Free Mother Knows Best (Novella): A Psychological Thriller Novella by Netta Newbound Page B

police!" I said, approaching Shane.
    Shane rounded the end of the truck then ran, pausing briefly to flip us the finger.
    "Why would you just let him go?" I turned on my husband, fuming.
    Jonathan had opened the boot of the car and threw a towel at me.
    "Clear the glass from the seat while I fasten Emily in,” he said, as though nothing had occurred.
    His serious no-nonsense tone worried me. I stared at him, completely lost for words.
    "I’ll tell you when we get home."
    "What did the doc … ?"
    He tipped his head towards our daughter, his eyebrows raised. "When we get home."
     
    ***
     
    Once Emily was snuggled up on the sofa with her favourite fleecy pink blanket, watching a DVD, Jonathan nodded his head towards the kitchen.
    I got up and followed him.
    "Now can you tell me why you did that?" I was stalling, not yet ready for him to tell me what the doctor said that got him so worked up.
    "Did what?" A puzzled expression crossed his face.
    "Did what? Are you serious? He smashed your window, for Christ's sake. He'd have had your stereo and anything else he could get his thieving little mitts on if I hadn't stopped him." I couldn't believe he didn’t seem to care. I shook my head, bewildered.
    “Oh, that.” He rubbed a hand over his chiselled, bristly jaw.
    “Yes, that!” I said, exasperated.
    "To be honest, Shane Logan is the least of our worries right now, Vic," he said, his eyes filled with concern.
    "Why? What did the doctor say?" I braced myself for bad news. Spine-tingling dread began spreading through my entire body.
    The kitchen door opened and Frank, Jonathan's father, shuffled in. He froze as he realised we were deep in conversation.
    "Sorry, am I interrupting?" Frank said, and turned to leave.
    "No, Dad, come in. You need to hear this too.”
    "Hear what?" I shivered as each tiny hair on the back of my neck stood to attention.
    Frank closed the door and, leaning heavily on his stick, limped over to stand beside his only son.
    Jon cleared his throat.
    "Doctor Davies agrees with you, Vic. He's going to refer Emily to a specialist for tests." His eyebrows furrowed, and a pained expression filled his eyes.
    "Oh my God. Oh my God," I cried, grabbing Jon’s arm to steady myself.
    I'd been saying she was sick for weeks, and Jon insisted I was overprotective, but I knew. Call it mother's intuition— call it what the hell you like—but I knew.
    "Hey, come here, Vic. It still might be nothing." Jonathan pulled me into his arms.
    I buried my head into his chest, trying to seek comfort from the familiar scent of him. But I could hear his heart hammering, and I knew he too was terrified.
    "I'm confused," Frank said. "What does this mean?"
    "Let's not speculate, Dad. Best to wait for the specialist's verdict."
     
    ***
     
    After putting Emily to bed, I ran a bath. Then I lay immersed in coconut-scented bubbles until I was shivering cold and my skin was in danger of becoming as wrinkled as a walnut.
    Wrapped in a fleecy dressing gown with my long brown hair twisted in a towel, I popped my head into Emily's room. She was asleep. I crept to her side and bent to kiss the top of her head and my stomach contracted.
    As I turned to leave, a little voice whispered, "Goodnight, Mummy."
    "Goodnight, my precious girl. I love you."
    "How much?"
    “To the moon and back.”
    Emily’s tinkling laughter filled my ears and broke my heart.
    I closed the door behind me, and then turned, pressing my back against it and sighing noisily.
    A movement down the hallway made me turn with a start.
    Frank stood half-in, half-out of his bedroom door, eyeing me, tentatively.
    Frank was over six feet tall with broad shoulders, a rugged complexion and a head of thick greying hair. He was still a handsome and distinguished looking man despite the ravages of the stroke. Always very capable and powerful, he’d run the farm single-handed for years, only employing casual staff at the busiest times.
    He’d also had a homekill butchery business that