‘Boyd, will you for feck’s sake answer your phone.’ Lottie hung up.
She had folded a duvet around Milot on Katie’s bed. The girl lay beside him, stroking his hair. Eventually he closed his eyes. Hoping she was doing the right thing by keeping him at her house, knowing she had the child’s interests at heart, Lottie crept back down the stairs. Sean had returned to his computer game and she assumed Chloe was studying with headphones on. No sound from her room.
By half past ten, unable to stand it any longer, she grabbed her keys and headed for Boyd’s apartment. Hopefully Jackie wouldn’t be there. So what? she told herself. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.
‘I shouldn’t have come.’ Chloe flopped onto the park bench in the furthest corner, behind the children’s playground. She’d sneaked out of the house while her mother had been on the phone in the kitchen.
‘It’s all right,’ he said and took two cans of Diet Coke from his jacket pockets.
Sitting up straight, Chloe flicked open her can and smiled nervously. ‘So do you know where Maeve is?’
He inched closer beside her. She scrunched up along the bench.
‘I won’t bite,’ he said.
‘I’m not so sure this is a good idea,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘My mother…’
‘Forget your mother.’
Chloe shrugged. ‘I’m worried about Maeve. I thought she might have told you if she was going away or something.’
‘Or something? Like what?’
‘I know she fancies the arse off you.’
‘Really? I don’t think that.’
‘Maybe I should go,’ she said, flicking the tab on the can up and down, breaking her nail.
‘I want to talk to you,’ he said, moving right up beside her.
Chloe felt her heart beat a little faster as their knees touched and he lifted her hand. He began stroking her fingers, one by one, endless, even touches.
‘As long as you’re not going to confess to being an axe murderer or anything.’ She pulled her hand free, now conscious of the seclusion around them. Not even a bird sang in the branches overhead.
‘Be serious,’ he snapped.
She thought she caught the hint of a shadow drooping over his eyes, but when he raised his head, he smiled again.
She said, ‘I am serious. I’m all ears.’
‘Ears? My sweet girl, you are so much more than ears.’
Chloe got up and walked around the tree beside the bench, sipping her Coke.
‘Can’t you stay still for a moment?’ he said.
She stopped her pacing.
He stood up. ‘My one request is that you never, ever tell anyone about me,’ he said, his voice sharp.
‘What do you mean?’
‘About me knowing Maeve.’ He walked over and stood in front of her.
‘Okay.’ Chloe gulped loudly. He was freaking her out now.
‘Good,’ he said, and his shoulders relaxed.
‘Where is Maeve?’ she asked, feeling the bark of the tree cutting through her thin cotton T-shirt.
He shrugged. ‘She didn’t tell me. And you must not tell anyone about us either.’
‘I don’t know anything to tell. You asked me here. I thought you’d know where she is.’ Chloe didn’t like where this was going. She should leave. She ducked under his arm.
Too late. She felt him grab her hair and pull her back against the tree. His fingers tipped up her chin and his lips locked firmly onto hers, stemming further words from her mouth. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before exploding down her cheeks as he thrust his tongue into her mouth and sucked until she couldn’t breathe.
Bringing her knee up, she hit him between the legs with every ounce of energy she could muster. He drew back with a yell.
‘Bitch!’
‘Let me go!’ she screamed, twisting away furiously from his grasp. ‘My mother knows I’m here.’
‘Fuck your mother!’
Tears flowing freely, Chloe began to run.
He shouted after her. ‘I will know if you tell anyone. You witch.’
She kept running until she reached home. Her mother’s car wasn’t in the drive. Thanking God for small mercies, she flew up the stairs and into her room.
She got out her blade. Without searching for a perfect site, she hurriedly stuck the sharp edge into her arm and dragged it towards her elbow. Blood oozed. Sinking to her knees, she tore off her top and bra and turned the blade to her breast. She lifted up the mound of flesh and drew the sharpness over her ribs. Gritting her teeth, she kept her scream in her throat.
She climbed into bed shivering and pulled the duvet over her head. She didn’t care that there was blood everywhere. She needed to feel the intensity of the pain. She deserved it. Every sharp dart. She had gone willingly to him but he’d told her nothing about Maeve. Had he done something to her?
That look in his eyes. That had made her more frightened than anything else.
Even more frightened than having to hide the bloodstained sheets from her mother.
Peering through the patterned pane of glass on the upper half of the door, Lottie waited for Boyd. She heard the hum of his turbo bike slowing down.
He opened the door. ‘Hey, Mrs Parker. Nice surprise. Come in.’
‘I want to talk to you. Something’s happened.’
Boyd headed for the kitchenette. ‘Fire ahead.’
‘Sit down and listen,’ Lottie said, looking at him. He wore tight tracksuit bottoms and no T-shirt. She could see the muscles across his chest and the scar where he’d suffered a potentially life-threatening knife injury months earlier.
‘It must be important,’ he said, producing small bottles of water.
Lottie longed for something stronger but took the water and unscrewed the cap.
‘It is. Put something on,’ she said, and sat down.
Boyd laughed but went to the bedroom and returned wearing a loose white T-shirt.
‘Now, what’s bothering you?’ He sat beside her.
‘The boy, Milot, turned up on my doorstep earlier.’
‘Who?’
‘The child who was with the girl Mimoza at my house on Monday morning. He just appeared at my front door around nine o’clock tonight.’
‘Holy shit. Where is he now?’ Boyd spluttered, eyes open wide. ‘No, please don’t tell me he’s still at yours.’
She nodded.
‘And you haven’t contacted the Child and Family Agency either?’
She said nothing.
‘You’d better give them a call,’ he insisted. ‘Now.’
Lottie sipped her water. ‘Who’ll be there this late? Come on, Boyd. Be practical. I’ll call them in the morning.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re hoping his mother comes looking for him, aren’t you?’
‘She might have dumped him,’ Lottie said. ‘Oh, I don’t know what to think.’ She put down the water. ‘I’d love a proper drink. Do you have any wine? Or vodka? Even a beer?’ She could really do with a Xanax. She’d been weaning herself off them, denying she was taking the odd one.
Boyd ignored her request. ‘The boy. How old is he? Tell me more.’
She sighed. ‘He’s only three or four years old. He knocked at the door. Chloe brought him in. I reckon he walked. His shoes were grubby and there were cherry-blossom petals in his hair. Someone left him at my door, but I’ve no idea who or why.’