Red Skye at Night Read Free Page A

resigned to the inevitable. “I’m done listening. It’s ye who needs to listen, and adapt, though it’s too late now. I love Sarah. I love our baby. We’re going to be a family, with or without you.”
    “No, no…”
    Ritchie’s own words had had no effect, but he thought Ann-Marie’s wail of anguish might have been enough to give his father pause even now had the older man not been so blinded by his own rage and locked into his stubborn intransigence. Despite Angus’ taciturn demeanor, Ritchie knew that his father loved his mother and he was not in the habit of ignoring her wishes. But this… This was…
    Ritchie found what he was searching for in the bureau—his birth certificate. He pocketed that then grabbed his holdall.
    “Don’t go, oh please don’t go. Angus…” Ann-Marie was pleading, the tears already streaming down her cheeks
    Ritchie hefted the bag over his shoulder. He stopped to hug his mother, wrapping his arms briefly around her slim shoulders. She was starting to weep in earnest, helpless to prevent this disaster unfolding in her living room. Angus turned his back on the scene, his shoulders stiff as he glared unseeing out of the window.
    Ritchie ignored his father, past caring now what was going on in Angus’ head. “I’m sorry, Mam, but I have to look after Sarah—and the bairn. I have to put them first. Ye do see that, don’t ye? We canna live here. That’s plain. I wouldna ask it of her.”
    Ann-Marie didn’t answer, and Ritchie’s heart twisted as she clung to him. She was sobbing, murmuring incoherent pleas, as though wishing hard enough could make everything right again. Ritchie peeled her fingers from his jacket, kissed her forehead and headed for the door. As he stepped through it for the final time he heard Ann-Marie’s voice, hard and cold behind him. Her words were directed at his father.
    “I’ll never, ever forgive you for letting it come to this.”
     

Chapter One
     
     
     
    Leeds, April 2012
     
    Uh-oh, pushchairs and juice. Not a good combination.
    I don’t want to seem uncharitable. It’s not that I don’t like children. I do. They’re cute and cuddly and they do things that make me laugh. But they tend to be messy. There can be no denying that. They are invariably noisy. They scream for no obvious reason, they’re prone to leaking and they’re sticky. The din doesn’t bother me at all, but mess needs cleaning up and that means lost fares while I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing God knows what unmentionable stuff from my upholstery. Small children are less inclined to leave stains behind than drunks are, but in my opinion, both are best avoided during the course of the working day.
    I lean against my bonnet, enjoying the late afternoon spring breeze as I watch the long queue of recently disembarked passengers swelling by the second as they pour from the airport arrivals lounge onto the flagged forecourt where we taxi drivers await their pleasure. According to the app on my phone, two flights have just come in—one from Majorca and the other from Dusseldorf. The returning travelers are mingled together in a happy, chaotic crowd.
    Time for a little game, just to pass the time. When I’m on airport duty, I like to amuse myself when I get the chance by observing potential fares as they wait their turn in the taxi queue. I try to guess where they’ve just flown in from. The harassed couple have to be from the Majorca flight. They’re lugging two folded baby buggies and wrestling with three under-fives, several cartons of juice and small bags of jelly tots, which I know full well are a bugger to get off the seats. The elderly couple wearing his and hers shell suits probably are too. The three lads now starting to sing merrily about the merits of Liverpool Football Club as they sway in the spring breeze…undoubtedly so. There’s no way this trio are getting anywhere near my cab. No amount of disinfectant can quite mask the distinctive aroma of