Free The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller by Betsy Reavley

nice. What do you write about?’
    ‘Thrillers, Horror, that sort of thing.’
    ‘Oh. I don’t read much,’ Great. ‘But when I do it’s usually Danielle Steel. I don’t like scary books.’
    ‘Not everyone does.’
    I’m sitting cross-legged in my favourite armchair talking to my birth mother and all I can think is that I could murder a vodka and tonic. This meeting is not going the way I hoped it would.
    There is a long silence while we both try to come up with things to say. Fuck it, I think getting up out of my chair.
    ‘I’m going to get a drink. Vodka tonic. Would you like one?’
    ‘No, no thank you.’ That look of disapproval flutters across her face again.
    In the kitchen, out of sight, I take a moment to bury my face in my hands. I don’t know which one of us is more disappointed.
    Grabbing the vodka from the freezer, I take a quick swig from the bottle before making my drink and decide not to ask her what she would like for lunch. I am bound to get it wrong whatever I do, so I might as well just get on with it. I take a ready-made goats cheese tart out of the fridge and put it in the oven before returning to the sitting room. She is sitting in exactly the same position and hasn’t moved an inch. Her back is straight. She doesn’t slouch.
    ‘Josie, that’s a nice name.’
    ‘Apparently my mother chose it because she loved little women . The main character is called Josephine, you know, Jo. Have you read it?’
    ‘Not for some years.’
    ‘Well, I never liked Josephine. I don’t think it suits me, so when I was old enough, I decided I’d be Josie.’ I wonder for a moment what name Ailene might have chosen. I look her dead in the eye deciding to take the bull by the horns. ‘So, how was I conceived? What was my father like?’
    She shifts in her seat.
    ‘Well,’ Ailene folds her hands together. ‘I was very young. Seventeen, when I got pregnant. I was on holiday with my parents in Skegness. They had taken us in the caravan. We stayed on a site near the beach. It was a hot summer and lots of people had the same idea. The caravan park was very busy. Lots of families there with their children. I remember they had a disco every night. Everyone went.’
    Remembering the past, she looks wistful, happy even. This is promising .
    ‘I met him at the disco. He was on holiday with his parents. He was very handsome. He came from Oxford, I think. He was with his older sister and his brother. Anyway we got talking, we made friends and started spending time together. We’d go to the beach and eat ice cream. One night he stole some of his dad’s beer and we went back to my caravan. Our parents were all at the disco. It was the first time I ever drank alcohol.’
    I know what’s coming next.
    ‘He was very nice to me. I was drunk.’ She looks so ashamed and I begin to soften. ‘It was my first time.’
    I nod and we sit silently for a moment.
    ‘Did you ever see him again?’
    ‘No, never. He has no idea you exist.’ She is matter of fact and her brutally cold delivery leaves me breathless.
    ‘When did you discover you were pregnant?’ I regain my composure.
    ‘We weren’t very educated about such matters when I was young. My mother saw me getting dressed one day and took to me to the doctor. I was about five months gone. It was a horrible shock. I’d never been to bed with anyone before or after. It was only the once.’
    Again, I am made to feel dirty.
    ‘My parents were disgusted. They didn’t want the shame of it. So, they sent me to stay with my aunt in Ireland to see out the rest of the pregnancy. There was no question I could keep you. The adoption was arranged before you were even born.’ I can see sorrow in her eyes and I feel pity for her. ‘They took you away minutes after I’d given birth. You were born on a Wednesday. That was the first and last time I ever saw you. Until now.’
    ‘So I was born in Ireland?’
    ‘Yes, in Dublin.’
    ‘So, how did I end up living with a