‘Phone the police. Sit tight, I’ll call you back shortly.’
‘Mum . . .’ he says, but I am not listening. My hand has dropped to my side. There’s an apparition in the doorway.
Our visitor is awake.
The moonlight coming through Zac’s window lends a ghostly sheen to her skin. Her hair is unkempt, tucked behind her ears. Her clothing is dishevelled. It’s too dark for me to see her eyes properly.
I tense as she steps closer, and she stops. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ Her words are soft and reedy. She makes a strange noise after she says this – half-laugh, half-sigh. ‘Don’t call the police.’
‘Who are you?’ I’m trying to feign boldness, but my voice quavers. ‘How did you get in here?’
‘The back door was open. I was waiting. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.’
‘What are you doing here?’
She takes a shaky breath. ‘I came to see Georgia.’
Her hesitation bolsters my confidence. As I ask ‘Why?’ I make the mistake of stepping forward. We are still out of reach of one another, but I see her flinch.
Her mouth opens, and I’m sure she wants to tell me. I hold as still as I can, willing the words to come. But it doesn’t work.
‘I made a mistake,’ she says, as she turns and runs for the stairs.
‘Wait!’ I fly down the stairs after her, as she heads for the kitchen and the back door. She slows down as she reaches for the handle, and I grab her arm. ‘Stop! Tell me what the hell is going on.’
She pauses, but I feel how tense her body is – my hold on her is tenuous, barely keeping her from flight. Her head turns and her eyes meet mine. In the dim light, I see the sheen of tears. I see the haunted gaze of someone lost.
What can I do? If only I could open her mouth, pull words from her like streamers in a magic trick. My professional training kicks in. Empathise, I tell myself. Draw her out with sympathy. Against my instincts, I let go of her arm. ‘Sit down, please. Tell me what’s going on. Perhaps I can help.’
I go over to the kitchen table and slide a chair out, gesture to it. Her eyes follow me but she doesn’t move. I don’t know what to do next, and there is a strange energy in the silence that follows – as though we’re both on the cusp of something, and whatever we say next might tip us to another place. I am suspended in these seconds, but there is a weight to them. Suddenly I don’t want this strange girl to move or tell me anything. I don’t want my husband or children to come home. I don’t want the clock to tick another second. I want to freeze the scene, then turn and boil the kettle, watch the steam swirl from the spout, feel my hands around the smooth china mugs as I collect them from the cupboard.
‘Your daughter is a slut.’
That final word is a needle, piercing through all other thoughts. Everything stirs. Now I am focused; now I am on high alert.
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Your daughter is a slut.’ Her words glint with steel. ‘And now her friend is in hospital – I hope she knows that’s her fault. My life is a write-off, thanks to Georgia, and I see she has already moved on. I hope her new boyfriend knows what he’s getting.’
My breath can’t escape. My chest is so tight it might implode. Whatever Georgia has done, I’m sure that it doesn’t match this twisted version of the story. So, my voice, when I finally find it amid my stunned disbelief, is a growl. ‘Hang on a minute. How dare you – it was you, wasn’t it – the car – last night, wasn’t it, WASN’T IT? And you were at the hospital too, weren’t you? You were the one lurking in the corridor, stalking Sophia.’
‘Stalking her?’ Her fists clench, her eyes widen. ‘You think I’m some kind of crazy woman? I wasn’t stalking her, I was checking she was okay.’
The phone is still in my hand. My grip on it tightens, and she notices. Her demeanour changes again. I feel the hostile ripple of it, even though she barely moves.
‘I wouldn’t call the police if I were you,’ she says, in a low, menacing tone. ‘Ask Georgia what she’s been up to first, or this might be just the start of your family’s troubles.’
I freeze. In the silence I hear the front door opening. At the sound, our eyes lock, and for a moment we seem as scared as one another. But she reacts first, flinging open the back door, rushing away into the night.
I don’t wait to find out who has just come in. I give chase through the shadowy garden, leaping over pot plants, rounding the corner of the house in time to see her shadow bob down our side path. I keep running, aware now of footsteps fast behind me, and a voice shouting, ‘Mum!’ Even then, I don’t stop until I am standing in the middle of the lane.
‘Who was that? Who are we chasing?’ Zac asks, the words coming in breathless bursts as he catches up.
I’m too shattered to speak. I raise a hand to my forehead, panting, staring at nothing.
‘What’s going on, Mum?’
Either side of us, the woods are hushed and the trees are statues.
‘Zac,’ I say eventually, ‘I have absolutely no idea.’