Read The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller for Free Online

him.
    ‘What?’
    I don’t understand his confusion.
    ‘Don’t make me say it again. I’m going to stop drinking so much, OK?’
    ‘OK, Jo.’ His lack of animation bothers me suddenly.
    ‘What time is the game on?’ I say, stroking his face.
    ‘Which game?’ A frown creeps across his face.
    ‘The United game. What time are we playing them?’
    Charlie sits up suddenly and rubs the back of his neck with his hand.
    ‘That was yesterday. We watched it on Match of the Day. Remember?’
    No. I don’t remember.
    ‘Oh yes, but I meant, what was the score? I kept falling asleep and I’m not sure I know the final result.’ I hear myself tripping over the words and feel ludicrous.
    ‘Fucking draw.’ He says and wrinkles his nose. ‘We should have won. Sturridge was on fire and they were lousy.’
    Why does none of this resonate? My head throbs.
    We lie in silence for some time and I listen to the soothing sound of his breathing. I can tell from the hum that he is almost sleeping and his relaxed demeanour starts to rub off on me.
    With a loud sigh, I move into his body and wrap my arm around his waist. His penis is still on display and I can’t resist moving my hand over the shaft and giving a gentle squeeze, to which, he smiles.
    ‘Got enough energy for round two?’ I whisper into his ear, enjoying the feel of my warm breath.
    Silently, he turns onto his side, facing me, and lets his hand find my crotch. His fingers briefly dance in my pubic hair before searching for a point of entry.
    With his thumb, he stimulates me. I bite down on my lip and push my pelvis towards him.
     
    The rest of the day we spend flopping about. I live in my slippers and he doesn’t get out of his blue towelling dressing gown. The television is on in the background while he lies dozing on the couch. In my office, I try to write something new but struggle to put words down. My head isn’t in the right place. I haven’t written anything for days and days.
    Bringing my knees up to my chin, I hug my legs. There is a faint smell of sex on my skin and I inhale, enjoying the memory.
    Then out of the corner of my eye, I see my calendar hanging on the wall. The uniform squares separating the dates are a mess of red and black ink, arrows and circles where I’ve made plans, changed them and changed them back. But the thing that stands out to me is my father’s birthday. In a week, he will turn seventy-four. I’m reminded of the mess my relationship with my family is in. My stomach does a flip and I push my office chair away from the desk before spinning round in it and jumping out.
    Charlie is still on the sofa, an arm thrown over his face, one testicle hanging out of his robe, and as I sit down carefully beside him, I think he is all the family I need. But then a thought cross my mind like a firework lighting up the sky. What if two became three?
    I hadn’t considered children with Charlie. We’d met, moved in and married so quickly, there had barely been time to make other plans. But now, sitting in our cosy London home, it all falls into place. I know he is older than I but that shouldn’t matter. Without question, he would be a wonderful father. Doubts hang over my ability to parent but one thing is clear, I couldn’t do a worse job than my mother. I would never abandon my child.
    So excited by the prospect, I wriggle on top of Charlie and start to kiss his face. He grunts and tries to turn over but there isn’t enough room on the sofa. He grunts again.
    ‘Jo…’ he grumbles, ‘just a few minutes peace.’
    ‘No time for that, lover.’ I nibbled his ear with just a little more vigour than usual.
    ‘Oow.’ He pulls his head away suddenly alert. ‘That hurt.’
    ‘I just want you to wake up.’ I say in my best little girl voice. He opens one eye and looks at me.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I want us to have baby.’
    I say it as if I’ve requested pizza for dinner. Both eyes now open, he sits up to face me.
    ‘Are you serious?’ He