by KL Slater
‘Biscuits before teatime, Nanny?’ Evie threw me a sly look.
‘Absolutely.’ I winked at her. ‘No biscuit rules today, poppet.’
We all walked inside together and I looked up to the sky; the clouds hung low and heavy above us, threatening rain despite the warmth.
I felt grateful the wasp episode was behind us but troubled as to exactly how and why the insects had found their way into our home.
It was a malicious act, it had to be. Wasps don’t make fully formed nests in freshly arranged bouquets. Simple as.
A quick, sharp movement registered at the edge of my vision and my head snapped round towards it.
The upstairs curtains of Sal’s house next door were slightly open and I could just about make out the silhouette of a person stepping back from the window.
Someone was up there, watching us.
9
Three Years Earlier
Toni
The next day, I sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by unpaid bills and Andrew’s benefit statements.
I’d been tapping away at the calculator for the last thirty minutes, multiplying, dividing and everything else in between, trying in vain to get the income and outgoings figures even remotely similar.
I hadn’t told Mum the amount of debt I was in. Partly because I was ashamed, partly because I would never hear the last of it. Andrew and I had relied heavily on credit cards for most of our married life. We’d tried to stop charging things to credit, but you could guarantee, each time we resolved to stop, there was always some emergency that sprang up: a new washing machine needed, a lawnmower repaired, birthday gifts for friends and family . . . the list went on.
Both the MasterCard and the Visa had been maxed out for as far back as I could remember and we could only ever afford to pay the minimum amount each month. We knew we were paying a fortune in interest but that became less important than just surviving until pay day.
When Andrew died, the credit companies wrote to me and said their records showed I was the main cardholder, so despite the fact I’d just lost my husband and our family’s main wage earner, they regretfully had to inform me that I was personally responsible for the entire debt.
Eventually, I pushed the calculator away in frustration and reached instead for the Nottingham Post, turning to the jobs section.
Working again would bring its own problems, I knew that. Sorting out care for Evie was just for starters, but I had to get us out of this mess somehow.
Back in Hemel, and over a period of about ten years, I’d worked my way up to managing a medium-sized independent estate agency in the centre of town.
It didn’t matter where you lived in the UK, you could always be confident of finding property sales and letting agencies. And if you were lucky, one or more might be hiring.
I couldn’t help thinking that the logistical problems of getting a job would surely be outweighed if it allowed me to keep financial ruin at bay. And it would be such a relief to have just a little spare to treat Evie now and again and buy one or two nice bits for the house, to make it more of a cosy home.
A familiar, unpleasant fluttering sensation rose up into my chest, my heart seeming to perform an unpleasant little backflip every few beats.
I looked over at my handbag longingly. It still felt a bit early in the day, but I felt sure it wouldn’t hurt this once. But just as I started to move towards relief, the doorbell rang.
I sat down again, rooted to the spot. Nobody knew we lived here yet. It was likely to be an opportunist seller, so I decided to ignore it.
The doorbell rang again.
‘Mummy, SOMEONE IS AT THE DOOR,’ Evie roared above the television in the other room.
The front door opened directly out onto the pavement. Evie had shouted so loudly, the caller would have almost certainly have heard her. Reluctantly, I ditched my plan to pretend there was no one home.
I opened the door to a plump, middle-aged woman. She had a thatch of short, curly brown hair that was shot through with wiry grey, and pale bespectacled eyes that darted around but didn’t seem to settle on anything.
‘Hello?’ I said, relieved she didn’t look in the least bit official.
‘Mrs Cotter? I’m Harriet Watson from St Saviour’s Primary School.’ She peered at me over a bulging canvas shopping bag that she held in both arms. ‘Evie is starting in my class next week.’
The awful state of the Lego-strewn living room next door flashed into my mind but I pasted a smile on my face and stepped back from the door.
‘What a nice surprise. Please, come in, Mrs Watson.’
‘Actually, it’s just Miss.’ She stepped inside the tiny hallway and set down the bag. ‘I thought I’d drop some work off for Evie, seeing as I won’t be around when you visit the school this afternoon.’ She glanced at my tatty leggings and T-shirt. ‘I do hope you don’t mind me just turning up like this.’
‘Not at all,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘I’m Toni, by the way. Evie’s mum.’
Harriet Watson had a deep scar, about four centimetres long, that divided her pasty forehead into two. Her hair was so tightly curled, it looked as if she’d modelled each coil individually with styling wax.
‘I’ve brought mainly worksheets and reading material.’ Harriet shook my hand and her fingers, loose and clammy, pressed against my palm. ‘If she can get through some of this, it’ll stand her in good stead for the new term’s work. Introduce her to the sort of things we’ve been doing in class.’
Evie came running full pelt out of the lounge and crashed into my side.
‘Careful,’ I chided, putting an arm around her and hugging her to me, instantly shamed by the fact she was still dressed in her pyjamas. ‘This is Evie.’
‘Hello, Evie,’ Harriet said.
‘Hello,’ Evie muttered.
‘Miss Watson is your new teacher. She’s brought you some worksheets to do before you start your new school.’
‘And some reading material,’ Harriet added.
Evie regarded the bulging bag at my feet.
‘What do you say?’ I nudged her.
‘Thank you.’
I became conscious of the booming television noise emanating from the lounge. Harriet would think I was the kind of mother who allowed her child to sit and watch it all day long like a zombie. Which, I admit, I sort of did, at the moment. But that would change once we got organised.
I realised with a sinking feeling that it was rude to expect Harriet to stand in the poky, cold hallway any longer. I pinched the fabric of my T-shirt away from the damp patch that had already formed at the bottom of my back and felt a welcome kiss of cool air there.
‘Please, come through to the living room,’ I said loftily, as if we lived in one of those million-pound penthouse apartments on the banks of the River Trent. ‘I’m afraid we’re not quite settled in here yet.’
She followed Evie and I into the lounge. I strode across the room and snatched up the remote control, switching the screeching volume to mute.
‘That’s better, I can hear myself think now,’ I said brightly.
The whole room smelled of biscuits and warm bodies – and not in a good way.
I stood for a second or two and looked at the room through Harriet’s eyes. Barely an inch of carpet was visible in the middle of the room, due to Evie’s latest sprawling Lego structure and the piles of multi-coloured bricks that surrounded it.
An old PlayStation that Mum had picked up at a car-boot sale for Evie’s birthday sat redundant in front of the television. The numerous wires of its controller snaked and coiled around discarded empty glasses and toast-crumbed plates.
‘Evie, come on, let’s start to tidy this mess up,’ I pleaded.
Somewhere between the doorbell ringing and leading Harriet Watson into the living room, the fluttery sensation in my chest had developed into a full-blown, irregular hammering. I could feel sweat patches pooling in my armpits.
‘I’m sorry about the mess.’ A sill
y little laugh escaped my lips as I swept my arm around the room. ‘We’ve only just moved in, you see. I haven’t had time to get it sorted out.’
Harriet cleared her throat purposefully. ‘Perhaps you could help, young lady?’ She glared down at Evie through stark, wire-framed spectacles. ‘Instead of making more of a mess for Mummy.’
I felt a sharp spike in my throat and tried to swallow it down. I supposed I ought to feel relieved Miss Watson was trying to support me, but it wasn’t her job to chastise Evie in her own home. Particularly after all the upheaval she’d been through.
‘That’s OK, I’d rather she spent her time playing,’ I said crisply.
The teacher said nothing, tight-lipped and disapproving. I felt a sudden need to try to rescue the situation.
I resorted to Mum’s failsafe solution to solving the woes of the world.
‘Miss Watson, can I offer you a nice cup of tea?’ Her face remained stony and I noticed she still hadn’t invited me to use her first name. ‘I can explain one or two things, if you’ve got time for a quick chat.’
Harriet gave a curt nod and followed me into the kitchen.
‘Please, sit down.’ I nodded to the tiny breakfast table and its two flimsy folding chairs.
I made mugs of steaming tea, kicking myself that I hadn’t got around to doing a proper food shop yet. I didn’t have so much as a shortbread finger to offer Miss Watson and our tea took the last of the milk.
I set the drinks down on the table and was relieved to sense things becoming a little more relaxed between us. We chatted about the onset of autumn and the recent cooler weather.
The tension in my shoulders had just begun to dissolve when I realised, with a start, I’d seated her directly in front of the scattered unpaid bills and benefit statements I’d been perusing earlier.
‘I’m so sorry, let me move this.’ My face flooded with heat as I swept the papers into an untidy pile, scooping them up into my arms and setting them on the side.
Miss Watson didn’t comment. In fact, to my huge relief, she showed no sign of having even noticed the personal papers.
‘So,’ she said, taking a sip of her tea and setting the mug back down. ‘Tell me a little bit about Evie.’
I told her about Evie’s love of reading and how she enjoyed building Lego structures for hours on end.
‘I try to encourage her because spatial skills are important too, aren’t they? I think there’s too much emphasis, these days, on academic work.’
Miss Watson sniffed and took another sip of her tea.
I told her how Evie had enjoyed having a good group of friends at her old school, how they’d often taken turns having sleepovers at each other’s houses at the weekend.
‘When my husband, Andrew, had his accident, everything changed,’ I told her. ‘It’s been so hard for Evie, having to leave her old life behind on top of everything else.’
I wanted to say it had been hard on us both, but I didn’t. I wanted Evie’s teacher to understand what it meant for her.
‘How did it happen?’ Harriet asked. ‘Your husband’s accident?’
I took a breath. I’d learned that the best way to deal with this question, and get through it without breaking down into tears, was to keep things as simple as possible and stick to the unadorned facts.
‘Andrew and his team were on a night mission in Afghanistan. Intelligence had provided them with maps but the directions were off. Andrew led his men straight over the edge of a cliff. Two men died, Andrew was one of them.’
Harriet nodded but she made no comment.
‘One man died at the scene but they got Andrew to hospital. He had massive head injuries. After a few weeks he was able to come home and we thought he’d make a partial recovery but he suffered a massive blood clot to the brain and died just a few days later.’
She afforded me no appropriate noises of sympathy and somehow I found that a relief. It encouraged me to carry on talking.
‘It’s been two years now,’ I continued. ‘My mother encouraged me to move up to Nottingham. It felt like it was time for us to make a clean break.’
For a moment I couldn’t speak.
‘And here you both are,’ Harriet remarked.
‘Evie has been through a lot for a child of her age,’ I told her. ‘Being here feels like the fresh start we’ve been looking for.’
Harriet looked at me, and for the weirdest second or two, I thought I saw a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
10
Three Years Earlier
Toni
When our visitor had left, I went back into the kitchen and sat alone at the table for a few minutes.
Harriet Watson was a strange woman. She hadn’t really commented sympathetically, as most people tended to do, on my story of how things had gone so terribly wrong.
Yet I’d found that reassuring. I had opened up emotionally, more than I’d ever done to a complete stranger. Her apparent indifference made me feel as if the reasons for holding back had been neatly swept away and, for a short time, that had been somewhat of a relief.
I’d probably said more than I intended to, though. She was Evie’s teacher, for goodness’ sake. I shouldn’t have gone into all the gory details. Too late now.
At least she had a fuller understanding of Evie; you never knew when she might need an extra bit of slack cut for her at school. I was especially worried about the new, blossoming impatience and stubbornness she’d displayed lately.
I took a few deep breaths, suddenly aware of my dry mouth and the heat in my hands. My heart had ceased merely fluttering and was now banging like a drum inside my chest.
I had too much thinking to thank for that.
Reaching for my handbag, I slid out the small bottle with shaking hands. It was half-filled with hard-angled, light blue tablets. Andrew’s name was printed in bold type on the neat, white label.
One wouldn’t hurt, not after my ordeal this morning.
It wasn’t good to get so het up. Wasn’t good for me, or for Evie.
Maybe I was being too hard on myself. Plenty of people downed a couple of glasses of wine at night when they were feeling stressed. Nobody seemed to judge you for that; it was something to joke about.
One tablet was fine. One would be OK, just to take the edge off and push my problems a little further back.
Just for today.
11
Three Years Earlier
Toni
I felt myself being softly shaken then, when I didn’t respond, pushed a little more roughly.
I was too deep, I didn’t want to surface. I just wanted to be left alone to lie here, on the nice soft, squashy cushions.
‘Mummy!’ An urgent voice broke through the fog. ‘Mummy, I’m hungry.’
I opened my eyes. Blinked. Closed them again.
‘Mummy, wake UP! I’m trying to tell you something.’
Evie shook me again, rocking her weight against my arm.
I opened my eyes and frowned against the splitting headache. My daughter’s outline flickered slowly into focus.
‘Someone knocked on the door,’ she said. ‘I didn’t answer, like you told me, Mummy. I hid.’
‘Good girl.’ The words sounded clear in my mind but left my dry, cracked lips as a croak.
Evie stood up and walked out of the room.
‘Wait,’ I tried again but my words were just a garbled mess.
Then Evie came back with a glass of water that sloshed and spilled over my arm. I pushed myself up to a seated position and she shuffled onto the couch next to me and pressed the glass to my lips. I took a deep draught of cool, refreshing water.
‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ I managed, battling the rush of nausea and heat that hit me once I sat upright. I felt desperate to lie back down and sleep for longer. But I didn’t. Instead, I focused on Evie’s tear-stained face. ‘You’ve been crying,’ I whispered.
‘I shouted very LOUD in your ear, Mummy, but you still didn’t open your e
yes. You didn’t wake up.’
My stomach started to cramp when I heard her words.
‘I’m sorry.’ I slid my arm around her, pulled her close and kissed the top of her warm, silky head. ‘I’m so sorry, Evie.’
‘I’m hungry. Can I have some toast and then bananas and custard for pudding?’
The thought of dealing with food turned my stomach.
‘Give me two minutes to come round a bit, darling,’ I told her, smiling. ‘Then I’ll make you some tea.’
I glanced at my watch. I had been asleep for nearly two hours.
I remembered I’d taken two tablets. Two. When I’d promised myself I’d manage with just the one.
What if Evie had scalded herself with the kettle or fallen down the stairs? I had put my daughter, the person I loved most in this world, in danger.
I had to do something.
This had to stop.
* * *
It took me a bit longer than a couple of minutes to ‘come round’, as I’d promised, but Evie didn’t complain.
I sat like a zombie, staring at the pile of Lego bricks in the middle of the room, listening to my daughter explaining her latest masterpiece and how it was going to be some kind of ark for homeless animals.
I tried my best to give her the impression I was really listening, but from the way she kept scowling at me and repeating details, stretching the words out slowly, I think she probably guessed I was still out of it.
Finally, I felt up to standing and walked slowly into the kitchen make her toast.
The table was as I’d left it, home to two dirty mugs from Harriet Watson’s visit. As I picked up the mugs to transfer them to the sink, I caught sight of the calendar and it hit me.
I’d missed our appointment to look around Evie’s new school this afternoon.