“You’re a disgrace,” Drew says to his son’s back as Callum finally storms up the stairs.
Drew marches out of the den, snatches his keys from the hall cabinet and slams the front door so hard, plaster dust flutters to the floor.
Robin glares at her mother. “How could you choose that man?” she says. “How could you do this to us?” She starts crying and is furious at her body for it. “How could you leave Dad for someone like that?”
“I’m sorry,” Angela says quietly. “I don’t know what to say.”
—
Sarah has slipped away. She’s taken the stairs two at a time and gone into Callum’s room without knocking. She’s watching as he throws his clothes at and around the suitcase, not really getting many in there.
“Callum,” she says, and he stops for a moment and then carries on.
“Callum, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.” She turns to go.
“Is he kind to you?” he says. It’s a matter-of-fact question asked in a trembling voice.
“Yes,” Sarah says.
“He’s never said cruel things? Or punished you unfairly?”
“No.” Sarah shakes her head.
“Honestly?” Callum says. “Please, Sarah, be honest.”
“Honestly,” she replies. “He’s never laid a finger on me.”
“So it really is just me, then.” Callum nods and carries on throwing clothes ineffectually. “Right,” he says. His voice newly crisp, razor sharp with anger.
“I’ll go,” Sarah says.
Callum says nothing.
—
Sarah and Angela take Robin and Callum to the airport the next morning, the radio babbling on low and no one managing to say very much. Drew stays in bed. “It’s his day off, and he works very hard. Your dad’s got a lot of work stress at the moment,” Angela says to Callum without looking back. “So he’s a bit tightly wound.”
“Tightly wound. Right,” says Callum. He doesn’t say another word on the ride to the airport, briefly accepts Sarah and Angela’s awkward hugs goodbye without making eye contact and picks up both suitcases.
“I’ll miss you, love,” Angela says.
“No you won’t,” says Robin, unsmiling.
TWENTY-SEVEN
SARAH|PRESENT DAY
I dreamed last night that Violet had forgotten me. That I’d found her living with another family. That I’d said to her, “I’m so glad I’ve found you.” She’d looked at me with her bright little eyes and said, “Hi, who are you?”
My nights are peppered with dreams like this, but this one lay heavy with me all morning. I sat at the table like a zombie, eating cold, dry toast and gagging. I have to do something.
I’ve found a phone box that still takes coins, a rarity. I’ve written down Jim’s mother’s number, and I tap it in carefully on the cold steel buttons. The smell of pee turns my stomach but I can’t stop.
I put on a Georgia accent when Jim’s mother answers, the only other accent I know. This will be harder than I thought. Just hearing her voice in my ear makes me close my eyes to scrunch away the image of our last meeting.
“Hey there, is this Mrs. Galway?”
“Yes it is, to whom am I speaking?” Good, she doesn’t know it’s me. I take a deep breath, try to smile as I speak. Play the role. Just play the role.
“My name’s Crystal and I’m calling from Robinson’s Toy Company in Atlanta. You’ve been selected to take part in an exclusive competition—”
“I’ve what?” Her telephone voice is the most grating and haughty voice I’ve heard in my life, but I ignore it. I pump more coins in just in case—I can’t have the phone-box beeps giving me away.
“You were put forward by the team at your local Marks and Spencer, from a pool of their best customers.”
“Oh I see,” she says, less frosty now.
“And with only one hundred entrants, you have a great chance. Did I tell you the prize?” I ask, knowing I didn’t but trying to steamroller her cheerfully.
“No, but, wait, who did you—”
“The prize is a hamper full of toys and beautiful dressing-up clothes for one lucky child.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it’s a glorious prize. I just need to ask a few questions to make sure you’d win the collection that suits you best.”
“Well, okay, but this won’t be passed on, will it? I don’t want junk letters.”
“Not at all. This is a very special thank-you for your loyalty as a shopper, that’s all.”
“Okay, well, I suppose—”
“So would you hope to win a boy’s prize or a girl’s?”
“A girl’s.” For the first time I waver. I could just about hold it together when the conversation was abstract, but now we’re really talking about Violet. I take a deep breath, pinch the bridge of my nose and try to muster the will to carry on.
“Hello?” she asks. “Are you still there?”
“Oh it must have been a bad line,” I say, trying to keep my accent through the tears that have started to roll. “I asked the age of your little girl.”
“She’s nearly four,” she answers, not correcting me. She’s my little girl! I want to shout. Not yours!
“She sounds like a darling. And she lives at the same address as you?”
“She does.” An emphatic answer. I hate them all.
“And does she attend school?”
“These questions are…Why do you…”
“I’m just trying to ascertain if she’d like the prize bundle with books or with—”
“Oh she’s very bookish, like her father.”
“And does her father live with you too?” I ask, more snappy than intended.
“I’m sorry, but that’s a very personal question. What did you say your name was?”
“Oh my, I didn’t mean to offend. Perhaps it would be easier if I could speak to Violet myself and get a sense of her interests.” I realize my mistake before she does. My heartbeat races as I fumble to hang up the heavy black receiver. I hear her say, “I didn’t tell you her…Sarah? Is that Sarah? You listen to me—”
An avalanche of embarrassment, desperation and fury crushes me. I slam the receiver over and over on its holder, kick the plastic windows of the phone box and scream at the top of my voice. At least three people walk past me, quickening their steps. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but getting my life back.
ROBIN|PRESENT DAY
Robin has tried her hardest to stay away from the window. Her Mr. Magpie doesn’t exist, and she doesn’t want to see the real Henry Watkins, and she doesn’t want to be seen by whoever was lurking in the shadows the other night.
She distracts herself in the gym room. She works harder, heavier, tries to make her muscles scream with pain every day. Ready, strong, able to protect herself.
She’s ordered a shopping delivery, full of proteins and wholesome foods, watery green vegetables that she won’t want to eat when they’re here. The order should arrive in the next five minutes, according to the cheerful text message received not long ago. The delivery slot was chosen with precision, at extra cost. Well worth it.