The Other Child Read Online Free PDF

are you doing up?’ Greg said. ‘It’s not even six.’
    ‘I don’t know, I woke up starving. Was that our neighbour?’
    ‘Out there? Yeah.’
    ‘Did you run together?’
    ‘What? No.’ He kicked off his trainers.
    ‘Is she nice?’
    ‘You haven’t met her yet?’
    ‘Well, I’ve seen her a few times, but we haven’t actually spoken.’
    He turned away to put his trainers into the hall cupboard. ‘You should go say hi, she’s pretty friendly. She’s called Helena, she’s a doctor; her kids are at Joe’s school.’ He kissed her briefly on the mouth, then slipped past her, up the stairs, to the shower.
    She tries to make eye contact across the playground, but Helena is typing into her phone, tapping one heel, leaning her shoulder on the knee of the sinister Humpty-Dumpty carving on the side of the school building. It is a vast, bulbous stone figure, the sort of thing first-graders must have nightmares about. Its grey eyes follow Tess as she crosses the playground.
    She is almost there when a chubby girl, around seven years old, runs past her – Helena’s youngest. Helena looks up, says something sharply to her daughter, puts away her phone and strides towards her silver Prius with the little girl trailing behind, dragging a Hello Kitty backpack. As she reaches the car, Helena looks back at Tess. Their eyes meet, Tess raises a hand, but Helena gives no sign of recognition. She gets into the car and slams the door.
    Tess turns back to the school, feeling her face flare. The snub was so obvious she can feel the other mothers staring openly now. More children are pouring out of the double doors. She tries to collect herself because Joe is going to emerge any moment, pale and wall-eyed. A couple of times lately he has thrown his backpack at her feet and taken off across the park towards the house.
    And here he is, with a face as white as the puff of cloud above the red-brick building. She lifts a hand and although she knows that he has seen her, he doesn’t wave back, he just skims past, face closed, neck tight. She follows him over the road and into the park. Other children scamper in the sunshine, shouting, throwing baseballs and footballs, but Joe marches away. His arms are stiff by his sides, his backpack humps against his spine; he looks very small. She wants to run after him and fold her arms around him and hold him tight, protect him against this unhappiness and stress, but she knows that if she tries to catch up he’ll only go faster. Two women glance at her, smile glassily and murmur to each other as she passes.
    When she gets to the house she can’t see Joe, but a woman with a peroxide ponytail is standing on the porch, holding a huge plate of cookies. Her athletic legs, in cut-offs, are tanned, with veins creeping up the calves like vines.
    ‘Hey! I’m Sandra Schechter, I live right across the street.’ She shows large, well-organized teeth, nodding at the tall house opposite. ‘I feel so bad for not coming over before – I’ve been travelling for work, you know how it is – but I brought you a little belated “welcome to the neighbourhood” gift.’
    ‘Oh, thank you, this is so kind.’ Tess takes the plate. It is decorated with stars and stripes and contains enough cookies to feed forty people.
    ‘It’s nothing!’ Sandra’s eyes are kind. ‘I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to come over and say hi. How’re you guys settling in?’
    Inside the house the phone starts to ring. It does this around the same time every day. Greg, Nell and the obstetrician are the only people who have their home number, but when she picks up the line is invariably dead.
    ‘You’re from England, right? Oh my goodness, we just love England! We were in London last year for my niece’s wedding . . .’
    Then she remembers the phone ringing late last night, when she was almost asleep. Down in the kitchen she heard Greg answer it and say something in a low voice, then hang up. When he came up