The Old House on the Corner Read Free Page B

anything, I have to get money from somewhere. Are there any cash machines around here?’ She sat up, swung her legs out of bed, and looked around the untidy room, as if expecting to see one amidst the jumble of bottles and boxes on the dressing table.
    ‘I’ll find out,’ Rachel said helpfully. ‘There’s bound to be some on Smithdown Road. If not, I’ll lend you some money. And my husband and I are going shopping later. We’ll get the stuff for you and anything else you need.’
    ‘Thank you, you’re very kind – I can’t remember your name. I’ve no idea where Smithdown Road is. I don’t know anything any more,’ she wailed. ‘And I need all sorts of other stuff: a kettle, for instance, and an iron, not that I know how to use one, and one of those big flat things you fry things in.’
    ‘My name’s Rachel, dear, and what you need is called a frying pan.’ She patted Sarah’s hand. ‘Smithdown andAllerton Roads are no distance away. They’re full of shops and there’s a lovely big park directly behind called the Mystery where the children can play when they get older. You’ll find this a really convenient place to live. Liverpool city centre is only a bus ride away. It’s hardly worth taking the car.’
    ‘This time last week, I lived in a seven-bedroomed house and had a nanny for the children. I’m finding it hard to get used to this – but I
will
. I’ve promised myself that I will.’ Sarah brushed back her thick, fair hair with a determined gesture. Her dishevelled appearance, and the fact that she smelled a bit, couldn’t disguise how lovely she was, with perfect bone structure and huge blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes. Her legs were long and brown and as perfect as her face. She wore brief shorts to match the T-shirt. It was one of those modern sleeping outfits – Rachel’s daughter, Kirsty, wore the same sort of thing.
    Frank arrived. He came bounding up the stairs and into the bedroom, puffing slightly. ‘It’s bloody hot out there,’ he panted. Rachel noticed the way his eyes narrowed calculatingly when he saw the long-legged Sarah. It was a look she’d seen before. Frank had always been a flirt, but it was only recently he’d started to have affairs. Sarah would be perfect for him: just separated from her husband and feeling very vulnerable – and living right under his nose.
    ‘Well,’ Frank drawled. ‘You’re clearly not dead. That’s a relief.’ Sarah smiled tremulously and fluttered her eyelashes.
    ‘Where’s Tiffany?’ Rachel enquired.
    ‘I woke up Kirsty, she’s with her.’ Frank didn’t even look at his wife, having eyes only for Sarah’s shapelybreasts – the nipples were enticingly visible through the thin cotton top.
    A little boy came wandering in, completely naked, sucking the corner of a scrap of blue blanket. It was Jack, who Rachel remembered was two and a half.
    ‘Oh, hello, darling.’ Sarah regarded him listlessly. ‘Is Alastair still asleep?’
    ‘Alastair not there,’ Jack said through a mouthful of blanket.
    ‘Perhaps he went walkies with Tiffany,’ Frank suggested.
    ‘He’s only seven months old,’ Sarah screamed. ‘I’ve just remembered. I had him in bed with me. I might have smothered him.’ She dragged back the duvet to reveal a plump baby lying with his face buried in the pillow. ‘Alastair, darling.’ She picked him up and clutched him to her chest. ‘He’s still breathing,’ she announced tearfully.
    ‘Thank goodness.’ Rachel suddenly felt very tired and wanted to go home. Sarah Rees-James and her offspring were very wearing.
    She therefore wasn’t quite sure how it happened that, two hours later, Frank drove to the supermarket with a list of groceries, accompanied by Sarah Rees-James, while Rachel was left to look after the children. Why couldn’t Sarah have written a list and looked after her own children? Come to that, how come the two women hadn’t gone and left the children with Frank?
    Why didn’t