I reached for the remote control and flicked the TV off. The silence reverberated, as if an invisible wall sat between us.
‘Do you understand what Mummy is saying?’ I tried again. ‘You mustn’t go outside on your own like that again, poppet. It’s dangerous.’
‘I tried to tell you, Mummy.’ Evie turned to face me, her eyes wide and glistening. ‘But you were still sleeping and you wouldn’t wake up.’
I clamped my hand over my mouth and closed my eyes. A hot thread of revulsion wrapped itself around my throat like a burning wire.
Who on earth was I turning into?
18
Three Years Earlier
Toni
Monday morning didn’t turn out to be the calm, organised time I’d planned it to be. I felt groggy and out of sorts, even though I hadn’t touched any tablets since the early hours of yesterday.
Evie was still clearly shaken by the wasp attack, aside from the physical discomfort of the still red, scratchy swellings on her arms and face.
‘Can you button up my cardigan please, Mummy?’ she asked in a small voice, her face forlorn.
‘Come on, a big girl like you knows how to button up, don’t you?’ I chided her, tickling under her chin.
‘I want you to do it.’
I’d plaited her blonde wavy hair into two braids. The red and grey uniform suited her, seeming to add a little colour into her pasty cheeks, which were still dotted here and there with the unsightly red blobs.
I buttoned her cardi up and pulled her gently to me and we had a little cuddle, silent in each other’s affection for a few seconds.
Then Evie pulled away and looked at me.
‘Mummy, are you taking me to school today?’
‘Am I taking you to school?’ I repeated with outraged amazement that brought the ghost of a smile to her lips. ‘OF COURSE I’m taking you to school, silly munchkin. I wouldn’t miss that for all the tea in China.’
I tickled her belly and waited for the throaty giggle I loved so much. But Evie stepped away from my wriggling fingers, edgy and wary. Her face grew solemn again.
‘Are you picking me up from school, too?’
I swear to God my daughter had an overdeveloped sixth sense. She could invariably pick up vibes from whatever was laying heavy on my heart at any given time of the day. Even when I thought I’d done a pretty good job of covering up the cracks.
‘Are you?’ she demanded.
‘No, because Nanny is picking you up from school, isn’t she? If you remember—’
‘No!’
Mum had already called Evie on my phone this morning to wish her luck and to tell her she’d be seeing her at the end of school.
‘Evie, don’t start. Nanny wants to pick you up and hear all about your day. You don’t want to upset her now, do you?’ I felt rotten even as I said it. What kind of mother tries to silence a five-year-old with emotional blackmail? But I had to do something to stop the threatened tantrum I could feel hovering like an imminent storm.
‘But I want you to pick me up on my first day, Mummy.’ Her big blue eyes shone, pleading with me. Her bottom lip wobbled. ‘Pleeease?’
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath in.
Why did it feel like life always conspired to make parenting so damn difficult? Of all the days for me to get an interview for the job, it had to be this one.
It had all happened so quickly from me submitting my application, I could never have reasonably anticipated problems with Evie’s first day at big school.
‘Mummy, please?’ Evie whined again, sensing weakness.
* * *
In the afternoon, after a sandwich and a quick shower, I dressed for the interview in my smart Ted Baker navy trouser suit and white blouse.
The outfit was now a few fashion seasons old but it still looked the part. Better than my custom leggings and T-shirt, at least.
I wondered if I’d ever be in a financial position that allowed me to shop for clothes at Ted Baker again.
It was clear I’d lost a bit of weight since I bought it a couple of years ago. Obviously, I’d noticed my clothes getting looser, but after I finished work, there was no need to dress for the office and I started to live in ‘loungewear’ – a nicer sounding word than ‘scruffs’ or ‘comfies’. Clothes that felt the same, whatever your weight.
Losing weight through grief led to a scrawny, malnourished body. There had been no celebratory buying of new clothes when I’d dropped two dress sizes.
I stood in front of the wardrobe and scrutinized my image in the long mirror fixed to the inside door. I suppose I didn’t look too bad, considering.
The jacket hung a little big on my shoulders and I could have done with a belt for the trousers. Luckily, as we were both a size six, Mum had been able to loan me a pair of M&S black court shoes, avoiding another unnecessary expense.
I pulled my shoulders back a bit and stood a little taller. I smiled widely at myself in the mirror to check I had nothing unsightly stuck in my teeth.
I’d already gotten out of the habit of wearing make-up. There really wasn’t any need, stuck in the house most days. But today I’d used a bit of mascara and a pale pink lipstick I’d found at the bottom of my handbag. A dusting of bronzer and a slick of clear gloss on top of the lip colour and I looked fairly presentable.
I patted my chestnut brown hair, neat in its French roll that I’d pinned and sprayed to within an inch of its life. We’d not been able to afford a holiday again this year but my hair had a few natural highlights, pretty glimmers of gold harvested from hours spent with Evie in our old garden, where I would snatch reading time as she splashed in her small inflatable pool with one or more of her little friends from nursery school.
Confidence. That’s what I needed to exude today.
I’d certainly lost all of the managerial demeanour I used to possess, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
I intended to play down my previous work history as much as I could in the interview anyway. The last thing I wanted was to put them off because they thought they’d be employing a know-all done-it-all.
I checked I had everything in my handbag before I left, including two glowing references from the directors of the previous company I’d worked for, and headed out of the house.
It was cloudy but warm outside and I slipped my jacket off before getting into the car. I’d been unable to get Evie’s pleading voice out of my head all morning, begging me to pick her up from school. ‘Please, Mummy, please.’ It echoed again at me now.
In the end, she’d gone into school quite happily, which had been a massive relief. There were lots of teachers on hand to take the new Primary-year-one children from reluctant parental hands on their first day.
Before we left home, I’d ended up agreeing that if it was humanly possible, I would pick her up from school. I said this knowing full well that with a three o’clock interview, there was no way on earth I was going to make it back to St Saviour’s for three thirty.
I disliked myself for doing it, but the little fib had been worth it to put a smile back on Evie’s face, and it had made our journey out of the house so much smoother.
I sat for a moment in the car and programmed the postcode of Gregory’s Property Services into the satnav. It said the journey would take thirteen minutes and I was allowing thirty. Barring an alien invasion, there would really be no need to panic.
I pressed back into the headrest and took a few deep breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth, just like the relaxation app had suggested. I thought about the little brown bottle I’d salvaged from the bathroom cabinet and tucked away in the zipped compartment of my handbag. Just in case.
I’d done it just for insurance purposes, to make me feel a little more secure. A tablet might help with my heart rate and anxiety but I needed my wits about me more than ever today, and I had to drive, too.