Safe at Home

by Lauren North

  My phone buzzes on the worktop. A message from Tracy fills my screen.

  Super excited to have you on board the Parish Council!!!! Meeting on Monday, noon, at mine. Can you make it? Don’t worry about being up to speed. I’ve been on the PC for years and I still don’t have a clue half the time, LOL xxxx

  I reply with a thumbs-up and swallow back the niggling regret I feel. I’m doing this as a favour to Kat, and it’s paid, I remind myself as I make a mug of tea for Jack.

  ‘Here we are,’ I say, holding out the mug as I step into the living room.

  ‘How long until lunch, Mummy?’ Molly asks and I could kiss her for it.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Jack says, taking a sip of tea before handing it straight back to me. ‘Thanks for that. Remember, girls, I’m always here if you want to talk about anything happening in the village.’

  It’s not until the afternoon when I’m folding yet another load of washing in the bedroom, when Elise is doing the extra work she collected from Mike last night and Molly is playing with her Barbie dolls, that Harrie comes to find me.

  ‘Can I ask something?’ She sits on my bed and picks up two socks to pair for me.

  ‘Anything.’ I give Harrie my best mum smile, my I’m-here-for-you smile. I think of the questions Harrie is forever asking. Like: what is your favourite continent and why? Or: how does electricity get from the power station to the house? Or: if you could be any wild animal, what would you be? Harrie questions, Rob and I call them.

  The resentment burns through me. You should sodding well be here, Rob.

  I swallow it back. A bitter pill.

  ‘What age can people be sent to prison?’ Harrie asks.

  ‘Oh.’ The question throws me. ‘I’m not sure. I think it’s sixteen. Why?’ My stomach knots. Is this one of her normal questions, or something else? ‘Is this about something Jack Briggs said to you? You don’t need to worry about that. He knows you’re good kids.’

  ‘So children don’t get sent to prison?’ She keeps her eyes on her lap and it’s hard to read her face, but I think she looks desperate and sad. I want to scoop her into my arms and open her up, find out what is making her act this way, what happened to change my daughter so much.

  ‘Not really. Sometimes, if they’re really bad, and I mean really, really bad, they might be sent to a detention centre, I think. Something a bit like prison but for kids. People don’t get sent to prison for silly vandalism. When the Neighbourhood Watch find out who damaged the school, that person will get a telling-off and they’ll probably be asked to do some litter-picking around the village, and that’s it.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It wasn’t you, was it, Harrie?’

  ‘No.’ She shakes her head.

  ‘I didn’t think it was. So why are you asking me about prison?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she says, her eyes fixed on the carpet. ‘Just asking.’

  ‘Mum?’ Elise calls. ‘Can we watch a film? I’ve done my homework.’

  ‘Yesssss,’ comes a cry from Molly.

  My eyes rest on Harrie and the feeling returns that I’m missing something. Like the game Grandma’s Footsteps that Molly loves to play. Every time I turn around something has changed, moved, but I don’t see it happen. I can’t be sure.

  CHAPTER 21

  Anna

  Later, when all three of the girls are under their duvets watching a film they’ve seen a hundred times before, Kat pops in with the access codes for the Parish Council files and shows me how to open them on Google Drive. I ask her to stay for a cup of tea and when we’ve chatted for a while about nonsense stuff – Bev’s new haircut and the holiday Kat and Steve have booked – I force a casual tone and ask if there’s been any word from Dean.

  Kat shakes her head. ‘No, nothing, but Sue’s reported it to the police officially now so I’m sure they’ll track him down to a golf course in Spain.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  Kat looks at me then with knowing in her eyes. ‘Dean does what he wants, when he wants,’ she says softly. ‘He always has. If he wants to take off and not tell anyone, he will.’

  My cheeks colour and I’m grateful when the doorbell rings. I stand quickly and open the door to find June outside holding a warm apple crumble and a tub of thick cream. ‘I thought you and the girls deserved a proper treat.’

  ‘Wow, thank you,’ I gush before inviting her in.

  ‘Oh God,’ Kat says from behind us. ‘Is that the time? I’m supposed to be at a yoga class in twenty minutes.’ She kisses my cheek and with a wave to June she’s gone.

  ‘Did you report that car the other day?’ June asks a few minutes later, wrapping her thin fingers around the fresh mug of tea I’ve made for her.

  I nod. ‘This morning actually. Jack Briggs popped by about the vandalism at the school and I mentioned it then.’

  ‘Vandalism.’ June cocks an eyebrow. ‘A fallen-down fence and a bit of loo roll. They’re treating it like the Crown jewels of Barton St Martin have been stolen. It’s all the old biddies in the post office could talk about this week.’

  I raise my eyebrows and June laughs, wagging a finger at me. ‘Now Anna, I’m sure to you I may seem like an old biddy, but let me tell you something, eighty is the new sixty. It’s those ones in their nineties you really need to watch out for.’

  ‘I can believe it,’ I laugh. ‘You’re more active than I am. And for what it’s worth, I agree about the vandalism. It does feel a bit like overkill to go door to door.’

  ‘A bit? More like a lot. Imagine what would happen if an actual crime were committed. They’d be getting their shotguns out.’

  We laugh together and soon the girls join us for apple crumble and cream, begging June to stay for a game of Scrabble. Even Harrie joins in, teaming up with Molly and helping her with the spellings.

  June keeps us all laughing with her jokes and her blatant attempts at cheating and I realize how lonely our weekends normally are. My weeks feel the same and I think with a pang that there are still fifty-three days until Rob is home. With that comes the unbidden thought: I miss Dean.

  Kat’s words from earlier jump into my thoughts. Dean does what he wants, when he wants.

  That’s not the Dean I know, the one who brings pastries filled with fresh cream from the bakery because he knows they’re my favourite. Dean who is always there to listen when I need someone to talk to. Dean who took me in his arms on Monday and told me everything would be OK, even though we both knew it wouldn’t.

  Interview with Kat Morris, member of Barton St Martin Parish Council

  Interview conducted by Melissa Hart, The Daily Gazette, 3 November

  MH: Mrs Morris, have you got a moment please? I thought we could finish our interview.

  Kat: I’m sorry but my son is upstairs. He’s quite upset about everything and I don’t want him disturbed.

  MH: We can chat on your doorstep. It won’t take a moment.

  Kat: I’m really not sure I feel comfortable talking to you. This is such a difficult time. Maybe you could come back in a few weeks when everything has calmed down.

  MH: Have the police been to see you, Mrs Morris? What questions did they ask you about Anna James?

  Kat: They’ve been to see everyone. Look, I really don’t have time—

  MH: Can you tell me about the village girlies’ message group?

  Kat: What’s there to tell? It was a group for friends in the village to chat about things going on.

  MH: What about the secret group?

  Kat: That was a stupid name for it. Tracy called it that years ago and no one bothered to change it. It wasn’t meant to be exclusionary. We’re all good friends and a few of us run our own businesses, so we made a separate group to chat about it. Lots of women in the village get invited to join the main village girlies’ group, but I think they often leave or mute it, which is fine. Each to her own.

  MH: I just want to check I’ve got my facts right. One group had you, Tracy Campbell, Bev Pri
tchett and Sandra Briggs in it – the secret group. And the main group had all the same people again plus Anna.

  Kat: Gina wasn’t in the secret group either.

  MH: Why not?

  Kat: I don’t really know. Like I said, it was originally to chat about our businesses. Besides, Gina’s crap with technology. She would hate being in two groups.

  MH: So if it was for your friends with small businesses, why wasn’t Anna in the secret group?

  Kat: When you put it like that it does sound bad, but it really wasn’t like that. We’ve had the ‘secret’ group, if you must call it that, since long before Anna moved here. I really need to go now.

  MH: I just have one question. What do you know about the video footage?

  Kat: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m not answering any more questions. Please leave my doorstep or I’ll call the police. Go speak to one of the others. Bev loves a gossip.

  CHAPTER 22

  Sunday, six days until Halloween

  Anna

  Time passes slowly on Sundays. I wake up and watch a minute tick by on the clock on my phone and wonder how we’ll ever make it through to seven p.m. and Rob’s call. I trudge through the detritus of jobs – the cleaning, the washing, the to-ing and fro-ing to Harrie’s football match. The girls feel it too. That long wait. We fidget and clock-watch and bicker until the anticipation of seeing their father bubbles up like the fizz of lemonade.

  Molly has drawn a picture of the five of us holding hands and watching fireworks. ‘Because Daddy will miss the firework display,’ she says with a sad smile that makes me ache deep inside. This is so much harder for Molly. Her time moves so much slower than mine. I remember when the months between one Christmas and the next felt like a lifetime and now it’s little more than a blip, a sneeze and oh, here we are again. It’s the same way they must feel from one Sunday to the next waiting to speak to their dad, let alone the months he is away.

  Harrie is quiet again. Even football – one of her favourite things – couldn’t shake her from her stupor. She stood shivering on the pitch, scuffing the grass with her boots. She didn’t even move when the ball flew past her. Eventually the coach pulled her off and sent her back to me.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked her as we left the pitch.

  A darkness clouded over Harrie’s face. ‘Headache,’ is all she said. Another lie.

  The twins stayed in their room and I spent the afternoon playing endless games of Guess Who? with Molly and pretending I didn’t know that she always chooses one of three characters – Joe, Anna or Sarah.

  It’s only when I start to cook dinner that Harrie appears in the kitchen doorway, a football in her hands.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Is your headache better?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Dinner is in half an hour. It’s pasta, your favourite,’ I tell her as though she’s forgotten what she likes.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Did you sleep better last night? No more nightmares?’

  She shrugs.

  ‘Harrie.’ I take a step towards her. ‘Please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you. And don’t say you’re fine because you’re not.’

  ‘God,’ she huffs suddenly, throwing the ball to the floor with a resounding thud.

  ‘Harrie,’ I chastise.

  ‘You want to know what’s wrong with me? Fine. It’s you,’ she shouts. ‘You never let us do anything. You let us out for school and that’s it. We can’t go to the park unless you come. You’re like a prison guard. Everyone else our age in this village has phones and freedom and can do whatever they want and you just keep us trapped in here.’

  My body reels back and I’m stunned, hurt, by the words and spite that fly from my daughter’s mouth. ‘Harrie, that’s not fair. It’s my job to protect you. I know we don’t have the money to go out every weekend and do all the stuff your friends do, but we still have good times and you’re definitely not prisoners.’

  ‘Yeah right. If Dad were here, he’d let us go out.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I say before wondering if in fact it is. I know Rob thinks I worry too much, that I’m overprotective, but I’m the one here every day, I’m the one raising the girls. I’m being unfair. Rob is only working away to support us and he worries too, but not like I do. ‘Your dad agrees with me, but he’s calling in an hour and you can speak to him about it if you want to.’

  ‘I will.’ She moves suddenly, striding across the kitchen heading straight for the front door.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Argh,’ she shouts, grabbing something from among the coats. ‘Why are you trying to know everything about me? Can’t you just leave me alone for once? I’ve told you the only thing wrong is you.’

  And before I can stop her, the front door is slamming shut and she’s gone.

  ‘Where’s Harrie going, Mummy?’ Molly calls from the living room. ‘Can I go too?’

  ‘Shhh,’ Elise says to her sister as I throw myself at the front door and yank it open in time to see Harrie sprinting around the corner.

  ‘Harrie,’ I shout. ‘Come back.’

  ‘Mum?’ Elise says and I turn around.

  ‘Elise, Harrie has just run off. I’m going to call June to come over and I’ll go after her.’

  Sudden tears well in Elise’s eyes. ‘She’ll be back in a minute, won’t she? She always cools down quickly.’

  I take a moment to breathe, to think, and I realize Elise is right. Elise will harbour her anger for days. She’ll build it into a pyre, her eyes forever ablaze as though waiting for one of us, Molly usually, to strike the match. Harrie though, and Molly too – there is something more of me in them. A quick-to-anger, quick-to-forgive response that I understand far better than the slow burn.

  Elise steps close and wraps her arms around me. I breathe her in and hold her tight. Molly rushes over, joining in too.

  ‘Just give her ten minutes to come home,’ Elise pleads. ‘She’ll be OK.’

  ‘Do you know what’s going on with Harrie?’ I ask.

  Elise shakes her head. ‘She won’t tell me either.’

  I look at the clock in the kitchen and bite my lip so hard I taste blood in my mouth. Ten minutes. I’ll give her that. There is still a little light in the sky after all.

  It doesn’t feel right but it’s what Rob would say, and there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to pick up the phone and ask June to come over. I don’t want her to know about my fight with Harrie. I don’t want her to think I’m a bad mother.

  So I return to chopping peppers, my eyes on the kitchen clock as much as the chopping board. This isn’t London any more, I tell myself. Harrie knows how to cross the road safely. She’ll come back.

  But as I count down the minutes, the what-if questions whir like sirens in my thoughts.

  What if something happens to Harrie?

  What if I can’t protect her?

  Village Girlies’ Secret Group Chat

  Sunday 25 October, 17.37

  Tracy Campbell: OMG! Just walking the dog and saw Harrie running down the road and Anna shouting after her.

  Bev Pritchett: I’m not surprised. She’s too protective of those girls. Never lets them out on their own. It makes kids rebel if they have no freedom.

  Tracy Campbell: So true!

  Kat Morris: You are such a gossip @TracyCampbell! Don’t tell me Freya never did the same.

  Tracy Campbell: Also true! LOL.

  Bev Pritchett: Must be hard for Anna without Rob around though. No way I could have raised the boys on my own. Why does Rob work away? Does anyone know?

  Sandra Briggs: For the money! Rob told Jack once that they’re in a load of debt.

  Bev Pritchett: Has anyone else noticed how Anna never talks about her past?

  Tracy Campbell: Something is up there, I bet.

  Bev Pritchett: @SandraBriggs what’s going on with the Neighbourhood Watch and the vandalism?

  Sandra Briggs: Jack’s been out all we
ekend asking people if they saw anything.

  Kat Morris: @SandraBriggs tell Jack to come our way. Steve is happy to be questioned over a few beers, LOL!

  CHAPTER 23

  Harrie

  The moment she’s out of sight, Harrie stops. She takes a breath and waits, watching for any sign of her mum.

  It’s quiet. There’s no traffic on the main road. No one about. It’s dead. The thought makes Harrie’s chest tighten, her breathing come quick. Puffs of smoky breath drift into the cold air. Droplets of rain patter on to her coat and the top of her head.

  She wishes she was at home. She wishes she didn’t have to go to that place again.

  Headlights appear in the distance. The silver car leaps into her thoughts. Those rushed threats thrown at Elise. The threats meant for her. She should never have worn Elise’s coat that night.

  Harrie’s stomach flips and she sprints across the road, only slowing when she’s climbed the metal gate into the empty field.

  The earth beneath her feet is bumpy and she stumbles as she moves towards the back of the field, but she doesn’t fish the torch from her pocket. Not yet. She can’t risk anyone seeing her from the road.

  Harrie keeps moving, treading carefully, trying to avoid the mud. The air smells musky like the cow shed up at the farm where they walk sometimes at the weekend, when their mum tells them it’ll do them good to be out in the fresh air, instead of what she really means – they can’t afford the cinema or the swimming pool. They can’t afford anything. Molly is clueless but Harrie and Elise talk about it sometimes when it’s just the two of them. They talk about the old house in London. Big rooms and toys. It’s more a feeling than a memory. A feeling of having stuff.

  But Harrie would rather have Elise than a hundred toys, or all-inclusive holidays to the Caribbean. Australia. The Maldives. The places her friends go. Nothing matters more to her than Elise.

  The darkness intensifies the closer Harrie gets to the stable. She’s a few metres away when she smells it. A foul stench that makes her feet stop dead and a surge of wild panic rise up from the tips of her toes all the way to the top of her head. Only then does she fumble for the torch, hands shaking as the orange beam hits the ground. New batteries this time. Harrie won’t make that mistake again.