Page 26 of The Psychopath Next Door

Rose answered first. ‘We were worried you might not let us walk Lola in the fields anymore.’

‘Is that right, Dylan?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. I guess. Also, I didn’t want to cause you any more stress or worry.’

Emma and I exchanged a glance. Dylan was a sensitive boy. He knew stuff had happened between us in our old house and he must have had some inkling that we were making this fresh start to try to save our marriage. It broke my heart to think he couldn’t come to us for help because we were too stressed.

‘Plus it was dealt with,’ he said.

‘By who?’

‘By Fiona. She talked to them, told them to leave us alone. She was great, wasn’t she, Rose?’

‘Yeah, she was amazing.’

Emma looked towards the door, and I thought she was about to march outside to give Tommy a piece of her mind. ‘This is a lot to process. Tommy really thinks Dylan might have had something to do with his son’s accident? That’s unbelievable.’

‘That’s what I said. It’s ridiculous.’

‘He probably feels guilty about letting them ride around on that dangerous thing and is trying to find someone else to blame.’

Here we were, agreeing. United. It felt good.

‘I don’t want you going near that house, okay?’ Emma said to Dylan and Rose.

‘What about taking Lola to the fields?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s fine, isn’t it?’ Rose said. ‘I mean, isn’t Albie in a coma? He’s not going to be able to bother us now, is he?’

‘You sound like you’re actually glad he’s in a coma,’ Dylan said.

Rose shrugged. ‘I can’t deny my feelings.’

We all looked at her – surprised, I thought, more by the phrasing than the sentiment.

‘I don’t know if he’s actually in a coma,’ I said. ‘But we shouldn’t be glad he’s got a brain injury.’

Rose muttered something.

‘What was that?’

Without looking up, she said, ‘I’m amazed he had much of a brain to injure.’

‘Rose!’ Emma and I said together, and Dylan rolled his eyes.

‘Can I go to my room now?’ he asked. ‘I’ve arranged to play FIFA with Sam and Milo, and they’re going to be waiting for me.’

I sighed. ‘Sure. Go.’

He left, and Rose stayed at the table for a minute.

‘Rose,’ Emma said, ‘you should have told us about those boys the moment you got home.’

Rose pouted. ‘Why should I? I don’t have to tell you everything.’

I’m not sure if Emma was tired or stressed or feeling that most terrible of things, parental guilt, but she snapped, ‘Actually, you do. You’re twelve.’

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