Mum still assumes I haven’t progressed from my teenage self, lounging around in bed until noon. ‘It’s fine,’ I say. I think it’s a mad idea but it will get her out of the house for the day and give me some space to finish the book design for my boss, Caitlyn. She wasn’t happy with my last mock-up. I’m worried I’m losing my touch. I’ve been too distracted by the move, the baby, Gran, my mum. And, of course, the small matter of the dead bodies.
‘Stop chewing your lip,’ she says, as she breezes past me. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
Mum is already dressed and applying her make-up at the kitchen table when I get up the next morning. Tom was out of the house by 6 a.m. It’s a long commute for him every day and I think the novelty of it is starting to wear off. He was late home last night due to train delays, and fell into bed, exhausted, wrapping his arms around my stomach and conking out more or less straight away.
‘You look smart,’ I say, which is true even if her outfit is something I’d never wear. She has on a fitted black and white tweed jacket with big brass buttons, her favourite skin-tight cerise jeans and a low-cut white T-shirt with the same chunky necklace as yesterday. I feel underdressed in my baggy dungarees and lemon T-shirt.
‘Thank you.’ She beams at me over her compact mirror. Then she puts it down and frowns. ‘Are you okay? You look a bit … peaky.’
‘I’m fine. Just feel queasy in the mornings.’ Her perfume is giving me a sickly headache. Although it’s not just that. I feel a little uneasy about being in the cottage all day on my own. I’m used to it, usually. And I’ve been yearning for some time without Mum hanging around. But now she’s actually going – and with Tom in London too – it’s hit me that I’m actually going to be alone. In this eerie cottage with the spectre of the two bodies lingering.
I try not to look out of the window as I fetch a glass of water. Tom thinks we might have to hire a different building firm. The sooner that hole has been covered the better. Every time I look at it I get the creeps.
Mum pushes her chair back. ‘Sit down, honey. What can I get you? Toast? Crackers to nibble on?’ I’ve noticed she’s already washed up and put away last night’s things. I feel like I’m a guest in her house, which, I suppose, technically I am. She’s even fed the dog. Something I thought she’d never do.
She fetches me some crackers and I sink into a chair, while she fusses around me. I’m too tired to object. Anxiety furs my insides. I feel like I’m the one getting the train to London. What might Dad unearth? This is surely opening a can of worms.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ I say, putting down the cracker. It’s not helping.
‘I’m meeting your dad for an early lunch.’ She checks the slim gold watch on her wrist. ‘Right, we’d better get going. Now, are you sure you’re okay to take me? I’m happy to get a taxi.’
I stand up. ‘It’s fine, Mum. Come on.’
She chats all the way to the station. By the time we’ve arrived I’ve got a massive headache. She’s still talking as she gets out of the car. ‘I’ll ring you later to keep you updated. I’ll get a taxi back so don’t worry about picking me up. I’ll –’
A car behind me beeps. ‘Mum, I’m not supposed to have stopped here.’
‘Okay, I’m going, I’m going.’ She shuts the passenger door and waves and blows kisses as I pull away.
It’s peacefully quiet on the drive back to the cottage.
I let myself in and decide to call Dad. He picks up on the second ring.
‘Hi, sweetheart. I was going to ring you but thought it might be a bit early.’
It’s nine thirty. What is it with my parents? ‘Just wondering if you’ve had any luck with Sheila Watts?’ I ask.