Cloudy with isolated showers in the afternoon. Chance of a thunderstorm overnight.
You’ve got that right, thinks Callum, as he reads the MET office forecast. He has come into the front lounge with his coffee so he can check his phone while Georgia finishes her breakfast. He’s aware that Anya will soon be up and he’s keen to avoid the frost for as long as possible.
It had been a long time since he had seen his wife so angry, but last night she had been shaking with fury. Once she’d begun to speak, the words quickly became torrents of accusation. Why do you always put the rescue team ahead of us? Why do you never back me up in front of the kids? And why the hell are you never around any more?
She’d hit a nerve, and he’d fired back. Why would I want to be here when you’re like this? Why do you have to try to control everything? Why can’t you cut the rest of us some slack? Don’t you understand that we’re not all as bloody perfect as you are?
Soon they were shouting over the top of one another. Callum had pictured the kids upstairs, listening to the whole tirade, and felt sorry and ashamed and enraged.
This morning, one sentence of hers keeps coming back to him. We needed you here tonight, Callum.
Because when she had calmed down enough to explain, in low, breathless murmurs so Georgia wouldn’t hear her, she was absolutely right. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. A stranger asleep in their daughter’s bed. A woman who matched the description of the person seen loitering in the hospital corridor. Who had said vile things about Georgia. Who had threatened Anya if she called the police.
After Anya had finished, she had sat on the sofa and sobbed, while he perched on the armchair and stared at the floor. When she quietened he had glanced across to see her wiping her eyes. She looks so tired, he thought. He wanted to get up and go and sit next to her, to put his arm around her and pull her towards him. So why hadn’t he moved?
‘We need to decide what to do,’ he had said instead.
Anya nodded. ‘Do we call the police?’
‘Perhaps we should talk to Georgia first,’ Callum had suggested. ‘I’ll go and get her.’ But when he’d got up and climbed the stairs, bracing himself for what was to come, he had found her fast asleep, clutching her phone, earphones in and music blasting so loudly that he could hear the tinny echoes of it from where he stood.
‘She’s asleep. Should we wake her?’ he’d asked when he went back down.
Anya had sighed. ‘No, she needs to rest. She freaked out earlier when I asked if someone had a grudge against one of them. If we tell her that a woman was waiting for her in her bed she’ll spend all night awake and terrified. I can’t bear it. Let’s talk to her in the morning.’
He’d hesitated, aware he was about to enter a minefield. ‘So, what do we do about the race?’
Anya had inhaled, long and slow. ‘Seriously, Callum? Georgia can’t race tomorrow. That woman has sought her out twice in two days. She came into our house. What if she comes back?’
Callum had recalled the promise he’d made to Georgia in the car. He’d thought of the sponsorship opportunity, how excited Georgia had been at the prospect. Could they really disregard their daughter’s dreams because of a crazy person stalking them in the shadows? He had ventured a suggestion. ‘If we’re waiting until the morning anyway, couldn’t we let her have a go? If this woman comes back, we have no choice – we phone the police. But for now, the doors and windows are locked, the curtains are drawn, and I’ll keep vigil tonight, I promise. We won’t let Georgia out of our sight until after the race, and once it’s done we sit her down straightaway and get to the bottom of this.’
‘She’s traumatised, Cal.’ Anya’s voice had risen. She had swallowed, then said quietly, ‘She won’t cope with it.’
‘Are you sure about that? Because it seems to me that the race is the only thing keeping her going. She’s trained so hard all year. The sponsorship opportunity might never happen again. She’s seventeen – nearly eighteen. I don’t think we can decide this for her.’
‘Well, I don’t know if I can—’ Anya had stopped suddenly, turned away from him, sighed and closed her eyes. ‘You say we won’t let her out of our sight, but you’re forgetting that she’ll be racing over the fells.’
Callum had thought for a while. ‘How about I call Jimmy Davenport – I know he’s one of the officials tomorrow – and see if we can get all the marshals watching out for her. They can keep tabs on her all the way round.’
Anya hadn’t answered for a while. ‘It’s a start,’ she had acquiesced eventually, but she’d still looked unhappy.
‘I think I should phone Liam, though, and tell him what’s happened. Sophia’s involved too, and although this woman seems to be fixated on Georgia, we can’t be too careful.’