushes him away with her foot. For a moment she holds her tummy and pulls a face.
    ‘Didn’t you like it?’ I say, hardly able to believe what she just said.
    ‘It was nice,’ she says, staring at the telly. ‘I just feel a bit sick.’
    I wish I could break down the barriers between us, cross the mile-high fence she’s put up. Whenever I talk about Rick, it seems as if every part of her becomes numb and desensitised. She hears what I’m saying, and I think she recognises my pain. She just refuses to partake of it. The counsellor said this is natural, said that teenagers have a very different way of coping with grief. And it’s true. I remember how she was when we lost Jacob. She was only thirteen at the time.
    ‘Maybe we could still go on the spa break,’ I say on impulse. ‘You and me.’
    I wait a moment, but she doesn’t reply.
    ‘It would be nice to spend some time together. And at least it wouldn’t be a waste of money then and . . .’
    Hannah doesn’t respond. She stares at the television, looking pale and fragile.
    ‘I’ll wash up,’ I say, standing and gathering the dirty plates. I haven’t finished my food either, but I can’t face it now.
    The kitchen is dark and cool, and seems to stay this way even when I switch on the lights. I hear clicking onthe tiles behind me. Cooper has followed me out, so I pluck a piece of chicken skin from a plate and drop it into his open mouth. His jaws clap together gratefully, and he watches me through eyes so dark and glassy they could be fake. I crouch