How did other people cope? There were plenty worse off than she was, so how did they manage? Did they simply not think twice about using food banks or asking for help from charitable organisations? Sidney could no more do that than she could ask her parents for help. The shame of it! But perhaps that was her comfortable, middle-class upbringing talking? Chances were she didn’t know what real poverty was actually like.
Because, let’s face it, she’d avoided a real crisis until now. For nearly ten years, dammit, she’d teetered on the edge but not tipped over. And this failure was her own fault — she knew her budget was blowing out, but she’d let the situation with Madison go on, muttering but not acting, past the point of sense. And now she could barely afford to pay the bills, let alone buy Christmas presents for the boys.
She could explain it to them, she supposed, but they were still young enough to expect some magic around this time. They had never, fortunately, expected Game Boys or iPods, but they would be disappointed with stockings filled only with homemade fudge and crappy plastic toys from the dollar shop that broke by lunchtime. Right now, Sidney wasn’t even sure she could afford the latter.
She’d been stupid — had crossed her fingers and hoped it would all turn out OK (obviously she’d never outgrown a belief in magic). But it hadn’t, it wasn’t OK. And it was all her fault.
A lone consolation was that she’d nipped her other stupidity in the bud. She’d given Kerry the boot, which was the right thing to do. Her sentiment hadn’t got the better of her that time.
And she wasn’t entirely devoid of solutions. She could sell the car, and she’d been thinking about how to manage without it.
‘I wondered — could I come on the Love Bus with you on Mondays?’ Sidney asked Mac. ‘I can do the shopping and library run, and, you know, purchase clothes for the boys at the op shop. Then all I need to figure out is how to get to Mr Phipps’s place. He might be able to pick me up, though, of course, I’ll need to make sure he deducts part of my wages for his petrol expenses …’
Mac made a doubtful face, and Sidney’s nerves twanged taut as garrotting wire.
‘The Love Bus might be heading for the scrap heap,’ said Mac. ‘Keep this under your hat for now, but Doc Love is retiring, and I’m not sure his replacement will want to keep supporting that particular community service.’
‘His replacement? You’ve already found someone?’
‘Mm.’
Mac looked as close to embarrassed as she ever got, and Sidney was miffed. How many of her other friends were keeping secrets from her? Or was she just too dense to spot what was obvious to everyone else?
‘I’m still sweating about it,’ said Mac. ‘It wasn’t even my job to find a replacement, but it needed to be done, and once I’d started down the track …’
Mac wasn’t embarrassed, she was anxious. Sidney knew how that felt.
‘Well, go on, who is he? Or she?’
‘He,’ said Mac. ‘His name’s Ashwin Ghadavi, Indian-born, London-trained, young, presentable if you like them bony, and he and Kerry could form a doubles team in the Talking Olympics.’ She caught herself. ‘Oh. Sorry …’
‘It’s fine,’ said Sidney. ‘Really.’
‘You know he lost his job at the Bartons?’
‘Didn’t know, don’t care.’
‘Guess that means he’ll be leaving town.’
‘Seriously — can we talk about something else?’
Mac pursed her mouth. ‘Also means Littleville is scuppered. Are we happy with that?’
‘Why should it be scuppered?’ said Sidney, crossly. ‘There’s still you and me, and Bernard, and maybe Gene …’
‘No one who’s putting in the effort Kerry was, in other words.’
‘Well, we could—’
‘And no one who’s able or prepared to put it in, either.’
It was the truth. Sidney could ignore a lot of harsh realities, it seemed, but not that one. Kerry, disorganised as he was, had been the lynchpin holding that project together. He’d had the vision, and had worked tirelessly to enrol supporters. Without his zeal and toil, Mac was right — Littleville would never see the light of day.
It didn’t mean he could be trusted, however. No, she was right about that at least.
‘He went to see Bernard,’ Mac said. ‘Finally got the Hampton District Council to agree to a meeting, and asked Bernard to deputise for him and plead our case. Bernard rang me to ask whether I thought it was worthwhile. Seems even Bernard’s realised that Littleville doesn’t really exist without Kerry.’
Sometimes Sidney wondered if Mac enjoyed twisting the knife. But no, she was simply a realist, a pragmatist, one who didn’t see the point of gloss or euphemism. Mac delivered it straight, and if the recipient felt hurt or offended, that was their problem.
‘And what did you tell him?’ Sidney asked.
‘That I’d talk to you and the others.’
Great. One more thorn thicket to bash through.
‘There’s been quite a bit of work put in already,’ said Sidney. ‘Certainly a lot of promises made …’
‘And everything depends on getting the council off our backs,’ said Mac. ‘Kerry knew this meeting was our last shot. Thing is, even though Bernard has lately risen in my estimation, he’s hardly Mr Charisma. And I suspect the council is well inured to being bored into agreement.’
‘So we are scuppered?’
‘Without Kerry we are.’
Sidney felt the thorn thicket closing in on her, much like a mediaeval iron maiden.
‘I’m not talking to him,’ she said. ‘If you want him to stay on the project, fine. But I will not be the go-between!’
‘Not asking you to be,’ said Mac. ‘Just wanted to know if you’d object to being in the same room as him. If that eventuality arose.’
‘Oh, what does it matter what I want?’
Sidney knew she sounded childish, but really, it was all getting a bit much.
Mac stood up, patted Sidney on the shoulder.
‘More tea? I might have a biscuit here somewhere, too. Jacko usually does the shopping, so who knows?’
‘Have you heard from him?’ Sidney felt guilty for not asking earlier.
‘Yep.’ Mac peered into a cupboard. ‘Still no sign of the dog.’
Sidney felt both guilty and selfish for asking the next question. ‘How long do you think he’ll stay in the bush?’
Mac was squinting at the ‘best before’ date on a packet of Krispies.
‘Big Rog the DOC ranger has dropped another week’s supplies off to him at the hut.’
Sidney’s heart sank. She’d been hoping for at least one evening’s work next week. What was the best way to advertise a car for sale these days? She’d better find out pronto.
‘Sammo might buy your car.’ Mac the mind-reader dropped a teabag in each mug, and lifted the kettle. ‘He’ll need his own wheels when he moves to Christchurch. Can’t take Daddy’s Hilux.’
‘I’ll earn back all that babysitting money I paid him,’ said Sidney, glumly. ‘Probably.’
‘Speaking of babysitting,’ said Mac. ‘Do you want a hand telling Olivia to shove it?’
Sidney had a sudden vision of entering the Jensens’ with a Rottweiler, unclipping its lead and yelling ‘Sick!’
‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but I got myself into this mess. Too soft, that’s my problem. Too worried about someone else’s child when I should have been thinking about my own two.’
Mac brought two steaming mugs back to the table, set one in front of Sidney.
‘Don’t fret about Madison,’ she said. ‘Corinna is keeping an eye on her, and if there’s any hint of neglect, she’ll have the authorities in there straight away.’
‘I’m not sure that makes me feel better,’ said Sidney. ‘How would that sweet child cope in care? Olivia and Rick might not win parents of the year, but they’re still her mum and dad. And she loves them — that’s heartbreakingly obvious.’
‘You
know foster parents get paid?’
Mac was quite serious, but Sidney still wanted to laugh.
‘I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t qualify as suitable,’ she said. ‘I’m a single mother on the benefit, earning side-money waiting tables and tending bees.’
‘Worth investigating?’
Sidney appreciated the intent, but—
‘Let me haul myself out of this financial quagmire first,’ she said. ‘And then — well, we’ll see.’
By the time three o’clock came around, Sidney’s nerves were vibrating at such a high frequency she was amazed not to have attracted an entourage of dogs.
This was the plan: if Madison was not picked up, Sidney would grab one of the teachers, explain that she couldn’t take the child home, and leave the school to sort out Madison’s transport arrangements. The toughest part would be apologising to Madison. Last thing Sidney wanted was for her to feel she’d been an inconvenience, a burden. No part of this situation was Maddie’s fault. It was Olivia and Rick’s and, by taking this long to grow a spine, Sidney’s.
Waiting in the school grounds, trying to keep her breathing sub-hyperventilation level, Sidney barely noticed her own sons until they were under her nose, gabbling for her attention.
Achieving the physical feat only mothers can master, Sidney kept one eye on the boys and scanned for Madison with the other. Her brain being thus split, she only heard snatches of what they were telling her, but that didn’t matter, because the part of the brain that was focused was specially programmed to pick out key words, such as ‘trouble’, ‘principal’s office’ and ‘fees’, plus the names of illicit substances and inappropriate sexual references. Today, the boys’ conversation seemed to be mercifully free of anything contentious, being mainly, as far as she could tell, about a new way to catch Pokémon.
‘Hey, hey, that sounds great,’ she interrupted, fairly certain she spoke the truth. ‘Have you guys seen Madison?’
They shook their heads. Mind you, they were boys with Pokémon on the brain. Madison could be right in front of them sticking her fingers in their eyes and they wouldn’t notice.
‘She’s with Mrs Dundy,’ said Tanya Booth, in passing. That girl had the ears of a lynx and the psychological profile of a high-ranking member of the Stasi.
‘Do you know why, Tanya?’
‘Nah. Don’t think she’s in trouble, though.’
Sidney was sure she didn’t imagine the look of disappointment.
‘OK, guys,’ she said to the boys. ‘I have to check why Madison’s with the principal. Can you hang here and be good for ten minutes?’
They nodded solemnly. God, they were sweet. Sidney headed off to Mrs Dundy’s office, praying she would still hold that opinion when she returned in ten minutes’ time.
Mrs Dundy sounded like she should be sixty with a matronly bust, but she was barely thirty and as rangy as a whippet. She competed in ultramarathons for fun. Sidney saw her door was ajar, so knocked and pushed it further open. The two were sitting on a small sofa, Maddie sitting straight, hands in her lap, Mrs Dundy angled in. As soon as Madison saw Sidney, she leapt up and ran towards her, smiling. For the nine-hundredth time that day, Sidney’s heart lurched.
‘Hi, sorry to barge in,’ she said to Mrs Dundy.
‘That’s all right,’ said the principal. ‘Madison and I had just finished our chat.’
She moved to her desk, clearly expecting Sidney to take Madison home now. Madison’s face said she expected the same. Sidney took a deep, deep breath.
‘I need to have a chat with you now, I’m afraid.’
Why was wine so expensive? Sidney decided to rephrase: why was wine that didn’t taste like the lees of a week-old salad bowl so expensive?
That was one of Kerry’s good points — he was a source of decent wine. It could not, she reminded herself sternly, make up for his deal-breaking flaws. Besides, sorrows didn’t really get drowned, did they? They only became temporarily submerged, like crabs at high tide, their ability to give you a nasty nip undiminished.
The boys were sound asleep in bed and she hoped Maddie was, too. Oh, God, her little face! So hurt, even though Sidney stressed to her it wasn’t her fault. And she had to leave her there, in Mrs Dundy’s office, feeling like she’d just abandoned a puppy in the pound. God knows how the principal got Madison home safely, but Sidney had to trust that she had.
Nothing on the two TV channels her dodgy aerial picked up, and she didn’t have the strength to read a book. What she really wanted to do was drive up to the Jensens’, bundle Madison up in her duvet and bring her back home, where she belonged.
Belonged — Sidney did a mental face-palm. She didn’t belong anywhere but her own home, with her own parents. And she was not Sidney’s responsibility.
And Kerry was not welcome in her mind! She was feeling vulnerable and sad and anxious and that’s why she kept thinking about him. Because he’d been so adept at keeping gremlins at bay, for making the world seem sunnier and the impossible within reach—
Oh, for God’s sake, get a grip! Kerry was gone and it was good riddance. It was right that he hadn’t tried to contact her. Why would he? She’d made her position crystal-clear. He knew she’d only hang up on him …
Shame that his mother had been so nice. Funny as a fit, too; Kerry must get that from her. Sidney hoped she’d done a good job of covering up her shock when Bronagh spilled the beans about Kerry’s wedding day. Bronagh wasn’t to know her loose-with-the-truth son had fudged the key facts.
No, Sidney had kept her cool, or at least kept her boiling rage under a tight lid until she could politely end the call. Her only regret was that she’d not been quite cool enough to probe for more detail about Kerry’s ex-fiancée, the bride left weeping at the altar. Was she pretty? How pretty? How long did she weep? How much had she loved him—?
A knock on the door — who at this hour? Not that it was late, not even eight-thirty, but Sidney never had visitors in the evening. Apart from Kerry, of cour—
Stop it!
At the door, Sidney wished she had a peephole. She couldn’t shout ‘Who is it?’ because that would wake the boys. No choice. She opened up, hoping it wasn’t anyone with bad news or ill intent.
‘Olivia!’
She was about to add, ‘What on earth?’ but Olivia said, ‘Yep, hi, can you get Madison?’
Sidney could have been offended by the abrupt — no, let’s be real — rude tone. But any offence was swept away by a tsunami of panic. Sidney’s heart hammered in her ears so loud, she could barely hear herself speak.
‘Madison isn’t here,’ she said.
Olivia frowned, as much as Botox or whatever would allow.
‘What do you mean? Is she at some school thing?’
‘Jesus bloody hell.’ Sidney fought dual urges to run in chicken circles, and to reach out and throttle the woman. ‘Olivia, do you not know where your own daughter is?’
Olivia flinched, but then her face tightened with anger.
‘She’s not just my daughter. Her prick of a father has to take some fucking responsibility.’
Wow. A tiny, minuscule part of Sidney empathised with that frustration. But Olivia was a grown-up and a parent, and that came first.
‘Well, let’s bloody hope he’s taken responsibility tonight.’ Sidney was shaking, with anger now as well as fear. ‘How about I call him — see if he has Madison? Because if he doesn’t, we have a missing child. And while that may not bother you all that much, it freaks me out completely.’
Olivia gave her a look that Sidney had not seen since secondary school, and of which she had no fond memories. Sidney’s parents — well, her mother — had insisted on sending her to a private school, the kind where a chubby, bookish, un-sporty girl from an only moderately well-off middle-class family attracts attention from shiny-haired, ski-tanned posh girls the way an injured deer attracts wolverines.
‘That’s right,’ Olivia said. ‘You go ahead and take that moral high ground. Kid your
self you’re Miss Perfect Earth Mother because it makes you feel better about your crappy life in your crappy little house.’
Sidney had never slapped anyone. She’d never even smacked her boys despite being sorely tempted. But her hand twitched now, rose up with an instinct of its own. She was so close to acting on that impulse, she could feel the satisfying sting of impact, see the scarlet imprint of her fingers on Olivia’s contemptuous cheek.
But what would that gain? How would that help Madison?
‘I’m going inside now to call Rick,’ Sidney informed Olivia. ‘And if I get no joy, I’m calling the police. You can do whatever you like, I really don’t care.’
And she shut the door in Olivia’s face. Stood for a moment with her forehead pressed against it, to calm the trembling. Then she sprinted into the kitchen to find her phone.
Shit, her hands were still shaking. This was all her fault! She’d put money worries before a little girl’s safety and now look what had happened.
Shit! Double shit! Rick’s phone went through to voicemail. Should she do as she’d said and call the police? She didn’t know for sure that Madison was missing …
Mac. That’s who she’d call. Mac could think straight in a crisis. Sidney scrolled through her contacts and saw ‘Kerry’ flash by. She had forgotten to delete his number, and for just a moment, an impulse took her to reverse back, find his name again and hit dial.
No. Bad choice, and she’d made enough of those today. Sidney found the ‘M’s, and dialled the ever-reliable Mac.
Chapter 35
Bernard
Bernard had until recently categorised his wife as one of those women, like Mac Reid, who had long been resigned to the physical changes aging wrought.
Now, he could distinguish the difference. Mac Reid’s wayward hair, practical clothing and resolutely un-made-up face were the opposite of giving in. By not fighting the aging process, Mac Reid was making a statement, issuing a challenge. ‘Take me as I am,’ she declared to the world, ‘or get lost!’ Mac embraced aging, as if it allowed her to strip away artifice and reveal more of her true self.
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