by Sophie King
She reached into her bag and pulled out her diary. ‘It is not fair,’ she wrote. ‘I am looking forward to sports day, which is a big English tradition. And now I cannot arrive. Sally say it is for parents, not au pairs unless the parents cannot attend. She say I stay at home and prepare tea.’
Slowly, she tucked her diary into her bag and walked across the road past the shops towards ‘home’. ‘Home.’ She ran the word round her mouth. It still felt wrong, as though the sound should mean something else. The Pargeters’ house was too big and colourless to be a real home, with its wooden floors and glass tables. Martine liked colours, the kind of colours she was looking at now in the shop window. That baby’s bright pink cardigan was so adorable with its balloon embroidery. Last week there had been a perfect white dress with smocking that would have been just the right size now for her baby.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the woman behind the till; she was folding tissue paper.
Martine hadn’t realised she had gone in. ‘Oui. Non. I am looking for my niece but I will return.’
Shaking, she left the shop and walked fast towards the Pargeters’ house. The further she got away from her daughter (she was sure it would have been a girl), both in distance and time, the harder it felt. Sometimes Martine wondered if her mother – who was usually so right about everything – had been correct about the termination. Would a baby really have destroyed her life as Maman had insisted?
She walked even faster. Strange! The gates to the house were already open. Perhaps Barry was about to drive out. Briskly, Martine strode up the drive to the square outside the kitchen. As she did so, she could hear the alarm ringing.
‘Merde, the kitchen door, she is open!’
As she stood there, a police car tore up behind her and screeched to a halt on the gravel. A man and a woman in uniform stepped out.
‘Anyone hurt?’ said the woman.
‘I do not think so,’ said Martine, shaking. ‘But the kitchen door, she is open.’
‘I’ll check it out,’ said the man.
Martine got out her phone. ‘I must call my employers. No, the signal is off. They are still at sports day.’
The policeman came back, a grim expression on his face. ‘Break-in, all right. Better call for back-up in case anyone’s still there. You get into our car, Miss, if you don’t mind. We’ll need a statement from you down at the station.’
‘Statement?’ Martine tried to stop her knees jerking but they appeared to have a mind of their own. She sank on to the gravel, which dug into her bare legs. ‘But I am not doing anything wrong. Besides, I need to wait. I have a friend who may be calling.’
‘Sorry, but it’s the law. French, are you? Speak enough English to understand? Did you see anyone suspicious this morning? No? Well, let’s get down to the station and see if you can remember anything.’
THURSDAY EVENING
‘You were fantastic, Beth. Your team did really well, didn’t it, Derek?’
‘We’d have come first if it hadn’t been for that slow-coach Janet.’
‘Never mind. I couldn’t run at her age either. Now, listen, girls, I’ve got to go into hospital tomorrow for a small operation but I’ll be out the next day. Nothing to worry about. Dad will be here to look after you.’
‘Why have you got to be away for the night?’
‘That’s what the hospital says.’
‘But we want you here.’
‘I know. But you’ve got to be big girls. Daddy will get you a DVD if you like and you can have fish and chips for supper.’
‘Just one night?’
‘That’s right. I’ll be back before you know it.’
‘D-D-Dad, how do the gears work?’
‘Like this. See? First, then second, then third.’
‘Is it easy to drive?’
‘It is when you know how to.’
‘Then w-w-why does Martine k-k-keep trying to drive on the right?’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You ought to ask her, Dad. She’s got a b-boyfriend too.
And she keeps talking to him on the phone when she’s meant to be driving us.’
‘Really? I’ll have to talk to Mummy about that.’
‘Why didn’t Mum come back with us?’
‘She had to go on to the studio.’
‘Is it nice being famous, Dad?’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes not.’
‘I want to be f-f-famous too. But when I have k-k-kids I’m not having an au pair. Not like F-F-Farty Marty.’
‘Farty Marty gave us nits, Dad. And we’ve given them to Hugo.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Y-y-yes. She has this special sh-sh-shampoo. I’ve s-s-seen it.’
‘That’s why our heads have been itching, Dad.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Yes, you did, we told you. And she smelt of sherry when she picked us up this week.’
‘Sherry? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Right. We’ll soon see about that.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘Was it nice having me there for sports day?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You don’t seem very sure.’
‘Of course he’s sure, Charlie. He’s tired, that’s all.’
‘I liked it, Dad. Did you see my race too?’
‘I saw all of them, Kate. Clever girl. But I don’t know why you have to run in teams.’
‘It’s so no one feels left out.’
‘But that’s life, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I suppose you’re right.’
‘Cor, Dad, I was really impressed. First in the fathers’ race. I’ve never known you do that before.’
‘Thanks. I was quite pleased myself. Maybe I’ll take up jogging again.’
‘Did the client like the pictures?’
‘Amazingly, yes. It’s incredible what you can do with tarty lingerie if you’ve got the right models.’
‘Pretty, were they?’
‘They looked good in the shots.’
‘You haven’t forgotten I’m going out tonight, have you?’
‘Just don’t be late.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘I need to nip back to the studio to check on some shots. Then I’ll head home. Who did you say you were going out with again?’
‘Just some friends, Dad. Stop fussing. Take a chill pill.’
‘What kind of pill?’
‘A chill pill, Dad. Stop looking like that. They’re not drugs or proper pills. It’s a state of mind. Got it?’
‘I thought you’d be running, Nattie.’
‘Natalie, Evie. My name’s Natalie. We didn’t have to run this year, if we didn’t want to. It’s a new rule. We ran last year if you remember, but you missed it.’
‘I was working, but I got here today on time.’
‘Yeah, a year too late. And isn’t Dad back yet? He knew it was sports day. I told him.’
‘I’m not sure where he is, to be honest. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not like you to be sorry.’
‘No, you’re right, Natalie. It’s not. I’m not really feeling like me at the moment.’
‘What does that mean when it’s at home?’
‘Nothing. Do you want a takeaway tonight? For a treat?’
‘What’s there to have a treat about?’
‘Nothing, really, but sometimes it’s nice to have a treat even when there’s no reason.’
‘You’re weird, Evie, you really are. When’s Dad coming home?’
‘And Mum?’
‘Mum, Dad.’
‘Good boy, Jack. Good boy. Don’t do that to the car, Natalie. It’s got to go back to the office on Friday and they won’t like it if you’ve marked the seat.’
‘Why has it got to go back?’
‘I’ll tell you later. Strap in now, everyone.’
‘Hi, this is Mark. Look, I’m really sorry about cancelling on Monday but I wondered
if you were free for dinner on Friday night. Eight o’clock? I could pick you up at your place . . .’
Delete.
‘Hello? Kitty? This is Duncan. I rang the other evening but maybe you didn’t get the message. My answerphone is always going wrong. Actually, it isn’t. I just said that because I’m feeling embarrassed. I don’t normally leave messages on strange girls’ phones but I’d really like to meet you. How about Friday?’
Save.
‘Betty of Balham has just rung in to warn drivers of congestion around Acacia Road. Apparently it’s due to a local school sports day so drive carefully, everyone.’
28
THURSDAY NIGHT
NICK
‘Lines are still open for tonight’s phone-in on missing persons. If you’ve got a question or need some help, we’d like to hear from you . . .’
Nick switched off the radio, which he always left on in the hall when he was out, partly to deter burglars and partly to keep Mutley company. He felt stiff as he walked – more fool him to have run in the fathers’ race at his age. Also – if he was truthful – he had to admit that he’d tried particularly hard when he had realised Harriet was watching. How crazy was that?
‘Hi,’ he called. ‘I’m back.’
He slung his work-bag on to the glass table by the door and wandered into the large, airy kitchen-cum-sitting-room that Juliana had designed before she was ill.
‘Julie?’ Juliana’s beautiful face looked down at him from the wall.
At times he felt like taking it down. That and all the other black and white photographs that hung around the house. But something always stopped him.
‘Julie?’
Where is my daughter? Why don’t you know where she is? That was what she’d be saying if she was here. God, it was hard being on your own, thought Nick, climbing upstairs to the third floor where Julie had her room. Like every other room in the house, it was full of photographs of her mother. Juliana laughing. Juliana blowing a kiss. They were all there, in the same position that Julie had arranged them when her mother had died. All present and correct, except for Julie herself.
It was only nine thirty. She’d be home soon. Nick went back to the kitchen and the huge American fridge that Juliana had insisted on. The same fridge that he had found her inside, in the middle of the night, stuffing food into her mouth, then throwing it up in the downstairs lavatory so Julie couldn’t hear. He wasn’t hungry but he’d have a glass of Chardonnay.
By eleven, he was frantic. Julie had to be back by ten on a school night, she knew that. Why didn’t she answer her mobile? Should he call the police? Was she out with that boy? Oh, God, what could he do? Nick was tempted to call Juliana’s mother. She lived in Newcastle and often visited in the holidays. But what was the point of worrying her when there was nothing she could do?
At nearly eleven twenty, just when Nick had decided he would call the police, Mutley barked and he heard a key in the lock. Thank God! He felt sick with relief.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ he demanded.
Julie, cheeks glowing, bounced in. ‘Sorry, Dad. I couldn’t get back until now. Hang on a minute.’ She turned round on the doorstep and waved at a car. Someone called, ‘Night, Julie,’ as they drove off. A girl’s voice.
‘Who was that?’
‘Jason. And some other friends. Can I have some of that?’
‘No, you can’t. You smell as though you’ve had a few already. Who was driving?’
She flopped down on the sofa and began to play with the TV remote control. ‘Jason, if you must know.’
Nick felt hot. Did men get menopausal too, or was it just parent paranoia? ‘I told you, Julie, you’re not to be driven by other teenagers. It’s a rule. I won’t have it.’
She rolled her eyes as she flicked through the channels. ‘Oh, give over, Dad. Anyway, if you really want to know, he wasn’t driving. I was.’
‘You were driving? That’s illegal.’
‘No, it’s not. We found some L-plates. Well, at the front, anyway. And I needed the practice. It’s not as though you give me enough. Now, please, I’m trying to watch Big Brother.’
Nick grabbed the remote. ‘How long has Jason been driving?’
‘Dad, give that back!’
‘Not until you tell me how long that boy has been driving.’
She rolled her eyes.
Nick could smell her breath from where he was standing. How many drinks had she had?
‘A whole year. That’s how long. Now, will you stop panicking? And give that back!’ She snatched the remote from him.
‘Then it is illegal,’ said Nick. ‘You have to have driven for three years before you can supervise a learner.’
‘How interesting.’
‘Julie.’ He sat down next to her on the sofa. ‘Look at me. You were lucky not be stopped by the police. Where did you go?’
‘Some bloke in Jason’s maths set. Jason needed to drop something off. Then we went to a bar. Chill out, Dad. It’s no big deal. I’m eighteen in six months and then I can do what I like. Mum was only my age when she met you.’
Her trump card. Juliana. Tomorrow. Two years. He ought to make allowances. ‘Let’s go to bed.’ He suddenly felt weary. ‘I’ll just walk Mutley.’
‘Let me kiss him before you go.’ Julie stumbled off the sofa and buried her face in the dog’s neck.
‘How many drinks did you have tonight, as a matter of interest?’
‘Three Bacardi and Cokes.’ She got up and turned up the television volume. ‘And before you ask, it was after I finished driving. Jason drove afterwards and he hadn’t had anything. Satisfied?’
‘I’m not happy about it,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not a good week, I know, but it’s hard for me too.’
Her eyes softened. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ She leaned towards him and kissed his cheek softly, like her mother had at the beginning. ‘I just want to see the end of this. If I’m not here when you get back, I’ll have gone to bed.’ She was looking at the screen again.
Maybe, thought Nick, the driving and the drink and the television were her way of getting through tomorrow. Perhaps Amber was right: he should respect the way she was dealing with her loss. Everyone coped differently with bereavement.
He bent down to kiss her. She smelt of cigarettes. Only a few years ago, he thought sadly, it had been baby lotion.
‘Night, Julie. Sleep well.’
FRIDAY
29
EVIE
‘It’s Friday and nearly the weekend, folks! And it looks like it could be a scorcher . . .’
Scorcher? It was ice cold in here. No one had spoken for nearly ten minutes. Evie had been wrapped up in the radio item on missing persons she’d caught at the end, last night. The advice line had recommended finding the missing person’s favourite place. But Robin’s was home.
‘Excited about the end of term?’ she asked, trying to make an effort for the girls. ‘You won’t have much work today, will you? In our day, we just played games and did quizzes.’
‘We want to know when Dad’s coming back,’ said Leonora, sullenly.
Evie swallowed, suddenly desperate for a cigarette – five years after having given up. ‘I’m sure he’ll ring soon.’
‘Have you got a bottle for Mrs Hedges?’ demanded Natalie.
‘No, should I?’
‘Mum always does at the end of term. She is our year tutor.’
‘Damn.’
‘Damn, damn,’ chanted Jack.
‘Don’t swear, Evie,’ said Natalie primly. ‘It’s bad for Jack.’
Gritting her teeth, she pulled into a garage. She’d buy Mrs Hedges a box of chocolates even if it made them late for school. She’d be damned – yes, damned – if anyone was going to accuse her of being a bad step-mother. ‘You might have neglected your responsibilities, Robin,’ she muttered to herself, as she strode across the forecourt, ‘but I haven’t.’
After she’d dropped off the girls at scho
ol, she’d go on to see her father. He might have different values from her, but when it came to the crunch, blood was blood.
‘So, you’ve finally made time to come and see your old dad, have you?’
Evie cleared a pile of yellowing newspapers off the torn leather chair and sat down, hoping it was clean. ‘Don’t start talking like that, Dad. It’s only been a fortnight.’
‘Nearly three weeks.’
‘All right, I’m sorry. But you know what it’s been like.’
He patted her arm, lit another cigarette and leaned back into his chair. The flat reeked of tobacco, and in the background Helen Shapiro crooned softly from a record player Evie remembered from her childhood. A nasty smell of cabbage hung in the air; she ought to have brought him something decent for lunch, she thought.
‘Any news of Robin?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m going to have to report him missing soon.’
‘I still think you should sit tight. If that boy’s got something up his sleeve, he’s not going to thank you for scuppering it.’
‘Then why hasn’t he rung to say he’s all right?’
‘Maybe he’s tried.’ Her dad eyed her mobile distrustfully.
‘Those things aren’t that reliable, you know, especially if he’s ringing from abroad.’
‘Don’t.’
Evie felt so nervous that she began to inhale her father’s fumes. She could do with a puff but she’d given up when she’d met Robin because he couldn’t stand smoking. She ought to tell Dad she’d been sacked but she couldn’t, not yet: he’d be so disappointed.
‘How are you doing anyway?’ Her eyes swept round the room. Benjamin lived in the top floor of a block of mansion flats in Hackney. In Victorian times it would have been a prestigious house, looking out over Clapton Square and surrounded by other four and five-storey buildings. Now it was divided into several apartments, with high ceilings and spacious dimensions that froze the occupants in winter. She’d offered to install central heating but Benjamin had been adamant that his two-bar electric fire was enough.