Читать книгу Trapped: The Terrifying True Story of a Secret World of Abuse онлайн | страница 28

Soon after we arrived back home I suggested a walk to the local shop. ‘You could have a look around and see if anything takes your fancy for lunch,’ I said, hopeful that if I gave Phoebe a small trolley she might gain a bit more enthusiasm for food, the way children often do when they feel involved.

‘Hwah.’ Phoebe instantly gagged at the thought.

‘Alright, not to worry,’ I soothed, assuming all the emotion had upset her system. ‘I’ve got to get some milk anyway.’

Jamie looked revolted by the sounds Phoebe was making, watching her with his lip curled in disgust.

It was a lovely spring day with few clouds in the sky. I closed my eyes briefly as Phoebe skipped ahead, tilting my face to the warm sun. The tenseness I was carrying in my shoulders eased slightly as I enjoyed the fresh breeze rippling over my skin. It was such a relief to be out of the house; it had been only half an hour or so, but I felt as if I’d been cooped up for days.

Lowering my face again I saw that Phoebe was spinning her hands either side of her hips and walking with a strange gait, something she hadn’t been doing indoors. She began muttering and every so often broke into a snarl, shaking her fist at passing traffic like a confused old drunkard. It really looked most odd and I noticed a few drivers slow down, frowning. One, a young lad driving a white van, did a double take, no doubt surprised to be on the receiving end of aggressive jeers simply for driving inoffensively down the road.

Phoebe reached the mini-store first. To her credit, she obediently waited outside the entrance for me to catch up. Facing the glass doors, she stood with her legs a foot apart, gesticulating wildly at her reflection. Several customers gave her a wide berth as they left the shop, trying to avoid her flaying arms.

As I caught up they stared at me in disapproving puzzlement, as if I’d allowed my eight-year-old daughter access to magic mushrooms or some other hallucinogenic that might explain her strange conduct.

‘Come on,’ I said, cupping her elbow and guiding her into the shop.