I pull the book out. ‘Thanks,’ I say, turning to her. Our faces are inches apart. ‘Couldn’t see it for looking.’ It breaks the crackle of tension between us as I attempt to stand up.
Zoe holds out her hands and laughs. ‘Good job I came back,’ she says, ‘or you might have been stuck down there all night.’ There’s something about the way she says it that makes me think she knows what I’ve been doing.
‘You saved me,’ I say with a return laugh and head down the stairs.
‘Goodnight,’ she says quietly when I am out of sight.
‘Goodnight,’ I reply, and go into my bedroom.
Immediately, I boot up my computer. Within seconds, I am searching for the name Zoe Harper on the internet, as if all my previous reference checking and research has been a waste of time. Top of the searches are the usual Facebook entries and other social networking sites. I click them all but none is her. There are various videos of people called Zoe Harper and entries in address databases and businesses run by people of the same name as well as a plethora of random pages containing my search words. My eyes scan down the results and I review the bulk of them. There are too many to check. Half an hour later, I am none the wiser.
I call James’s phone just for the comfort of hearing his voice. There’s no point me leaving a message as he won’t pick it up until he returns. ‘Honey, I need you. I’m scared,’ I whisper after hanging up. I consider sending him an email but that would only worry him witless and there’s nothing he can do.
I lie back on my bed fully clothed. I stare at the ceiling. I have no idea what I should do. Why, oh why, has my nanny been photographing Carla Davis’s social work file?
27
LORRAINE WAS BESIDE herself with worry for Grace. Not because she wasn’t answering her phone – she often didn’t pick up, and was sometimes late replying to texts – and it wasn’t because she’d forgotten to take her packed lunch with her this morning or because she missed her driving lesson (the irate instructor had called mid-meeting). Rather, Lorraine was developing a deep, troubled feeling that one day very soon she simply wouldn’t come home at all.
She toyed with the bottle of Cabernet. It was definitely too early in the day for a glass, however small. Drinking wine wouldn’t fix anything, let alone change her daughter’s mind. She placed the bottle on its side again in the wine rack.
‘Oh Grace, Grace, Grace . . .’
Leaning on the sink, she stared out of the window and thought. She wondered how long it would be before the gossip started once Grace left school, moved out, got married. Stories would be rife: the parents couldn’t cope, the poor girl ran away, she was being abused, she got pregnant, they kicked her out . . . Lorraine shuddered. Whatever they believed to be the truth, she, as the mother, would get the blame. And maybe she deserved it. If Grace wasn’t happy, if she wanted to be with Matt’s family, then it must be her fault. She’d hardly been a regular stay-at-home mum lately, having been on call virtually twenty-four hours a day. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d watched Grace play a netball match or made it to a parents’ evening at school. As for going out to the cinema or shopping and lunch on a Saturday, that hadn’t happened in ages. And what about just a simple, honest mother-and-daughter chat at the kitchen table?
Lorraine covered her face then reached for the wine again. This time she opened it. ‘I’d like to see how stay-at-home mums would bloody cope with a job like mine, a husband who thinks he can . . . can . . .’ She closed her eyes in despair. ‘And a daughter who’s intent on doing everything to ruin her life.’ She poured herself a glass and took a sip, sitting half slumped at the kitchen table, muttering to no one.
‘Whassup, Mum?’
Stella was already nosing in the fridge by the time Lorraine realised her youngest daughter had come in. Had she heard her ramblings? Whatever happened, she didn’t want the girls to suffer for what Adam had done. No, it would be kept private between the two of them, although she wasn’t sure why she protected him. Perhaps it was because broadcasting her husband’s weaknesses would mean that she had some too; that she wasn’t able to keep him. The question was, how long could she maintain the charade?
Oh . . . she chased the thought from her mind and gave Stella a hug instead. ‘Missed you, little one,’ she said.
‘You haven’t called me that in ages.’
Lorraine felt her daughter’s arms reciprocate, and for a few seconds everything seemed fine. ‘Well I’m calling you it now. Little one.’
There was a mutual grin, Lorraine’s accompanied by the thought that at least one member of her family hadn’t gone completely mad.
Stella pulled away gently and returned to the fridge. ‘What’s for dinner? I’m starving.’
‘When’s Grace home, love?’ It occurred to Lorraine that, as her mother, she should probably know this. She felt ashamed having to ask Stella. It also occurred to her that she should have bought some food.
‘She said she wouldn’t be . . .’ Stella trailed off, turning scarlet. A mop of blonde curls fell over her face as she bowed her head in thought. ‘Gosh, actually, I can’t remember when she said she’d be back.’
‘Stella . . .’ Lorraine warned.
‘Maybe later?’
Lorraine took Stella gently by the shoulders despite her swell of panic. ‘Where is your sister?’
‘At Matt’s? With a suitcase?’ Again, questions rather than a statement, but it told Lorraine all she needed to know. Had Grace told Stella of her plans? She knew her girls were close.
‘Thank you, sweetheart. Dinner will be a take-away.’ She dashed to the stairs. ‘Once I’ve got your sister back.’
Upstairs, she poked her head round Grace’s bedroom door. She hadn’t been in there for ages. It was a mess and hard to tell if Grace was in the process of moving out or there’d been a burglary. But her dressing table told a story. Most of her make-up was gone along with the various photos of Matt she’d stuck to the mirror.
‘Fuck.’
Lorraine ran back downstairs, grabbed her coat, bag and keys – thankful she hadn’t drunk more than a mouthful of wine – and prepared for a confrontation.
*
It had been Adam’s idea to make a note of Grace’s boyfriend’s car registration number. At the time, Lorraine had called him a helicopter parent. Now, she stifled a half-angry, half-hysterical laugh as she drove, remembering Adam flapping his way around their bedroom dressed only in stripey boxer shorts pretending to be a helicopter. But before that he’d been peeking out of their bedroom window, spying on Grace and Matt saying goodnight in the red Mazda Matt drove. It was hard to see much through the steamed-up windscreen, but that alone told Adam they were getting up to no good.
‘No good?’ Lorraine had said. ‘I don’t think many teenagers in love would say that a snog in a car was “no good”.’
At the time, Adam hadn’t yet dropped his bombshell on her. They were still happy, or so she thought.
‘I don’t like it, that’s all,’ had been his reply as he watched them through a gap in the curtains.
‘Leave them be,’ Lorraine had said, patting his side of the bed. ‘At least he’s brought her back at a reasonable hour. It could be a lot worse.’
Adam had grunted and begun hunting around the bedroom.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘A pen and paper.’
‘Why?’
‘To write down his registration number.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Lorraine had said, flicking off her bedside lamp. ‘Just get into bed, Adam.’ But he’d continued fumbling around the bedroom in the dark. ‘Put it in your Blackberry if you can’t find a pen.’
‘It’s in the kitchen charging.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Lorraine had put the light back on and tossed her phone at him. ‘Here, use mine.’
Now, driving towards Selly Oak, where Grace had once said Matt lived, she was grateful for Adam’s obsessions. It had been a two-minute call to get the car�
��s registered address. During the short time Grace had been going out with Matt, they’d never once met his parents or found out exactly where he lived. It hadn’t seemed necessary. They’d assumed the relationship would burn itself out soon enough, like all the others had. They simply didn’t have time to play at meeting the in-laws.
Lorraine blew out a tight sigh as she drove down Matt’s road. Grace had once mentioned something about Matt’s dad working at the hospital and Lorraine hadn’t given it much reflection; she’d thought briefly porter, security guard, male nurse. Judging by the large houses around here, he was clearly a consultant. Under normal circumstances, that would have pleased her no end. Now all she could think of was that he’d have the money to spend on a slap-up wedding, and to help them get a place of their own.
Cranley Lodge was a large mock-Tudor house with a wide front garden and sweeping in-and-out drive. Three cars were parked on the block-paving – a Range Rover, a Mercedes, and Matt’s Mazda, a sleek MX something-or-other that Adam had complained about bitterly. Who’d buy a new driver something like that? A rich parent, Lorraine now knew, although at the time she’d stuck up for Matt, suggesting perhaps he had a Saturday job and had saved up. Ironically, she recalled defending the lad as being nothing less than utterly sensible.
Lorraine’s phone rang as she got out of the car. It was Adam. She listened intently to what he had to say, barely commented, told him that she’d be home in half an hour and they would discuss it later. Even what he’d found out about Carla Davis didn’t put Lorraine off her stride. She pressed the doorbell hard while simultaneously rapping on the letterbox.
She wanted her daughter back.
‘Hello.’ A petite woman in her early fifties answered quickly. She was elegant and well groomed. Typical doctor’s wife, Lorraine thought bitterly as she tucked her unstyled hair behind her ears.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Fisher,’ she said gravely. It was no doubt the only score-settling moment she’d have, she thought as she watched the woman’s made-up, probably Botoxed face attempt a concerned frown.
‘Is everything OK?’ she asked.
‘Is your son here?’ Lorraine said, still with her business voice on. She wanted the woman to have a moment of anxiety at at least a tenth of the level hers was at.
‘Matt? Yes. Why?’
Lorraine waited a beat, as long as she dared, before forcing a smile. ‘Good, then that must mean my daughter’s here too.’ It was then that Lorraine noticed the suitcases dumped on the hall floor – suitcases she recognised from home. Seeing actual evidence of Grace moving out made her feel sick.
‘Ahh,’ the woman said graciously. ‘You must be . . . please, do come in.’ She stepped aside. ‘I think they’re watching a movie. I’m just cooking—’
‘I’m sorry, she won’t be staying for dinner. I’ve come to collect her.’
Matt’s mother seemed perplexed but, despite Lorraine’s brusque manner, she kept annoyingly calm and pleasant. ‘I’ll get Grace. You probably want to talk.’ She went off down the corridor before Lorraine could protest that there wasn’t any talking to be done, that Grace was coming home now, and that was that.
Moments later Grace emerged into the hall, looking sullen. Lorraine suddenly felt intimidated by her own daughter. ‘What are you doing here?’ She had her slippers on and her arms were folded. She leant against the wall.
‘I’ve come to get you, love,’ Lorraine said as calmly as she could. Her mouth was dry.
‘No, Mum,’ Grace said. ‘I told you. I’m living with Matt now.’ Matt had appeared at her side and was leaning against her, his arm loosely slung around her hips. Matt’s mother completed the line-up – a wall of players on the opposing team. ‘We’re watching a film and Nancy’s cooking a curry.’ Grace looked fondly at Matt’s mother.
Nancy, Lorraine thought sourly, half wanting to burst into tears.
‘Well, you’re not watching a film or eating curry any more. You’re coming home with me.’
‘No way. I’ve moved out and I’m living here now. You can’t stop me.’ Grace sighed, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was saying herself, but she stood her ground nonetheless. Matt moved in closer.
‘I think your mum’s just worried about you, Gracie,’ Nancy suggested.
Gracie! Lorraine pressed down on the lid of her anger.
‘This is not like her, I’m afraid,’ she said to Nancy. ‘I’m so sorry to be disturbing you like this.’
‘Not at all,’ Nancy said kindly. ‘Grace is very welcome here.’
‘That’s most kind of you, but Grace, really, you have to come with me. Now.’ One final glare, one more purse of her lips, one more imploring look that she prayed her daughter would take to be the final word – but no. Grace simply smiled, turned her back, and walked off down the hall.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Matt and I are engaged. We’re living together now. That’s just the way it is. Bye.’ And she disappeared into the sitting room with Matt following her.
After a brief exchange with Nancy, Lorraine finally left without her daughter. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Why had she given in so easily? Why hadn’t she done something? Dragged Grace off by the arm, yelled at her, handcuffed her! She felt bereft, angry as hell, a failure, and more frustrated than she’d ever been in her life. She drove home in a daze, utterly incredulous at what had just happened.
‘I’ve lost her,’ Lorraine said quietly, pulling up outside her house. ‘I’ve lost her to someone else.’
In comparison to the Barnes’s big detached place, their home looked shabby and slightly depressing. Before she went inside she pulled her phone from her bag and tapped out a text message to Grace: We’ve got to talk. Please. X.
When she got inside, she found Adam in the living room hunched over his laptop.
‘What’s up?’ he said in response to Lorraine slamming the front door and hurling her coat on the stairs. ‘Where’s Grace?’
‘She’s left home.’
Adam stood and reached out an arm to Lorraine. She flinched and went through to the kitchen. This time she had no guilty feelings about picking up her half-finished glass of wine.
‘She’s at Matt’s. I went round to get her. She barely spoke to me and refuses to come home. I could have physically manhandled her but there would have been an almighty scene. I just don’t know . . .’ Lorraine felt the tears building up. ‘I just don’t know what to do. She’s gone. She’s bloody gone!’
‘Oh, Ray,’ Adam said, stepping towards her. She didn’t back away.
‘She’s ruining her life. What about her exams, university, all her dreams of a career?’
Adam sighed. ‘If Grace is determined to leave school and live with Matt, I’m afraid there’s not much we can do except support her. Before you know it, she’ll be eighteen and will do it anyway.’
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. It wasn’t long ago that he’d been in this very room roaring ‘Like hell it won’t!’ at his daughter. Looking back over the years, being a parent had been easier for him. A whole lot easier. Sure, Adam had done his share of nappy-changing and night feeds, but when it came to taking time off work – for maternity leave or illness – chasing a promotion or being delegated a major operation, it was she who had lost out. Even now, Adam was the detective in charge of the Frith/Davis investigations, the one considered first and foremost the best man – man! – for the job. Lorraine had never exactly burned her bra over such issues, her life was what it was and she was content enough, but she still felt sometimes the unfairness of their situations, and never more so than now.
‘Look,’ she said, realising she’d forgotten to stop off at the Chinese take-away, ‘I’m just saying that she’s acting rashly. We need to step in and avert a disaster that she’ll regret for the rest of her life.’
‘She thinks she’s in love. And maybe she is. Give her time and see what happens.’
‘She hasn’t got time. What about h
er exams? She needs good grades to get into university . . .’ Lorraine trailed off. It was pointless arguing with him. Besides, Stella had padded into the kitchen. She was wearing thick socks and one of Adam’s oversized cardigans.
‘I’m starving, Mum. And freezing cold.’
Adam plucked a menu off the notice board and picked up the phone. Stella automatically yelled the news that they were getting a Chinese upstairs to Grace, and then Lorraine had to take her by the shoulders and gently explain that her sister wasn’t at home and wasn’t likely to be any time soon, either.
*
‘You’d better tell me what it was you wanted to talk to me about earlier,’ Lorraine said to Adam later.
They’d both made a pact that they wouldn’t leave the house again that night, not unless something major broke. If the development he had mentioned on the phone earlier was case-changing, he’d have already said.
‘It was something I read in Carla Davis’s file.’
‘The one we picked up from the social worker’s house?’ Lorraine said.
Adam nodded. He stretched out on the old sofa. His shirt came untucked at the front, but Lorraine made a point of not looking. She knew he was fit, annoyingly so. Where her stomach had harboured two children and since been rather neglected, Adam’s was finely honed, exercised and healthily fed. She never usually felt self-conscious about how she looked but there was some kind of competition between them these days; it seemed that way to her, anyway. Fitness-wise, they were poles apart.
‘What about it?’
‘There was a note made that she’d been booked in for a termination when she was sixteen weeks pregnant. It was going to be done under general anaesthetic.’
‘I see.’ Lorraine wrapped her arms around her body.
‘But obviously Carla didn’t go through with it,’ Adam continued.
‘Do we know why she didn’t have the termination?’
‘Carla’s case worker wrote a note in the file simply stating that she’d changed her mind.’ Adam shrugged.
‘Either way, it ended the same,’ Lorraine said coldly.
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