Free Unspoken by Sam Hayes Page A

I can’t. I see an abyss so deep that when she is at the bottom, no one will hear her call.
    ‘Alex, you shouldn’t ask your uncle so many questions.’ Julia’s voice is shaky, like her driving.
    ‘Oh, Mum,’ he moans. ‘Uncle Ed says I can. He’s going to find the man who killed Grace.’
    ‘Grace is not dead,’ Julia retorts. She sighs and pulls the car straight after hitting a pothole on my drive. ‘She’s very poorly, though, and I sincerely hope that Uncle Ed catches whoever did this to her.’
    ‘I want Uncle Ed to catch him otherwise it might happen to you or Grandma or Flora.’
    ‘Enough, Alex!’ Julia explodes, as if being in the neurology department has stripped all her nerves raw. ‘Inside, kids, while I help Grandma.’ She paces her movements with short, sharp breaths, each one taking her to the next minute.
    As Julia helps me out of my seatbelt and leads me inside, I think about what Alex said. How can I tell him it’s already too late?

MURRAY
    There was no point in the world trying to hide my mistake. We could have died, I admit. With not a speck of air left in the cabin from the hungry furnace-like stove, Alex and Flora had heaved open the heavy wooden hatch of Alcatraz and stepped out on to the rear deck to gasp lungfuls of icy night air. Their bodies hungrily drew in the oxygen and I was saved only because they left the hatch open.
    ‘How could you, Murray? They could have suffocated. You’re irresponsible and selfish and useless and . . .’ Julia screamed at me from the deck, her barrage dissolving into the freezing night. She didn’t set foot inside the cabin, which smelled like a distillery and blew out hot, dry air from the over-coked stove that I had lit to keep my children warm. That was all. I’d not wanted them to go back to Julia and complain that Daddy had let them shiver. But I’d drunk Scotch and fallen asleep on the floor with my neck bent crooked and the empty bottle between my knees.
    It was eleven fifteen when Julia, reeking of Dr Nice, finally stormed back down the towpath, dragging our bemused children with her. They were sure , I heard them tell her, that they had seen three giant pike lurking in the light of the moon. When I looked up – Julia’s cross words still ringing through the night – I saw that the moon was obscured by cloud. Had the children imagined the pike, just as I’d imagined I could take care of them?
     
    I’ve made it into work today. Odd, considering my head feels like a demolition ball has crashed through it, and also odd because I’m about to lose my job. Any sane person wouldn’t have bothered showing up under the circumstances – pride or shame or simply the hangover keeping them away. Me, however, I’m desperate, and turning things around is what I have to do. If I can keep my job, there’s a chance that I can keep my family.
    ‘French!’ Sheila Hanley – boss and all-round demon – is in my office snapping orders. ‘Do these. Today.’ A pile of files lands on my desk, the thud of them sending shockwaves through my body. I wince. ‘And get yourself some coffee. You look like shit.’ A fiendish smile slices up her face and she ruffles my hair. ‘You know how much I love you.’
    ‘Good morning to you too, Sheila. You look . . . as beautiful as ever.’
    She shakes her head, and I realise flattery will get me nowhere. Her lacquered hair doesn’t budge. The neck of her crisp cotton blouse is open a little too low for a woman of forty-five, and her waist is unfeasibly trim. Her heels are high and her lips are red – always bright red. Somehow Sheila Hanley, senior partner of Redman, Hanley and Bright, carries off the look.
    ‘There’s a road traffic accident, a matrimonial case and a debt recovery for you.’ She pats the files as if they are her children. ‘Nothing too hard for you today, eh, darling?’
    It’s what I was expecting. The bottom of the pile. Then, just when I think it couldn’t get any worse, the last