By Dorothy Horsfield
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Additional resources for Venom
Next, she spring-cleaned the house, clearing out cupboards, discarding with ruthless determination 30odd years of assorted bits and pieces. ’ She cleaned the windows and sugar-soaped the walls — the next best thing to a much-needed coat of paint. She did her best to polish the beaten old sideboard, the hallstand, the chipped coffee tables, defeated by their need of a good sanding and relacqueuring. Though she talked of nothing else for weeks, she did not demand that her husband involve himself in these enterprises.
The trunk had patches of scribbly lines like someone with an unsteady hand had practised cursive writing on it. Looking around, she saw that all the trees bore the same cryptic message. Paddy would surely know what caused it. She heard his shout of alarm, almost a scream, with an edge to it that sent her scrambling and scrabbling across the rocks, calling his name in a hoarse voice. It was long seconds before she found him, a good way off the track behind a clump of boulders. He was spread-eagled halfway up a four-metre-high rock face.
It seemed so stupid — two people battered by their commitment to marriage and respectability. She could see no good reason for such a life, especially in the face of her mother’s exasperation. Now her mother was hellbent on ignoring the torment of her husband’s illness. Maybe she thought dying was contagious — if you kept busy it wouldn’t infect you. Madeleine’s face flushed with the threat of tears. She bent her head to kiss the wisps of hair from Josh’s forehead so that his fists clenched with pleasure.