by Sophie King
‘Well, she shouldn’t have said it.’ To her horror, Evie felt her eyes prickle with tears. She looked away hastily, so that Leonora couldn’t see, and watched the Fiesta squeeze past her, almost scraping the Discovery’s side. ‘That’s what you call dangerous driving,’ she said angrily. ‘Not mine. Well, go on, then, aren’t you going to be late?’
Leonora hesitated. ‘Mrs Foster wants to see Mum. This morning. She was meant to come in last week but she didn’t. Mrs Foster says that if she doesn’t see her this morning, she’s going to write to Dad and . . .’
Evie sighed. This wasn’t the first time it had happened but Robin usually sorted out these problems. ‘What have you been doing now?’
‘Nothing. I just called this girl something I shouldn’t because she said something nasty to me and then I hit her so she hit me and . . . Oh, God, Evie, I’m really in trouble this time. Please help me. I didn’t dare tell Dad.’
Evie was torn between anger and pleasure that Leonora had chosen to confide in her. Despite herself, she also felt sorry for her. The anxiety on Leonora’s face reminded her of the problems she’d had at school. Not that the girls would understand that.
She looked coldly at her step-daughter, who was waiting for an answer. ‘I can’t come in now. I’m on a double yellow.’
‘Please, Evie. I’m really going to be in the shit if you don’t.’
‘Don’t use words like that.’ Evie glanced around to see if there were any traffic wardens. If she was quick, she could explain to Mrs Foster that Rachel would come in to sort this out when she got home.
‘Stay there,’ she instructed Jack. ‘Don’t move. I won’t be a second.’
She didn’t like leaving him but Jack was getting too heavy to carry and his dawdling would slow her down. ‘Come on, then. Quick.’
They walked briskly past a child in a scruffy black blazer.
‘But it’s non-uniform day,’ he was saying, into his mobile. ‘Please bring in my jeans, Mum, or I’ll be the only one like this.’
Poor boy, thought Evie. Kids hated being different – like many an adult. To her relief, Mrs Foster was in the staffroom.
Evie explained the situation, awkwardly conscious that Leonora was near enough to hear. ‘My step-daughter’s mother is away at the moment but she’ll come in as soon as she’s back. I’d be really grateful if you could make allowances. Leonora has been through a difficult time recently.’ She gave the woman a warm smile, the kind that said, ‘I know your job’s difficult but it’s bloody hard work being a step-mother too.’
Mrs Foster nodded. ‘Leave it to me, Mrs Brookes. I know what girls are like. I’ve got three of my own. Now, Leonora, why don’t you show your mother – I mean step-mother – the way out?’ She smiled again. ‘This place is like a rabbit warren if you don’t know it.’
Wordlessly, Leonora led the way, her face red with the embarrassment of having an external adult next to her while her classmates walked past.
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Evie.
‘I’m not,’ retorted Leonora.
Evie’s heart sank and her new confidence evaporated. The brief intimacy had passed and she felt punctured. Why should it bother her that Leonora no longer needed her protection? But it did. How pathetic was that?
She put on her sunglasses (easier to observe the world than allow it to observe her) and walked briskly out of the school towards the car, checking the expensive watch that Robin shouldn’t – in view of his redundancy – have bought her last Christmas. Blast. That Mrs Foster hiccup had made her late for Jack’s nursery, and if the traffic was bad she’d be late for the meeting with Bulmer about circulation figures. Of all the appointments in her day, that was the one she couldn’t be late for. Over the last three months, Gareth Bulmer had been unfairly critical of her circulation figures, which were improving at a time when magazines were grappling with production costs and readers who were defecting from the glossies to affordable weeklies. Evie had to be on the ball for this morning’s meeting. She had to -
Christ! What was that noise? It sounded like the car alarm. Evie ran towards the Discovery, and saw, with a stab of fear, that the back seat was empty.
Calm down. Jack must have unstrapped himself again and would be playing in the front. She zapped the car door and turned the handle. Locked! She must have left it open so Jack had let himself out . . .
‘Jack!’ she screamed. She unlocked the door and looked under the seats in case he was hiding. Then she opened her mouth to scream again but nothing came out. Even worse, she felt wet between her legs; wet with fear because she must have (oh, God, no!) peed herself just as she had at school when things went wrong. Her legs paralysed, she looked wildly up and down the street. No one, apart from a few straggling mums, chatting outside their cars.
Jack had gone. Jack had gone.
Then the scream came, louder and shriller than any car alarm. So loud that Evie didn’t know she was doing it until the other mothers turned and looked at her, eyes wide, mouths open.
‘Jack! Jack! Where are you?’
3
NICK
‘This is Capital Radio and it’s nearly seven a.m. on a lovely bright summer morning. I’m Sarah Smith with an update on the traffic . . .’
Juliana, Juliana? God, I can almost reach out and touch your face. No, don’t go. I need to ask you something. Come back. Please.
‘Dad, wake up! It’s seven o’clock. Your alarm’s been going for ages! I’ve put the washing machine on and walked Mutley. You said I could drive if we were ready on time. Please? Dad, you’re talking in your sleep again. Come on! I can’t be late! It’s Monday, prefect duty. Look, I’ve brought you some coffee. Careful, it’s hot . . . Yes, I know it’s nearly ten past seven. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’re not a morning person, are you, Dad? Remember how Mum used to say that? . . . Yes, Dad, you did say I could drive. I’ve got the L-plates out. I’m seventeen now, Dad. You’ve got to let me grow up some time. Besides, I like driving Mum’s car. It makes me feel she’s still here . . . I can? Thanks, Dad. I’ll go slower today. Promise.’
‘. . . coming up to eight twenty-five and first it’s the sports news. Arsenal’s revving up for the big match tonight and . . .’
Nick froze with terror as Julie squeezed through a narrow space outside school, her beautiful face gritted with determination. This place was getting more like the dodgems every day. It was a miracle no one had been killed.
‘Look out! You nearly went into the side of that Discovery.’
‘It wasn’t my fault, Dad. She shouldn’t have swung out like that.’ Julie pouted.
Nick felt the familiar pang of loss. At seventeen, she was the spitting image of her mother at that age. Sometimes Nick could hardly believe he had met Juliana when she was barely out of school. He remembered it as if it was yesterday. Fresh and beautiful, she had been chosen as New Face of the Year by a teen magazine and he was the lucky photographer who had been commissioned to do the shoot. And even though he was nearly ten years older, it had been love – not just lust – at first sight.
‘Easy does it. That’s right. Straighten up now. Straighten up, I said! Oh, God!’
Nick covered his face with his hands, unable to look as Julie reversed clumsily into the space that, by some miracle, had just been vacated in the school run scrabble. As he raised his head, he caught sight of himself in the wing mirror. He looked like a scared stranger – but, then, he often felt like that when he looked in the mirror. Sure, the basic bits were still there: the strong nose that Juliana had called handsome; the short, fashionable haircut that made him (if he said so himself ) look younger than his forty-five years; the intentionally semi-shaved chin that made life easier in the morning rush and which Juliana had always loved to nuzzle; and the laughter lines round his eyes, which still felt hollow with grief. What right did he have to smile with Juliana’s make-up still on the dressing table?
‘I know what I’m doing, Dad. See?’
&nbs
p; An exultant Julie grinned at him, having successfully – if unevenly – reversed into the space. He couldn’t help grinning back, with a wave of relief that they were still in one piece. His daughter’s dark looks (inherited from the West Indian side of Juliana’s family) were stunning, and her sparkly eyes under that cluster of black eyelashes challenged you not to sparkle back. Her lips were full, again just like her mother’s, something she took pride in. Since her mother’s death, all Julie had wanted was to emulate her. She even insisted on everyone calling her Julie, instead of her real name, Jani, because it was more like Juliana. And, even worse, she only wanted to do one thing in life: be a model like her mother. What would Juliana have said? What would she think about Julie driving? About her first boyfriend?
‘So can I apply for my test?’
Nick turned up the radio. ‘Hang on a minute, it’s the sports report.’
Julie turned it down again. ‘Dad, don’t change the subject.’
Nick sighed. He had wanted to hear the bit about Arsenal. ‘What does your driving instructor say?’
Julie pouted again. To Nick’s expert eye, it looked well practised, probably in the mirror. ‘He said I should wait a few weeks so I can have more lessons.’
Nick mentally blessed the driving instructor. ‘Let’s do that, then, shall we? In the meantime, we’ll get in as much practice as we can.’
‘But, Dad, it takes ages for tests to come through. Wouldn’t it be better to book now?’
Nick knew he was on a losing wicket. Since Juliana had died, he had felt so full of guilt and remorse that it had been difficult to refuse their daughter anything – apart from the one thing that really mattered to her. ‘We’ll see.’
Julie grinned. They both knew that meant ‘yes’. ‘Pick me up at four, then? I can drive back.’
Nick glanced at a pretty mother, who was smiling at them. She’d been one of Juliana’s acquaintances. Briefly, he smiled back, not wanting to start a conversation. It was always a mistake. The women meant to be kind but their eyes shone with pity, which made Nick feel uncomfortable. ‘There goes that poor man whose wife died.’ Or ‘How are you managing?’ if he let them. He always tried to change the subject. He and Julie were managing just fine, and if they weren’t, it wasn’t anyone else’s business. Just as it was no one else’s business that last night’s plates were still in the sink and the beds unmade. He had got Julie to school – or, rather, she had got him there – without any arguments about modelling careers, boys, not eating enough breakfast or any of the other issues that hid the real biggie, and that was all that mattered.
‘Dad, why are you looking at that woman like that?’
‘I’m not. She smiled at me.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Julie’s voice was scornful and disapproving. She hated him looking or even talking to a woman. Nick understood this: what recently bereaved teenage girl would want a replacement mother? About six months ago, he had briefly dated another photographer, a woman of about the same age as Juliana who didn’t have kids. Julie had sulked and only spoken when it was absolutely necessary. Consequently Nick had terminated the relationship and Julie had returned to normal. He hadn’t liked to initiate a talk about it because he felt wretched at having upset his daughter.
‘I’ll pick you up at four,’ he said, stumbling on to safer ground, ‘unless the shoot overruns. I’ll ring you if it does.’
‘Shoot?’ Juliana’s beautiful eyes glistened with curiosity in her daughter’s face. ‘What are you doing today?’
He groaned. ‘Lingerie. It’s an advertorial for a new chain store. You should see the stuff. God knows how I’m going to make it look hot. I haven’t seen the models yet, but if they’re anything like the clothes I’ve had it.’
‘You’ll manage, Dad. You always do. Mind you, if you had me doing it, I could make it work.’
Nick cursed himself for walking into that one. ‘Except you’ve got school. Now, off you go, young lady.’
Julie shrugged. ‘Have it your way. See you later then. ’Bye, Mutley.’ She gathered up her bag and the glossy magazine that had been delivered with the papers that morning, then buried her face in the dog’s coat to kiss him as she always did when she left. ‘Gosh, Mutley, you stink! We must bath him this weekend, Dad. And look at his hair all over the seat!’
It was true, he thought, but it didn’t stop her kissing the dog once more before she left him. Mutley was her security, one of the constants that had remained to fill the huge gap Juliana had left. In a funny way, the dog was the same for him. That was why he often took him to photographic sessions, depending on how amenable the client was. A dog – especially one like Mutley – often put people at their ease and made them relax in front of the lens. A bit like the car radio, really. There were times when it performed wonders in filling awkward gaps in the conversation or changing the subject.
Nick pushed Mutley back to where he was meant to be sitting and watched his daughter walk off jauntily, falling in beside a tall, lanky boy whose body language – even from the back – suggested that he was smitten with Nick’s little girl. He felt a surge of protectiveness. As he watched, a bulkier youth pushed into the one accompanying Julie, knocking them both. Julie’s companion said something angrily to him and the bulky kid, whose solid shoulders bulged underneath his T-shirt, put his fingers up in an aggressive gesture that had existed even in Nick’s day. These kids were so big, thought Nick, they could be mistaken for teachers. The school was getting rougher and he had wondered if he should have moved Julie to do her A levels somewhere else. But Juliana had picked this school – she had even been on the PTA committee. Taking Julie away was impossible without her mother’s permission.
They seemed all right now, Julie and the boy. The big kid had gone. Nick glanced down to put the car into gear and saw his daughter’s purse on the front seat. She’d need it. He leapt out of the door without looking and stood back, just in time, as a cyclist sped past, shouting at him – not without justification. He reproached himself and began to race down the pavement. ‘Julie!’ He waved to catch her attention. ‘Darling, your purse!’
A group of mothers – whom he didn’t recognise – stared at him coldly. Maybe he shouldn’t have said ‘darling’ but he couldn’t help it: his little girl had always been his darling, his princess. That was why he was keeping her out of the modelling world for as long as he could. It had destroyed his wife and he was damned if he would let it do the same to his daughter.
He ran on through the swathes of schoolchildren, who didn’t trouble to stand back and let him through. So much for respect! He almost bumped into an older woman helping a little boy out of a turquoise Discovery. Nick’s artistic eye caught the child’s dark auburn curls. Nice-looking kid. ‘Julie!’
To his relief, she turned round. For a minute, she looked at him as she might at a stranger, then recognition flashed into her eyes. ‘Dad! What’s up?’
He held out the purse, and took a good look at the boy next to her.
‘Thanks, Dad. This is Jason.’
Nick almost held out his hand. ‘Hi, Jason, nice to meet you.’
Jason gave what passed for a nod. What the hell does she see in this oik? wondered Nick. Moody face, greasy (waxed?) lock of hair across forehead and thin lips. He only hoped he didn’t drive. That really spooked him: the realisation that if he didn’t ensure Julie learned to drive safely, she would soon reach an age where other kids of her age would be driving her.
‘See you tonight,’ he said, feeling suddenly awkward.
‘Sure.’ Julie looked as embarrassed as he felt. Still, what kid wouldn’t when a parent meets a boyfriend for the first time? He’d felt like Jason when he’d met Juliana’s dad.
‘Don’t you think you’re a bit old for her?’
‘Some people might think so, sir, but I love her and I’m old enough to look after her properly in the way some wouldn’t.’
Nick’s honesty had won over the old man but the conversation still rang in his head.
I’m old enough to look after her properly. It was exactly what he hadn’t done, and now Juliana was dead.
He began to walk back briskly towards the car (walking helped when he had terrible thoughts like this) and the older woman he’d seen earlier – maybe a granny? – approached him, holding the auburn-haired child’s hand.
‘Excuse me, do you know who this little boy belongs to?’
He wondered if he’d heard her correctly. Hadn’t he just seen her opening the Discovery parked down the road and helping him out? ‘Er, no.’ He looked down at the child. He wasn’t mistaken.
That hair was unforgettable. ‘Is he lost?’
The woman nodded. She was short and plump with heavy lines creased into her forehead. Her lipstick was smudged and her rather old-fashioned, pale pink checked coat had milky-looking stains down the front. If she hadn’t been part of the school run remnant, Nick might have mistaken her for a bag lady.
Nick got down on his knees so he was the same height as the little boy. ‘Do you know where Mummy is?’ he asked.
The little boy shook his head solemnly.
Nick tried again. ‘What’s your name?’
Suddenly, without warning, the child burst into noisy tears, which made everyone walking by stare at them. Hell! thought Nick. Any minute now I’ll be accused of molesting a child.
‘Where did you find him?’ He stood up. The woman in the pink coat had disappeared. Shit. Now what was he going to do?
‘Jack! Jack!’ A young woman tore up to them and flung her arms round the child. One look at the little boy told Nick, to his relief, that this was indeed his mother. ‘What the fuck are you doing with him?’ she said, raising her tear-stained face.
‘Nothing. I was trying to find out who he belonged to,’ said Nick. ‘Some woman – oldish – had him. She said he was lost and asked if I knew where his mother was. Then she just . . . disappeared.’