by Jenny Harper
‘Sit down.’ She helped Emily gently onto a chair.
Didn’t the child have a coat, for heaven’s sake? Even a wrap of some sort? She should never be out on her own, late at night, dressed like this. She surveyed the garments as Emily’s thin shoulders continued to heave. Surely that was the dress Emily had bought on their outing a couple of weeks ago?
‘It’s all right, Em. You’re safe.’
Another small sob, another shudder.
Marta leant forward and folded her into her embrace, felt the tension in the slight body as the girl’s head thudded onto her shoulder.
‘It’s all right. Hey. Shh. It’s all right.’
What in heaven’s name had happened? When the heaving stopped, she disentangled herself carefully, took Emily’s arms firmly between her hands and said, ‘Tell me.’
At last Emily looked at her. Her lower lip was wobbling, but she managed to speak with no more than a tremor.
‘Suzy was having a party, at her house. It’s in Portobello, not too far from here.’
She flicked a multi-coloured strand of hair out of her eyes, wiped a shaky hand across them and fumbled in her bag for a hankie. She blew her nose noisily and settled back in her chair, the tissue still crumpled damply in her fist.
‘It was only meant to be a small one, you know? Like her best mates, some of the guys from school and the orchestra—’
‘So what happened?’
‘She put the invitation out on Facebook.’
Marta groaned. ‘Let me guess. There were gatecrashers?’
‘Yeah. Like, hundreds.’
‘Where were Suzy’s parents? Did they know she was having this party?’
‘Yeah. Honest. They’re at her mum’s sister’s in Stirling. She’s had parties before. There’s never been a problem.’
She was eying Marta with a spark of defiance now. Whatever had scared her, the effect was wearing off.
‘I believe you, Emily. Maybe she hadn’t put it on Facebook before?’
‘Maybe.’
Marta eyed the child worriedly. What should she do? Call Jane and Neal, ask them to fetch her? Put her in the car and drive her home herself?
‘Can I stay here tonight, Marta? Please?’
‘Oh, I don’t know—’ Tom had gone to Glasgow, the spare room was empty and it would save a lot of trouble... ‘Well, all right, I suppose so. I’ll just go and call your mum, so she doesn’t worry.’
‘You needn’t bother, I’ve texted her already,’ Emily said quickly, her eyes flickering to her handbag where, Marta supposed, her mobile was nestling.
‘Really? When?’
‘On the way here.’
‘Honestly?’ Marta pressed, filled with doubt. Her goddaughter had not been exactly honest the last time Marta had asked her about her parents’ views.
‘Cross my heart and hope to die. She said great, it would save Dad coming out to get me.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay then, come along. Let’s get you into bed as soon as possible. Need a drink of water?’
‘Yes please.’ She followed Marta upstairs, carrying the glass carefully. She seemed to have recovered, Marta thought, watching her climb the last few steps. The water wasn’t even rippling.
At nine o’clock the telephone rang. Jake, who must have come in some time after Emily’s late night appearance, rolled over sluggishly and lifted the receiver.
‘Hello? Jake here.’
Marta, ascending the dark tunnel from somnolence into conscious thought, could hear only a muffled high-pitched yammering down the receiver.
‘No, she’s not here, Jane. Sorry.’
She was instantly alert. ‘Is it about Emily? She is here, Jake,’ she said, raising her voice to cut through the conversation.
‘What? Sorry, Marta interrupted, I didn’t hear ... no, I don’t think so, no. What?’
‘Emily is here.’
‘Christ, well what do I know? I only live here.’
Clearly peeved, he handed her the phone, then pulled the duvet back up over his head and rolled away.
‘Jane? Hi, it’s Marta. Listen, Emily’s here, she’s still sleeping. She said she’d texted you.’
Jane’s voice exploded down the line. ‘She’s there! Christ, Marta, why the hell didn’t you let me know? I’ve been going frantic here. When I phoned Suzy’s m-mum to find out when to pick her up, I got this long story about how the whole house had been trashed, they’d got a call from Suzy in the middle of the night, in tears. They had to come back from Stirling to deal with it. Hundreds of yobs, apparently, the whole p-place is a complete wreck and she didn’t know where Emily was, she thought she’d come back here because she just d-d-disappeared. What in heaven’s name is she doing with you? What happened? Is she all right? And why didn’t you phone me? Didn’t you stop to think for one m-minute that I would be going off my head with worry—’
‘Jane, stop. Calm down, will you?’ What was wrong with Jane these days? ‘She told me she’d texted you. Okay?’
‘Are you saying she was lying?’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake. No Jane, I am not saying she was lying. Have you checked your phone?’
‘Of course I’ve checked my phone. I’ve been checking it every two minutes since I found she wasn’t at the P-Pattersons.’
‘Well, maybe her text didn’t get through. Sometimes they don’t.’
‘You should have phoned me yourself, M-Marta.’
‘What, at three in the morning?’
‘Was that when she came round to you? P-please, Jesus, tell me she wasn’t running around the streets at that hour, on her own?’
‘Relax, Jane, will you? She’s fine. She’s safe. She’s here. Now, what would you like to me to do? Bring her round?’
‘No thanks, M-Marta.’ The voice had switched from raging to icy. ‘I can’t really trust you with my child. One of us will come for her.’
‘Fine.’
Marta jabbed at the off button. She had a sudden image of the very first time she’d seen Emily Harvie. Still a baby – pink and tiny, her nose peeping out over a pure white blanket, her eyes closed, the lashes already long and dark, her lips puckering exquisitely in an involuntary search for sustenance. And Jane, laughing and proud, holding the tiny bundle out to her.
‘Hold her,’ she was saying, ‘Hold my baby.’
Marta had taken the precious package gingerly, marvelling at the miracle that was a new life.
She’d had no idea then just how elusive that miracle would prove for her and Jake.
Trust. Friendship. Loyalty. What had happened to all of that? What had happened to Jane, for heaven’s sake? Ever since that dinner with Tom she’d been edgy and irritable – no, more than irritable, downright angry.
‘Is there any chance at all of being told about what is going on in my own house?’
Jake’s voice had a sarcastic edge that wasn’t like him at all. Marta kissed his forehead and ruffled her hand through his tousled morning hair.
Everything is falling apart, she thought. My friend is furious with me and my husband is peevish and unhappy. I have a just-turned-sixteen-year-old child in the next room, who has quite possibly been telling me lies, and I seem absolutely unable to conceive a child of my own.
She explained, patiently. ‘Emily rang the bell around three. She was upset. Suzy’s party had been gatecrashed and there were about a hundred yobs trashing the place. She was frightened. I calmed her down and offered to run her home, but she asked if she could stay.’
‘And you said yes? And didn’t bother to let Jane know? Didn’t you stop for a minute to think that her parents might worry about her?’
‘Jake, of course I did. Didn’t you hear me? Emily told me she had already texted her mum.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Marta, she’s a teenager. She’s running rings around you and you’re letting her do things her own parents won’t.’
‘That’s not fair. I would ha
ve called Jane if I’d thought for one minute that Emily was lying. Anyway, it’s just as well someone listens to the poor kid. Jane and Neal are far too controlling. If Emily is trying to break out, it’s hardly surprising.’
‘It’s not up to you to tell them how to bring up their child.’
‘Whose side are you on, Jake? I have never tried to tell them how to bring up their child. I have simply spent a bit of time with Emily and if she chooses to come here when she’s in trouble, instead of going home, well actually, I am quite proud of that.’
Jake sat up and swung his legs out of bed. ‘I’m going for a shower.’
Marta watched as he strode naked across the room, muscle, bone and sinew moving smoothly under the taut, pale skin. He had lost weight recently, surely? She glanced at the clock. Nine thirty. He can’t have come in till four, he should still be sleeping – no wonder he was irritable.
She pulled on a white cotton robe and went reluctantly to rouse Emily. The girl was curled up, her face peaceful and young, her dyed hair a reproach. Looking at her now, Marta understood why Jane had been so upset. There was nothing about the style that suited Emily, it simply made her look trashy.
Marta’s heart ached as she watched her friend’s child breathing softly. She didn’t want to fall out with Jane. She was only trying to help. Misunderstandings and arguments made her miserable, they always had. Whatever was eating away at Jane, she had to get to the bottom of it.
Maybe she’d get Carrie’s take on it. And where was Carrie anyway? She hadn’t heard from her in an age.
‘Emily.’
She stooped, touched the girl on the shoulder.
‘Em,’ she said, slightly louder, when there was no response. ‘You’ll need to wake up, sweetheart.’
Marta wasn’t ready for a conversation with Jane – wrong time, wrong place, wrong circumstances – so she was relieved that it was Neal who came for the child.
Neal, in contrast to Jane’s earlier histrionics, was calm, polite and non-confrontational. He even thanked Marta for giving his daughter shelter. ‘It was really kind of you, I’m sorry you were woken up so late. Emily must have been really relieved you were here. Emily?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
Emily looked wan. Her face was pale and there were shadows under her eyes, where the delicate skin looked drawn. She’d refused breakfast, she’d barely spoken since she’d appeared and she hadn’t looked directly at Marta at all. The skimpy dress was draped precariously over her thin shoulders and looked, in the cool light of morning, even more inappropriate than it had last night.
‘Would you like to borrow a cardi, Emily, or a T-shirt? It’s a bit chilly this morning.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m all right.’
‘Thank you,’ Neal prompted.
‘Thanks.’
‘Right, Emily, we’d better get back to your mother. Thanks again, Marta. Bye for now.’
‘Bye, Neal. Tell Jane I’ll give her a call.’
‘Will do.’
She watched as the car eased away and disappeared down the road.
Jake said, ‘Well. Does that mean we have the house to ourselves for an hour or two? For the first time in – how long? Two weeks?’
Marta closed the front door and stared at a chip in the cream paintwork thinking, we must touch that up, while her mind was processing more urgent thoughts – don’t let him do this, don’t let him descend into sarcasm.
‘Yes. How shall we celebrate? It’s probably too early in the day for Bollinger, so shall I make coffee?’
Jake followed her into the kitchen. ‘Did you take some cash out of the drawer in my study, by the way?’
‘Cash? No, why would I do that?’
‘I didn’t suppose you had, but there’s some missing.’
‘Really? How much?’
‘About two hundred pounds.’
She whirled round, the kettle in her hand, her mouth open in shock. ‘Two hundred pounds? Jesus, Jake, I didn’t know you had two hundred pounds, let alone cash like that lying around in the house.’
‘I’d been saving my tips.’
‘Why not put them in the bank?’
Marta had always adored Jake’s hazel eyes, they’d been the first thing she’d noticed about him when they’d met. They were intelligent eyes, thoughtful but full of humour. The intelligence was still there, but there was little sign of humour, only a kind of weary defeat. She put down the kettle and took a step towards him, meaning to hold him, but he stepped away from her.
‘Because I needed to have some money of my own, Marta.’
‘You can spend the money in our joint account.’
‘It’s your money. Money you have earned.’
‘And you. You put your wages in too.’
‘They’re nothing like what you’re putting in.’
‘That doesn’t matter. You’re doing what you can and we’re managing.’
She tried to move closer again, but again he retreated.
‘I hate this, Marta.’
‘What? Hate what?’
‘Living off your earnings.’
His body was all angles and joints and sharp edges, jagged and defensive.
‘I felt as though that money was mine, really mine, so I could use it without having to dip into your money. It was important to me, Marta. And it’s gone.’
How had she not realised how much Jake’s independence meant to him?
‘Are you sure it was as much as that? Could you have used some and forgotten?’
‘Two hundred pounds? No.’
‘Well ... where do you think it might have gone?’
‘That friend of yours. His Luvviness. He’s always snooping around.’
‘Tom? Surely not. He wouldn’t look in your drawers.’
Jake fiddled with an apple from the fruit bowl, lifted it, examined the skin, polished it, replaced it.
‘There’s a chance of some work in London, with a firm that did some work for me when I was at the bank. They need maternity cover for a few months.’
‘London! Oh Jake.’ Something in Marta twisted. ‘Surely something will turn up here before too long. Let’s look online again. Or you could call round the agencies on Monday, push them.’
Jake sucked in his breath. An orange caught his eye and he reached for it. He rested his fingertips on the bright skin, but didn’t pick it up.
‘Don’t tell me what to do, Marta. You’re always trying to organise me and I’m getting ... I said I’d think about London.’
Marta stared at him, stung. ‘I didn’t ... I only ... Jake, if I took the initiative it was only because I’m good at finding leads and networking.’
She bit on her lip to stop it trembling.
Jake sighed heavily, then reached out and put his arms round her, resting his cheek on her hair.
It’ll be fine, she tried to persuade herself, leaning in to the warmth of his body, feeling the rough knit of his sweater against the soft skin of her face. We’ll work it out. So long as he loves me, it’ll be fine.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Cool it, will you, Mum?’
‘Cool it? When you’ve been missing half the night and we’ve been worried sick?’
‘I’m home safe, aren’t I? I was fine at Marta’s.’
‘What happened?’
Emily shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘I didn’t know Suze had posted the party on Facebook.’
‘Why didn’t you call us when it happened? Why run off to Marta’s?’
Emily recalled exactly what she’d been doing when the first terrifying battering of the front door ricocheted round the house. She’d been about to launch on her very first snog with Robbie. She could feel the heat of his breath on her face, see his dark eyes narrowing as they focused on her. On her!
Her skin tingled with the memory of it and her heart began to race. Damn, her face was going scarlet! She spun round to hide her tell-tale cheeks from her mother. Run some water, rinse a mug, take a drink, a
nything to allow a few seconds to cool down, recover. She turned back, half hiding behind the mug.
‘It was fine, Mum. Honest it was. Marta was near and I knew she wouldn’t mind. I didn’t want to have to wait around with all those NEDs there, I just wanted to get away.’
‘Oh, Em.’
The pathos in her mother’s voice cut through Emily’s discomfiture. ‘I’m all right, Mum. You worry too much.’
‘You’re only just sixteen, precious.’
Sympathy could only stretch so far. ‘It’s old enough to take responsibility for myself.’
‘It’s a tough world out there, Em. There’s a million risks. D-drugs. B-booze.’
Her stuttering was getting impossible, Emily thought, torn between concern and irritation.
‘B-boys. You don’t know—’
‘Mum, I do know. We get all that stuff at school. I don’t do drugs, that’s just stupid. And you drink alcohol. It’s only when you go crazy that you have to worry about it and I don’t even like the taste that much. I can look after myself. With boys, I mean. You know.’ She looked away, embarrassed. ‘You can trust me.’
‘Sweetheart, you haven’t exactly proved that, have you? I think it’s best if we ground you, at least till after your concert.’
‘That’s not till Christmas!’
‘That’s enough time to think about your behaviour.’
‘Mu-um!’
‘D-don’t argue, Emily. You’ve put your father and me through more in the last few hours than I can bear again. Just think about that.’
Emily glimpsed the brightness of tears in her mother’s eyes as she walked out of the kitchen. Her own feelings were too complicated to analyse properly. Defiant, angry, indignant and perhaps ... perhaps just a tiny bit ashamed? But why? She hadn’t really done anything wrong. If Suzy hadn’t been so stupid as to put the details on Facebook, she’d have had a magic night with Robbie and no harm would have been done.
All recollection of fear was replaced by crossness at the sheer thoughtlessness of those NEDs. She found her mobile.
‘Hi, Suze? Yeah, it’s me. How’s it going?’
‘Dad’s freaked out – the house is well trashed. You should see it—’