I stay where I am, in the centre of the sofa, the glass of water on my left, the pills in my hand and listen as Brian thunders up the stairs and across the landing. There’s a split second of silence as he snatches up the phone then the low rumble of his voice as he answers. He’s quiet then there’s another rumble, louder this time and then the thump-thump-thump of his footsteps across the landing and down the stairs.
‘Goddamn it!’ He bursts into the living room and throws himself into the armchair.
‘Bad news?’
He slumps forward and rests his head in his hands but says nothing. Neither do I. Sixteen years together have taught me to give Brian his space when he’s in a bad mood, they pass quicker that way.
‘Hmmm,’ he peers at me through his fingers and shakes his head. ‘No, I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘What wouldn’t?’
‘They want me to go in. The wind turbine vote has been brought forward.’
‘Then go!’ I smile. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head again. ‘You need me here.’
‘Brian, I’ll be fine, honestly. I’ve got Milly to keep me company. And besides, if you disappear off for the afternoon I can watch Deal or No Deal in peace without you shouting at the TV about how there’s no such thing as positive bloody vibes or unlucky boxes.’
He cracks a smile. ‘I’m not that bad.’
‘You are!’ I laugh. ‘Go! I’ll call, I promise, if anything happens. Not that it will,’ I add hastily.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll be fine.’
Brian stands up, crosses the room and gives me a kiss on the forehead. ‘I’ll try and be as quick as I can but you know how these things can drag.’
‘Just go. I’ll see you later.’
I watch him walk out of the living room and am just about to stand up myself when he suddenly turns back. His eyes rest on the glass of water on the table beside me.
‘Did you take your tablets okay?’
‘Yes,’ I say, smiling brightly as I press the small white pills into the gaps between the sofa cushions. ‘I barely felt them go down.’
Ten minutes after my husband’s car has pulled out of the driveway I do the same with my VW Golf but, instead of driving to the station like Brian, I head for White Street and a parking space outside Ella Porter’s house.
I can see her now, traipsing up the road, her school blazer casually slung over one shoulder, her bag carried loosely in one hand, almost trailing on the pavement. It’s killed me, the last few days, being trapped inside with Brian unable to find out where Charlotte and Ella went instead of going on Mr Evans’s school trip to London.
‘Oh, fuck,’ Ella mouths as she spies me behind the wheel.
‘Wait!’ I call as she hoists her bag over her shoulder and starts running towards her house. ‘Ella, wait!’
I jump out of the car and sprint after her as she yanks open the garden gate and hightails it up the path.
‘Ella, I know about the business studies trip to London. I know you and Charlotte didn’t go.’
She freezes, her back to me, the key held to the lock.
‘I spoke to Mr Evans yesterday. I know everything.’
She remains motionless.
‘If you don’t tell me where you and Charlotte went, and what you did, I’ll tell your mum.’
‘So what?’ She turns slowly, her eyes narrowed. ‘She wouldn’t believe you anyway. She thinks you’re cracked. Everyone does.’
‘Is that so?’ I try not to think about the rumours that are circulating about me outside the school gates. ‘Either way, I know you lied about having food poisoning.’
‘No, we didn’t. We stayed here all weekend, in my room. Charlotte didn’t want to tell you about the food poisoning because that would mean telling you she’d gone to Nandos and then you’d call her fat and tell her off for breaking her diet.’
‘I did no such—’ I catch myself. She’s clever, trying to throw me off the scent by attacking me. ‘So if I ask your mum about that weekend she’ll corroborate your story, will she?’
‘She wasn’t here. She and Dad went away for the weekend.’
‘Where?’
‘None of your business.’
‘It is if it meant two fifteen-year-old girls were left home alone.’ There’s an electronic bleep of a car being locked followed by the click clack of high heels on pavement. Perfect timing.
‘That’ll be your mum,’ I say without turning round. ‘Let’s ask her shall we, Ella? See if she realizes it’s illegal to leave children under the age of sixteen home alone for an entire weekend. Then maybe we’ll ring the police and—’
‘No!’ Ella stares beyond the low hedge, at the blue Audi and the tall, thin woman walking towards us. ‘Don’t.’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because she’ll ground me forever.’
‘Then tell me where you and Charlotte went?’
Clack-clack-clack. Ella’s eyes grow wider as the sound grows louder.
‘No,’ she edges away from the front door, as though preparing to make a run for it, ‘you’ll tell Mum.’
‘I won’t.’
‘She’ll kill me.’
‘Not if I don’t tell her she won’t. Your mum doesn’t need to know anything about this conversation, Ella.’
There’s a jangle of keys and the sharp squeak of a gate being opened. Clack-clack-clack. Clack-clack-clack.
‘Tell me,’ I hiss. I take a step towards her. ‘Tell me.’
‘We went to Grey’s nightclub in Chelsea with Danny and Keisha.’ Her words run into each other she’s speaking so quickly. ‘Charlotte met a footballer and I had to get the last train back to Brighton on my own. That’s it, end of story.’
‘You left Charlotte alone in a nightclub in London with a man she’d never met before?’
‘And I had to travel across London in the middle of the night on my own to get the last train home. Anyway, she wasn’t on her own. Danny and Keish were there too.’
‘The footballer – who was he?’
‘I don’t know. A fit black guy with an accent. Some bloke said he was a premiership footballer but who knows if—’
She stares over my right shoulder, her eyes wide.
‘You again!’ A cloud of Chanel Number 5 wafts up my nose and there she is, Judy Porter, standing beside me. ‘If you’re bothering my daughter again I’ll call the police. This is harassment, Sue.’