Free A Taste for Malice by Michael J. Malone Page A

done talking, Jim. I don’t even have the energy to argue any more. Just, please, say goodbye and then go.’ She stepped back into the hallway, looked over her shoulder to Ben and said, ‘Come and say goodbye to your dad, Ben. He’s going away for a few days.’ Her hand moved from her chin to her nose and then rested on her mouth as she struggled to maintain her control. By her actions she was telling Jim that Ben had to be protected at all costs.
    Jim went along with the play as scripted by her and stamped a smile on his face in preparation for his goodbye scene.
    ‘Daddy will see you later,’ he said while trying not to hold him too tight. “Later” came out of his mouth as if a giant fist had squeezed the last drop of oxygen from his lungs. He pressed his lips against the warm square of Ben’s forehead and turned away from him while he still had some measure of control.
    How he made those few steps to the car and remained upright he’d never know. His shoulder shook with huge hiccupping sobs. The view from the car was so blurred as to be indistinct. He made it round the corner before his emotions swamped him. Hugging himself he rocked back and forward in the car seat. Was this feeling ever going to end?
    Then it occurred to him that he would no longer be a part of Ben’s daily existence. No way would Angela keep him from seeing him, he trusted her on that, but he wouldn’t be there every morning when Ben walked through from his bedroom with his pillow-tousled hair. He wouldn’t be there every day when Ben complained about having to eat carrots. He wouldn’t be there every evening to listen to his son plead for another story. He didn’t know how he would cope. A day without Ben in it was simply unthinkable.
    What have I done? he had kept asking himself. What have I done? As he left the house Angela almost gave in to his demand for an answer.
    Her eyes were heavy with betrayal. ‘Look into your conscience, Jim. The answer’s there.’ As she spoke she slipped something into her back pocket. Jim caught it in his vision for no more than a second. Long enough to see what looked like a letter.

    Jim was in his office at the bookshop processing the sales from the previous week. Or he should have been. Instead he was staring at a computer spreadsheet with his mind immersed in his worries. Ever since he returned to work he worried about leaving Angela in the house on her own. Yes, she would spend most of the day sleeping, it seemed she was never done sleeping, but there were a lot of things she’d want to do, things that could mentally trip her, things that might hurt her. She needed constant attention, but he had a job to maintain. A mortgage to pay.
    Most of the time it felt like that was the least of his worries however. He was living a perjured life. Every moment of his family’s life, every step forward was reaching his brain through the filter of a monumental lie. And it was imprinting its stain on everything. Nothing good would happen without it being tempered, warped or reduced to a cheaper version of itself. No smile or touch would reach him and make its full impact.
    And what about last night? They had almost ended up in bed together. He couldn’t let that happen again. The chances were that Angela had forgotten all about it and he wasn’t about to remind her. The lie of their relationship couldn’t be allowed to flounder against the rock of his libido. That would be one betrayal too many to an Angela in full possession of her faculties.
    Could he tell the truth? Could he just go home after work and tell her everything? They were too far along the road surely. Surely? If, or when Angela found out, could she go it alone? Maybe she would see that she was too fragile without him. Maybe by then she would be in love with him again and she would forgive the lie knowing it was told with the best of intentions.
    To live through the alternative again was just too painful to contemplate.
    She was at the