Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1

back home.’
‘Poor kid.’ Paul was silent for a while. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this?’
She hesitated, hugging her bump. ‘I wanted to deal with it on my own. I didn’t feel good about abandoning her.’
Paul concentrated on the white lines flying towards him in the headlights.
Cerys’s phone rang, startling her. ‘Oh, Mr Davies. I’m sorry to land you with this.’
‘She’s fine, Cerys. Fast asleep in the armchair.’
‘I’m so grateful. We’ll be a couple more hours yet, but we’re coming as fast as we can. Give her my love.’
‘I will, Dear. Drive carefully. She needs her sister alive.’
22 SAM
‘I found them.’ Kitty dumped a lumpy carrier bag onto her dining table in front of Sam. ‘I knew they were there.’ She sat beside him. ‘Good thing Cerys wasn’t aware of them. I mean, would you want to keep something like this if you were planning a fresh start with someone?’
There was only one person Sam wanted to make a fresh start with, and he would not give two hoots what she had in her attic. ‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got long to look at these; I’m going to Dad’s at two.’
Kitty upended the dusty bag, and bundles of well-thumbed Filofax inserts tumbled out. One of the perished rubber bands snapped and pages skidded across the tabletop. Sam caught hold of one, a date in May. Written in Fee’s neat hand were the words, Beach hut.
Fee had inherited a primrose-coloured house on stilts in Tankerton. Sam had not thought about the place in years. Now, he found a memory of them all outside it: Kitty, Lucas and Olivia, Josh and Sam, playing hopscotch on the promenade, while their mothers laughed down from the veranda. Sam searched among the pages for the front of the diary - 1993.
Beside him, Kitty held another bundle and her expression mirrored his own: nostalgia, sadness, and apprehension.
~~~
Sam pushed the little wooden front gate of his fathers’ garden, and it lolled from its hinges into a leggy rose bush. The dirty-white render and the scrubby flower beds were evidence of Maurice’s dearth of homemaking skills.
His father was reading a newspaper at the kitchen table, but in response to Sam’s tap on the window, his face split into a wide grin. He pushed himself up with both hands and let his son in. ‘Hello Boy. How are you?’
‘I came to talk about the weekend.’ Sam hugged his old man, and Maurice patted him awkwardly on the shoulders.
‘Weekend?’
‘Yeah. Remember? I said I’d help you with the garage.’
For a moment, Maurice looked mystified, then he beamed. ‘Ah yes.’
Compared to Paul and Mick, the fathers of his friends, Maurice was already an old man. Over the past few years his memory had deteriorated, and on more than one occasion, Sam had attempted to get him to the GP. But Maurice was stubborn and refused to go. It was time for Sam to raise the matter with his irresponsible brother, Josh. Irresponsible in Sam’s opinion because he had dropped out of college after only a year and now worked on a construction site. Whenever they met, Josh had an unfamiliar girl in tow. But shiftless as he seemed, if Maurice were sick, Josh would give Sam the support he needed.
Sam glanced round the kitchen in search of a calendar. Maurice waved him to a nearby drawer where the wire-bound, week by week pad lay under a jumble of bills, notebooks and receipts. In large letters in Saturday’s space, Sam noted that he would tidy the garage. ‘Leave this on the side,’ he flapped the pad at Maurice, ‘It’ll remind you I’m coming.’ He looked around the kitchen. Years ago, although his dad had never been all that interested in domestic concerns, he had made some effort with the place. He had kept it clean, and the walls got an occasional coat of paint. But now, fronds of cobweb waved from the ceiling, while larger, occupied structures draped corners and windowsills surrounded by a litter of fly and wasp corpses. ‘Have you considered a cleaner, Dad?’
Maurice poked out his lip and folded his arms, and Sam sighed. ‘I suppose I could have a go at this after the garden.’
‘You don’t need to. I can manage.’
‘Well, it’s your house. If this is how you choose to live, go ahead, but I wouldn’t invite any ladies in.’
‘Ladies? That’s a laugh.’
A lady friend for Maurice would relieve Sam of some pressure, so he persevered. ‘No it’s not. Plenty of men your age, start again. Look at Paul.’
‘Yes, look at him. Under the thumb already.’
‘Were you under the thumb when you were with Mum?’
‘No. But look what happened. She walked out on me, didn’t she?’
‘I suppose she did.’
The conversation was getting them nowhere, and Sam stood. ‘I’ll make a move. I’m seeing you on Saturday - we can talk more then. In the meantime, why not check out a dating site? There are special ones for seniors.’
‘Seniors? Cheeky bugger!’
Sam grinned, pleased by Maurice’s flash of life. ‘Just give the idea some thought. Even if it’s only for companionship.’
‘Get out of here.’ Maurice laughed and flapped the backs of his hands at Sam.
Sam raised his palms in submission. ‘OK. I’m going.’
On his way home, Sam reflected on his own love life. He longed for Kitty, but she signalled no interest in him. Not a single giggle or flutter. The corners of Sam’s mouth kinked up at the idea of Kitty giggling. She punched him sometimes; was that horseplay? Nah. It was friendly. Kitty was his mate, nothing more. He spent the rest of the journey trying not to think about her body pressed against his own as he rode pillion on her bike.
23 ANWEN
Paul’s hallway was scattered with cardboard grocery cartons. Anwen knelt beside them and ran