She went upstairs to her bedroom, but her novel wasn’t on the bedside table as she’d thought and in a knee-jerk panic she wondered if anyone had been in the house. Only Mrs Moore, she remembered, with a tinge of embarrassment. Perhaps she’d moved the book elsewhere when she’d cleaned. Laura looked across at the windowsill, then pulling the curtains back a touch, she found it and was about to let the curtain drop again when a movement outside caught her eye.
Cherry was standing on the opposite pavement, under the street light, staring up at the house. Laura instantly recoiled, dropping the curtain. It fell partially closed, leaving a small sliver of a gap, a dazzling slice of light in which Laura knew Cherry could see everything perfectly. If she wanted to leave the room, Laura would have to cross this opening. She stood there, scrunched up into herself, backed into the wall . . . God, she was cowering. She stared at the back of the curtain, an angry whimper escaping before she pulled her breath in sharply. She mustn’t let her do this, but she was paralysed. Laura stood there for what seemed like ages unable to decide whether to look again, see if Cherry was still there, when she heard a dog barking. A small dog, as it was a light, happy sound . . . or perhaps a puppy. A puppy. Laura pulled the curtain back and there, being coerced by Cherry out of the opposite neighbour’s garden, was a golden cocker spaniel puppy. It bounded around her, tangling itself in its lead and licking her hand as she bent down to stroke it.
Laura stared. The same as the one sent to her actress. The one Cherry had killed. What the hell was she doing coming round to the house . . . ? My God, she was taunting her.
Then suddenly Cherry looked up and Laura was filled with a frenzied rage at her casual arrogance. Without thinking, she dropped the curtain and ran downstairs so quickly she almost tripped. She flung open the front door and launched herself onto the pavement.
The street was empty. She drew a sharp breath and looked up and down, but Cherry had gone. The night was still and dark, with just small pools of light spreading a short distance from the foot of each street lamp. Then something else appeared from behind the wall of her opposite neighbour. A fox. It saw her and stared brazenly for a moment before turning and trotting up the street. The fear returned and Laura realized the door was open behind her. Heart hammering, she quickly retreated, and slamming it shut, bolted it.
Daniel stared in bewilderment at the slammed door. Cherry hadn’t wanted him to go and see his mum, that much was obvious. Part of him didn’t blame her – she had, after all, been treated abominably – but . . . Oh, who knew? He suddenly felt exhausted and sat listlessly at the table. The wine glasses, cutlery, napkins, even flowers, for God’s sake, suddenly seemed like a full-on attack and then he instantly felt guilty. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to make amends tonight. Perhaps he was being inconsiderate, suggesting he go and visit Laura. His phone bleeped and he picked it up expecting a photo of a wine label, Cherry’s suggestion for the evening, but it was a Facebook email telling him of a message request. He didn’t immediately recognize the sender, and when he opened it, he read it confused.
Hi, Daniel. I hope you don’t mind me getting in touch but there’s something I want to talk to you about. Could you give me a call when you can?
Thanks, Wendy
At the end of the message was a London phone number. It took a second for him to realize the sender was Cherry’s mother. He had no idea why she could be messaging him, but something made him call back there and then.
‘Hello?’
‘Wendy, it’s Daniel.’
‘Blimey, you was quick.’
‘I got your message.’
‘Oh, good.’
She was unforthcoming with much else and he felt he had to prompt. ‘You asked me to call.’
‘I know, I know. Is Cherry with you?’
‘No, she’s gone to the wine merchant’s.’
She fell silent and he realized he sounded a bit of a knob: wine merchant’s. But it wasn’t just that; it was as if she was plucking up the courage to say something.
‘I found you on Facebook.’
‘OK.’
‘This is extremely hard for me to say . . . but I feel I need to.’ She paused. ‘Your mum came to see me the other day. She said some stuff that I didn’t like hearing . . .’
Daniel could feel himself getting riled and must’ve exhaled or something as Wendy continued with ‘I know what you’re thinking. She’s got it in for Cherry. And she has in a way, but . . . Oh God . . .’ Wendy took a deep breath. ‘This is about the worst thing I ever done, but . . . there’s a good chance your mum’s right.’
He thought he knew but had to ask anyway. ‘Right about what?’
‘Oh my God, do I have to spell it out? It’s bad enough having to say this about me own daughter . . .’ She paused. ‘Cherry’s not as sweet and simple as she makes out. She wants to win. She gets an idea in her head, she wants it. If that idea’s a life where she doesn’t have to work in some crappy job like . . . a supermarket, then she’ll do anything to get it. And she’s not gonna give up easily, which is why she’s made your mum’s life hell, and I can’t say for sure where she’ll stop.’
Daniel was playing with the fork on the table, pushing the tip of the handle so it sprang up in the air. Suddenly it clattered onto the floor.
‘Are you still there?’ said Wendy.
‘Yes. I am.’
‘I’m sorry to be saying this, and I wasn’t going to, but you was so nice to me. That day we all went to lunch. Even though I gatecrashed your own time with Cherry, you was so friendly, made me feel really welcome. I’ll never forget it. Anyway, I couldn’t just let you go on being in the dark or nothing. And I know about the awful thing your mum done, but still . . .’ Wendy’s voice was wavering and Daniel could tell she was on the verge of tears.
‘Listen up. When Cherry was a kid, about fourteen, she cut up a girl’s school shirt while she was out doing PE. Two holes in the front just ’cos she nicked her idea in a school competition. Prize was fifty quid. The girl didn’t even win – Cherry did – but I think she was making a point.’
It was a small thing, a stupid small thing that a teenager would do, so why did it make his blood run cold?
‘Anyway, I think I’ve said enough, so I’m going. I’m sorry, Daniel. I feel like this is partly my fault. Like I didn’t bring her up right or something . . . I’ll be seeing yer, OK?’ She hung up.
Daniel put the phone down on the table and stared uncomprehendingly around the room. All of a sudden the hole his mum had stubbornly, unwelcomely been trying to prise open in his relationship had widened. He didn’t know what to do with what Wendy had told him; he needed time to think. He heard the sound of the key in the lock and jumped up as Cherry came in.
‘Australian. “Savoury and powerful with intense spicy—” What’s up?’ She looked up from the label.
‘Nothing,’ he quickly reassured her.
‘Something’s happened.’