Murder Read Free Page B

controlling parenting.
    ‘Look, Mother! Look!’ The boy was pointing out to a flurry of gulls wheeling and diving into the water.
    ‘Don’t lean over too far!’ Juliana hurried forward, and Charles and I followed.
    ‘But look!’
    As their beaks nipped eagerly, the volume of gulls made the water foam and churn, but at their centre I could just make out a dark hunk of something being tugged this way and that.
    ‘It’s a dead thing!’ James squealed excitedly. ‘They’re eating a dead thing!’
    We turned away from the water after that.
    *
    Walter Andrews arrived in time for Christmas dinner, laden with parcels and a bottle of fine port, and by the time we had all eaten our fill and little James was playing with his new toys we were truly a festive gathering. Crackers had been pulled and nuts had been cracked, and then Juliana played the piano and we sang carols. Outside, as if in a fine salute to the day, the temperature dropped and the first snowflakes of the winter began to fall. I could not have wished for a more perfect Christmas.
    ‘Say goodnight to Uncle Thomas and Inspector Andrews,’ Juliana said, ushering the sleepy child towards us. ‘And thank them for their presents.’
    ‘Just Mr Andrews these days,’ Walter said, ruffling the boy’s angelic curls. ‘Good night, young Master James.’
    ‘Thank you for the cricket bat,’ the boy murmured.
    ‘We shall have you at the crease come summer.’ Andrews winked at him.
    Little James turned to me and came in closer to where I sat so he could wrap his thin arms around me in a hug.
    ‘Merry Christmas, Uncle Thomas,’ he said. I returned the embrace, but I felt stiff and awkward. I tried to like the boy, I truly did. It was not that he was an unpleasant child – that was not the case. He was quieter than most boys of his age, and somewhat reserved and clingy with his mother, but he was not spiteful, nor mean. It was merely that he was the child of a monster, conceived at the height of his father’s murdering madness, and I could not help but wonder whether the sins ofhis father somehow lurked in his soul. And when those wide blue eyes were fixed on me, studious and sombre, I found I could not help but believe it.
    ‘Thank you for my books. And my train.’ He kept his arms round my neck and kissed my cheek, and knowing that Juliana was watching with fondness I patted his back and forced a smile, though I could not bring myself to return the kiss.
    ‘You’re very welcome, young man,’ I said instead. He pulled back and stared at me for a moment, then returned to his mother’s side.
    ‘I shall come and read you one of those new stories with your mother,’ Charles said as he got up from his seat. ‘How would you like that?’
    ‘Thank you, Grandfather,’ he said politely as Charles swept him up in his arms and groaned as if the slight boy was far too much weight. He pretended to stagger slightly under the load and little James laughed, a gentle giggle, and I felt a moment of sadness at my inability to like him.
    ‘Goodnight, Uncle Thomas,’ he said again.
    ‘We’ll be down shortly,’ Juliana said and smiled at me. ‘Now come along, both of you.’
    When we were alone, Andrews poured me another glass of port and then added some coal to the fire before we went to the window and looked out at the snow and the gaslights flickering in the houses along the curved street. I thought of all the families who had decorated their trees and opened their presents and I hoped they had enjoyed as happy a day as we had.
    ‘The boy is very fond of you,’ Andrews said. ‘I think he wanted you to read his story to him rather than Charles.’
    ‘Oh, I think not.’ I was surprised by his words – the child was as awkward with me as I was with him, and I had presumed that was apparent to all.
    ‘You’re the closest person to a father he has.’ Andrews sipped his port. In a house further up someone drew the curtains closed. Christmas was coming to an end