Sulkily, Tegan takes Dylan to her room. Phoenix follows and, to her surprise, Tegan manages to get Dylan washed and dressed mostly by herself, only needing help with getting the toothbrush out of his mouth and untwisting the bib of his dungarees.
Phoenix rewards Dylan’s cooperation with more juggling.
“How come you’re so good with kids?” Tegan asks. “I suppose you’re one of many.”
Phoenix dumps the balls in Tegan’s lap. “It’s time I got dressed.”
Shower water bounces off her angry body and she slaps shampoo into her hair. Why do people assume that? People from her community are as mixed as everyone else. Big families, small, one parent, two, some with hands-on grandparents, some without. Then she remembers Tegan doesn’t know her background; the question was genuine. She throws on jeans and a sweatshirt, and goes back to Tegan, feeling calmer.
Tegan smiles at her. “I’ve cancelled my meeting. I think the others were still in bed anyway.” Her tone is conciliatory. Maybe she realizes she offended Phoenix, although it’s more likely that she’s gearing up to ask another favour. She and Dylan are on their knees, rolling the juggling balls back and forth to each other. “Can you give Imo a knock? It’ll take her ages to surface and we don’t want to get to the barbecue late.”
“We? Imo and I can’t go. The woman from the Parents’ stall will remember that we cross-examined her. If she knows something about Amber, she won’t tell us. You’ll have to go by yourself.”
She throws up a ball and catches it on the bridge of her nose, imagining the panic coursing through Tegan. She’s going to have to look after Dylan on her own. The ice queen will never show her fear, but it’s enough for Phoenix to know it’s there.
Chapter 42
Tegan
“Don’t pull my hair. You’re not a baby.” Tegan releases the buckle on Dylan’s car seat and lifts him off the towel she’s used as precautionary padding. He’s got the same fuck-you look in his eyes as their father. Does she have it too? Probably.
The main car park on the central concourse is full so Tegan parks in her usual disabled spot by the geography tower. They set off walking to the student union but Dylan dawdles like a drunk so she scoops him onto her hip and ups her speed.
They join a pioneer wagon train of parents when they approach the union building. Prams, pushchairs, long-handled trikes. Young parents weighed down with baby carriers, nappy bags, highchairs. A handwritten sign for the barbecue sends them through a side gate into the smokers’ garden behind the Abbi bar.
A heavily pregnant woman waves at Tegan. “There’s a space here.” She’s at a wooden picnic bench with two girls about Dylan’s age. Tegan doesn’t want to get wedged in one place – a quick mingle, find the woman from the Freshers’ Fair and leave is what she has in mind – but the girls have Mega Bloks and might be playmates for Dylan. The kid’s not so bad; he deserves to get something out of the party.
“Lovely, thanks,” she calls out, then whispers to Dylan, “Remember what I said.” She puts her finger to her lips. “Double chocolate.”
He copies the gesture and balls his fist. Tegan gently knocks her fist against his.
The woman, Sian from Chepstow – learnt Welsh in school but prefers English –introduces her girls, Lowri and Lili. Closer up, Tegan can see one is eighteen months or so older than the other. They have the same flat noses and chubby cheeks as their mother.
Sian’s a talker, specialist subject: her children. Tegan hears all the details of two home births and current antenatal arrangements for the twins she’s expecting. Tegan’s mind drifts. Is this how Kanya fills her days? The thought of Kanya’s isolation grates in her head. But it’s not her problem. She tunes back to Sian.
Her girls jabber too while Dylan plays it strong and silent.
“Doesn’t talk much, does he?” Sian says, between ultrasound stories.
Tegan stiffens. He’s only quiet because there’s an ice-cream on offer if he keeps his trap shut and doesn’t blow her cover.
“He’s fine.” She sounds defensive and remembers how Kanya apologized for him being shy. Did Tegan intimidate her? She’s surprised to find that the thought doesn’t make her feel good.
“Do you know everyone?” she asks before Sian can start up again. It’s time she got on with why she’s here.
“No one,” Sian replies. “I picked up a flier for the barbecue at the crèche.” She points to a door across the yard. “The crèche is in there. Perfect for Lili when Lowri’s at school. I get a few hours’ study done. Some of us have started meeting here for coffee at picking-up time. I’m a newbie. Mature student, obviously. Midwifery.”
Tegan’s eyes glance over her expansive belly. Of course, what else would she be studying? “Nice talking to you.” But pointless. She suggests a go on the bouncy castle to Dylan and leaves Sian with an insincere see-you-later.
As he bounces himself stupid, she scans the garden. Plenty of dark-haired women in their thirties but none she recognizes as the woman from the Parents’ Group stall. She squats on the rubber mat by a dad who’s unfastening his son’s shoes and describes the woman to him.
“Do you mean the woman in charge?”
Tegan hesitates. “She might be in charge. I don’t know. She has a daughter. Mop of ginger hair. The child, not the mother.”
The man laughs. “Yeah, sounds like her. A postgrad. Teacher training, I think. Haven’t seen them today but there’s a bug going round. It’s not just the teenagers who get Freshers’ Flu.”
Dylan collides with another boy and they both start bawling. Tegan pulls him off the bouncy castle and lets him nestle on her lap until he’s calmed down. She finds the sensation of his sweaty little body next to hers strangely comforting. But when she puts his shoes back on, he throws himself on the mat, refusing to move. She manhandles him into her arms but loses her balance when she stands up and knocks into a man carrying two pints of beer. Most of the beer seeps into the grass. She looks up at him.
Six feet tall, black and beau-ti-ful.
“I’m so sorry …” Her apology comes out like something Kanya would say. Or Imo. She pulls herself together. “Let me replace those drinks.”
“No need.” Voice deep. Yorkshire accent? “I’ll go back to the bar. Hello, little fella.” He lightens his tone to address Dylan.
Dylan stops pulling against Tegan and stares. He’s as mesmerized as she is.
“Handsome dude,” the man says and gives Dylan a thumbs-up. “Gets it from his mama.”
He’s gone inside before Tegan twigs it’s a compliment. He meant her. She plumps her hair, feeling electric. She likes a man who speaks his mind. But her mood nose-dives when she remembers this is a family barbecue and she’s just been chatted up by someone’s dad who thinks she’s someone’s mum. Sleaze.
Sian brings her girls to the bouncy castle. “One of the organizers has told me how to get into the Parents’ Facebook Group. If we send a friend request, their convenor will accept.”
Tegan gets out her phone, sensing that this is the information she needs. If she gets into the Facebook Group, she’ll get a list of the other members. She can pass it to Imo – and to Phoenix – and leave them to track down their Freshers’ Fair woman. As per Sian’s instructions, she gets up the link but, just in time, stops herself making contact.
“Great. I’ve done that,” she lies. “Best be off now. Dylan needs his nap.” She leads him out of the gate, and pretends not to notice how he’s twisting towards the bouncy castle.
Chapter 43
Amber
Amber groans and rolls over. It’s still dark. Gingerly she touches the throbbing sore in her hair, then feels the cut around her tied leg. Both wounds are caked in dried blood and ooze. The food bowl on the floor is empty again and her stomach cramps with hunger.
Her head spins and she grips the bed, a rush of colour explodes before her eyes. She fights against the familiar cloudy feeling, tries to focus before she blacks out again. Tries to hold onto fr
agments of memory before they crumble to nothing. The last thing she can picture, before it all goes blank, is a taxi. A white car sitting by the side of the road, engine running. In a panic, she dashes towards it. And suddenly she’s on the back seat, gesturing to the car in front. Telling the driver to follow.
***
The driver cocks his head. “Fancy dress, is it?”
Amber has forgotten about her wig and kimono. “Not any more,” she says grimly. “Can we go?”
He puts the car into gear. “Which car, love?”
Amber glances through the windscreen. To her horror she sees she has two choices.
“That one.” A split-second decision. She stabs the seatbelt into its socket as the taxi takes off.
“Friend of yours, is it?” the driver says, giving her a lopsided grin. Amber’s skin tingles when she remembers where she’s seen him before.
“Not exactly,” she says.
“I get it,” he drawls. “A boyfriend.”
Oh, for something so normal. She clenches her fists as he wastes precious seconds stopping at a zebra crossing to let more students pass. Then she relaxes as he accelerates and catches up with the car.
“Or the ex, is it?” He glances at her, appraising her outfit again. “You’re not a stalker, are you?”
Her eyes prick with tears.
“Don’t worry, love,” he says. “None of my business. You got money, have you?”
Amber pats her hip – a twenty in her kimono pocket – and hopes it will be enough. She doesn’t know where this journey will end.
***
Now she knows. Here. Lying on a bed in her own filth. Waiting for no one.
Chapter 44
Imogen
Why can’t it rain more? Imo doesn’t mind walking so much when she can hide under her hood. But this afternoon is sunny and she might have to talk to people if they see her. She’s okay at saying, “Hi,” but if they say “How are you?” it’s too much. Seven months of lying that she’s “fine”. It would be ideal if she could stay in her room until the sky clouds over again, but the essay won’t write itself. She sets off and wishes the library could be nearer to halls.
And yet it’s also a good thing it’s not raining as the family barbecue would get cancelled. It’s their only link to the woman at the Freshers’ Fair. Imo can’t explain even to herself why she wants every lead to Amber followed up. Tegan has Amber down as a fantasist and a liar. And she’s right, isn’t she? Imo should be glad Amber’s gone. And yet she can’t shake off the stirring doubt. It’s nothing like the pinching, cramping fear she has for Sophia, but the nagging is there. Where is she?
There’s someone by the geography tower. Imo speeds up, preparing to offer a quick hello and speed past. But it’s Tegan, standing by her car. Dylan’s finishing an ice-cream.
“Have you got any wet wipes?” Tegan says by way of greeting. “Or a handkerchief.” She yawns. “I’m knackered. Is this normal at two o’clock?”
Imo doesn’t reply. She’s been yawning at two o’clock for months. Nights of what-if thoughts and dark cellar nightmares don’t make for restful sleep.
She only has old tissues in her bag, nothing that can be used on Dylan. “Has the barbecue finished already?” she asks. “I thought it would go on all afternoon.”
Tegan scrapes a layer of brown off the boy’s chin with her little finger and wipes it on a page of her order book from her handbag. “The woman wasn’t there, but I got the Facebook group details.”
“And?” Imo catches a curl of cream before it falls off the cone.
“I can’t join, can I? If I get to see their profiles, they can see mine. Do you think my Facebook profile in any way resembles a mother’s?”
Imo thinks of her old profile in the time before: pouting poses, WKDs, leopard print leggings. “I take your point.”
“Do me a favour and walk him back to the flat while I drive the car. I’ll never get his paw prints off the seats if I take him.”
Tegan presses the boy’s sticky hand into Imo’s. The library trip is cancelled before Imo even has time to mention it. Tegan gets in her car and drives away.
“Why did she get you an ice-cream, if she was worried about the mess?” She asks the question to herself but Dylan taps his lips and says, “Doub choc late.” Imo has the sneaky feeling she’s caught the tail end of a bribe by the Tegan School of Childcare.
They walk back, swinging their arms. She teaches him Little Mix songs and her steps are light. They encounter several students whose expressions melt into smiles when they see Dylan. They ignore Imo and she feels blissful. Can she take him on all her walks across campus?
Dylan clambers up the stairs and goes straight to the door of their flat. How quickly children adapt to change. Imo wishes she could be more like a two-year-old. They find Tegan already in her room with Phoenix, looking at a new Facebook page that Phoenix is creating for her.
“I’ll get him washed and changed,” Tegan says. She leads Dylan by the wrist, avoiding his sticky hand, to her sink. “Then we can take his photo for the page.”
Imo doesn’t know what surprises her more: the swift and thorough job Tegan does of washing his face and hands or Dylan’s lack of protest. Imo moves off the bed so Tegan can spread out Dylan’s suitcase and find clean clothes.
Tegan sits Dylan on the floor in her tasteful room with some of the toys Kanya packed for him and takes several photos on her mobile. When Phoenix fetches her juggling balls, they get a couple of the shots they need.
Phoenix loads them into Tegan’s new parent-friendly Facebook page. “You know what would make this better? If there was at least one photo with a dad in it. I know Amber would go ape if she heard me mention that heinous twentieth-century stereotype, but this looks too thin. No grandparents, uncles and no daddy. Even single parents have other people on their profile.”
“We can be his aunties.” Imo thinks she’s come up with a good idea until they remind her they don’t want the woman they questioned at the Freshers’ Fair to connect them to Tegan. She sits down and pulls up her hood.
“A dad would be the best,” Phoenix says, resizing the last shot of Dylan. “What about Ivor in Flat 7? I’m sure if you asked him nicely, he wouldn’t mind fathering your child.”
“F—” Tegan suppresses the curse when she remembers Dylan’s in the room “… off. Besides, Dylan is half Thai. No bloke round here is going to pass a likeness test.”
“One bloke round here will.” It’s out of Imo’s mouth before she even realizes. “Riku lives on the other side of that corridor.”
Phoenix pushes back Imo’s hood and kisses her forehead. “Brilliant idea.”
Tegan is less ecstatic. “No way. I’m not asking him. And, besides, he’d never agree. You know he’s a miserable git.”
“I have the perfect excuse.” Phoenix grins. “We can say Dylan wants to see his unicycle. I saw one hanging on his wall.”
Tegan puts her hands on her hips. “Whether that’s a euphemism or not, I’m not letting him slam the door in my face.”
Phoenix mirrors Tegan, sticks out her elbows. “Tegan Parry, the businesswoman who never takes no for an answer, defeated by a boy. Well I never.”
Tegan hesitates for a moment, glancing from one flatmate to the other, then her face assumes a determined look. She takes the child’s hand. “Dylan, there’s someone we’d like you to meet.”
Chapter 45
Imogen
Imo hears movement inside, slow movement; it’s an age until Riku answers the door. Suddenly he’s there, filling the doorframe. They’ve prepared their lines but Tegan and Phoenix become a tableau: Girls Frozen on Threshold. Imo knows it’s down to her. She takes a breath. And … Action.
“Hi Riku, Dylan would like to see your unicycle.” She takes the boy out of Tegan’s arms and sets him on the floor. “In you go.”
As Dylan squeezes past, Riku jumps away as if the child is carrying an electric charge. Imo sees the gap in the doorway and goe
s for it. Tegan and Phoenix are right behind.
Imo’s pumping adrenaline, heart pounding at her audacity, expecting to stumble on some sort of bombsite. But the atmosphere inside unexpectedly makes her relax. There’s soft, oriental music coming from a speaker and sweet-scented tea lights on the window sill. A poster of cloud-covered mountains with Chinese or Japanese symbols on the side fills the wall above the bed. A white silk dressing gown lies on a lilac bedspread.
“You have a beautiful room,” she says, waving her arms to convey her meaning. But Riku just nods; it’s doubtful he understands.
With five people in it, the single study bedroom is claustrophobic. The silence is deafening.
“There.” Dylan points to where the unicycle is clipped to the shelf above Riku’s desk, reminding the girls why they’ve barged in.
“Please can we …?” Expansive gestures from Phoenix.
Riku stares at her.
A roll of address labels on the desk catches Imo’s eye. One’s been filled out to an address in Seoul. That’s Japan, right? She’ll ask Phoenix later. Another chance to show her ignorance of geography – even though she knows every stop on the railway line between Nottingham and Temple Meads and visits each of them in her dreams, searching for her sister.
Riku must have seen her looking. He puts the roll in the desk drawer and picks up two pads of paper from the desk. One – a block of official-looking forms – follows the address labels into the drawer, but the other – a sketchpad, maybe – he puts on the high shelf, before unclipping the unicycle.
“How kind.” Tegan steps forward. “Dylan would like a ride. Can you get it steady?” She speaks at normal speed, no concession to Riku’s lack of English.
Somehow he gets the message, squats down and holds the frame with both hands. As Tegan lifts Dylan onto the saddle, Phoenix squeezes between the cycle and the window to take pictures on her phone. Imo steps out of camera shot and notices the pile of parcels under the desk. What does he do with them all?
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