The Murder House. Michael Wood

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter One

      Monday, 15 January 2018

       02.30

      Jeremy Mercer couldn’t sleep. The room was spinning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had drunk so much. Still, it wasn’t a regular occurrence. A blow-out once in a while didn’t do any harm. Maybe he should have slowed down though. Looking back, he seemed to have had a glass of champagne in his hand since early evening until he staggered out of the marquee, into the house, and, somehow, managed to crawl upstairs.

      He felt sick. He closed his eyes but that seemed to make matters worse. He quickly opened them again and gave a little laugh. He was back in the bedroom he had grown up in, his mother and father asleep in the attic room upstairs.

      Jeremy had been sensible in front of his seven-year-old daughter, Rachel, but once she had gone to bed at eight o’clock, he’d let his hair down and allowed his father to continue pouring glass after glass of champagne down his throat.

      Today, or rather, yesterday, was a special occasion. His little sister, Leah, had got married. As the fug of alcohol distorted his memory, one image of the happy day stuck out more than others. Just before the ceremony, he had gone into his parents’ bedroom where Leah was getting ready and they’d had a chat.

      ‘Wow, you look stunning,’ he said. ‘You look so grown up.’

      ‘Thank you. I can’t stop smiling,’ she said. The floor-length gown was an off-white colour. It was a simple design, but the material was sheer and elegant. It may have sounded like a cliché, but she really did look like a princess. ‘How’s Oliver doing?’

      ‘He’s fine. His shoes are hurting his ankles.’

      The smile dropped. ‘I told him to put wet newspaper in them a few days before the wedding. Well, I don’t care if they cause blisters and he’s in agony for weeks, he’s leading me on that dancefloor.’

      Jeremy sat down on the bed. ‘Can you believe this?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘It doesn’t seem like five minutes ago you and I were in the back garden pushing each other off the swing. Now look at us; you’re getting married and I’ve got a seven-year-old daughter, a mortgage and debts up to my eyeballs.’

      ‘It’s fun being a grown-up, СКАЧАТЬ