Pretty Little Things

by T. M. E. Walsh

  ‘Journalists,’ I mouth to him.

  *

  I’m sitting in the back finishing the last of my tea when Dale comes in.

  I raise my mug at him. ‘I’ve ten minutes left on break.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Dad’s watching the shop.’

  ‘Need five minutes?’

  He blows out a long breath. ‘Yeah. I’ve lost count of how many journalists have come through here in the last few hours.’ He grabs a can from the mini fridge, takes a seat opposite me and pops it open.

  ‘So,’ he says, ‘how’s Elle?’

  ‘She’s fine.’

  He swigs from the can, swallows and lets out a burp. ‘Got a birthday coming up soon, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Her seventeenth.’

  ‘Almost legal drinking age,’ he says with a grin.

  This is awkward. I give a noncommittal nod and look at my phone.

  ‘Has she asked for anything specific for her birthday?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, driving lessons.’

  He chokes on his drink. ‘Wow, are you going to get them for her? I keep hoping Dad will let me start driving the van more. He let me do the newspaper drop for the paperboy last week.’

  ‘How was that?’

  ‘Bit scary on some of them bends, and when I got onto the Linkway, I was bricking it.’ He laughs then catches the expression on my face.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK, it’s just a road.’

  ‘Yeah, but, y’know . . .’ He looks at my scar, quickly looks away.

  I smile. ‘It’s fine, really.’

  The Linkway.

  I try not to think about it too much, which is hard. I have to drive on it most days and it sets me on edge each and every time. It doesn’t get better with each journey, contrary to what the doctor said to me months ago.

  ‘So, Elle’s getting lessons,’ Dale says.

  I shrug. ‘I can’t see it right now. Iain wants to get her them, even though he’s moaning the next minute about how we have to be careful with money.’

  ‘Has she asked for anything else, less expensive?’

  I see his face flush when I look at him.

  ‘I thought it’d be nice to get her something.’

  ‘She did say she wanted some jewellery.’

  He looks hopeful.

  ‘Pandora stuff.’

  His face drops a fraction.

  ‘Expensive tastes, I know,’ I say. ‘Last year we got her a four-leaf-clover enamelled necklace. Cost a small fortune.’ I hope this will kill the conversation about Elle. I’m not going to encourage anything here. Dale’s nice, but . . . well, then there’s Harry. Don’t mix business . . . Savannah’s been proof of that.

  I distract myself with my phone again.

  ‘I’m, er, sorry,’ he says. I look up, brow creased. ‘About earlier, with Dad? It’s just a poster, though.’

  I bite my tongue.

  ‘Doesn’t Iain advertise online? He’d reach more people.’

  ‘Jason helps out in that department but the poster does help.’

  Dale visibly bristles at the mention of Jason. He considers Jason to be a rival – not that he has any kind of chance where my daughter’s affections are concerned, but that doesn’t stop him believing there is some connection between them.

  There’s no chance of Jason dating Elle either. He’s twenty-six and Iain’s second. Jason knows better than to bark up that tree. Elle feels differently, though, obviously. Jason’s quite attractive and Dale’s . . . not Elle’s type at all.

  ‘Is Elle having a party this year?’

  Watching Dale trying to steer the conversation back to Elle is laughable but I humour him anyway. We chat for another few minutes before we hear Harry clanking around at the front of the store.

  ‘Better get back,’ Dale says, almost jumping up.

  I glance at my watch. I have another few minutes left of my break. I unlock my phone and browse Facebook.

  I have one new message showing.

  A sinking feeling hits me in my gut then because I know it’s from her before I’ve even clicked on the tab.

  I tap at the screen anyway.

  And I’m right.

  I open the message and give it a quick glance. When I skim-read the first few lines and see numerous insults, I hit the delete button and try to put her words to the back of my mind.

  I’ve lost count of how many messages she’s sent since all this began, when she tracked me down, found out where I lived.

  I haven’t told Iain yet. Maybe I should, but he’s already treating me like a kid about certain things and always reminding me of things I haven’t done. Sometimes it’s like he’s always waiting for me to screw up.

  That’s another reason I still drive on the Linkway. It’s my way of proving to Iain and Elle – Savannah too – that I am fine.

  I look down at the screen of my phone. I instantly regret deleting the messages and make a mental note to keep anything further from her.

  A nasty feeling rises inside me and I know in my gut this is just the tip of the iceberg.

  CHAPTER 6

  CHARLOTTE

  The rest of the day passes in a blur. We’ve been so busy and, with the stocktake, I never did get chance for another break. I feel like I’ve been in a daze for the most part.

  When I go to collect my bag and coat from my locker and check my phone, I see it’s flashing.

  I unlock the screen.

  ‘Oh, God.’

  Dale’s hidden behind his own locker door. ‘All right?’

  ‘Shit and double-bloody-shit! I forgot to pick up Elle from swimming.’ I look at my watch. It’s nearly six. Elle finished practice at three. I have numerous hours’ worth of texts, calls and voicemails on my phone, from Iain as well as Elle.

  I check the last text I’d received, which had come through at four-thirty. It was from Iain.

  I’ve got Elle. Don’t bother calling. I’ll be on a job.

  Short, not so sweet.

  Dale’s looking around the locker door at me. When he catches my eye he says, ‘Everything OK?’

  I shove my phone in my bag and rush to get my coat on. ‘I can’t believe I forgot. I was meant to tell your dad about me having to pick Elle up then come back for the stocktake.’

  He pulls a face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You did look a little out of it earlier,’ he says.

  ‘Out of it?’

  ‘It’s OK, you’ve got a lot of things going on and—’

  ‘And that’s no excuse for forgetting my daughter, Dale.’

  ‘Well, she’s home now, isn’t she?’

  I nod.

  ‘No harm done then.’

  I doubt that. I don’t dare mention I forgot to collect her from school two weeks ago. Savannah had come to the rescue that day.

  I wait until I’ve left the shop and run back to the car before I ring home. I get no answer. I try Elle’s mobile and that goes to voicemail. In the end I call Iain’s mobile.

  It rings and then goes to voicemail too. I hang up and try again. If he doesn’t pick up this time . . .

  ‘Yeah?’

  Iain’s voice sounds impassive.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  Silence.

  ‘Iain, is Elle OK? Only I couldn’t get an answer when I called the hou—’

  ‘She had to walk the path behind the Linkway on her own,’ he interrupts. ‘She had been calling you, texting.’

  ‘I didn’t have chance to check my phone.’

  ‘She called Savannah in the end and she managed to get hold of me between jobs. She would’ve gone herself but she couldn’t get out of work.’

  He pauses and I can hear his breath heavy on the line and the clunk of metal against metal. He’s obviously on a job. I tell myself this is why he’s not talking much.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again.

  He sighs. ‘It’s not me you need to be apologising to. She was a little unnerved when I eventually d
id pick her up, when she was nearly home . . . You know how she feels about the Linkway.’

  I feel crushed by his words. I do know. More than ever because she had nightmares after my accident. Trouble is, it’s almost impossible to avoid it.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I try to ease the blame on myself.

  ‘Couldn’t she have got a lift or at least walked with someone from the team?’

  I hear a thud of something very heavy over the phone. Iain has dropped something. ‘She didn’t get a lift or walk with anyone ’cos she was waiting for you. You would’ve told her to stay put, to wait for you.’

  I wince at his words, his tone of voice.

  ‘As long as she’s all right,’ I say. ‘She didn’t answer her mobile or the house phone.’

  ‘She’s fine, just go home.’

  ‘OK. I’m in the car now.’ I wait for a response but none is forthcoming. ‘I am sorry,’ I say again.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he says and hangs up.

  *

  I take the Linkway to get home.

  My hands grip the steering wheel tighter and feel sweaty as I try to regulate my breathing. This is my process every time I join the road off the mini roundabout.

  I check my mirrors.

  I take deep breaths.

  I remind myself I’ve driven this road for years without incident. I managed it this morning. I can manage it fine again now.

  This morning you hadn’t left your daughter to make her own way home . . .

  I try to block out any thought other than that of the road ahead, but it’s hard. I’m already anxious, and I’m fighting to stay within the speed limit. All I want to do is get home.

  I shudder as I glance through the trees and thick hedgerows at the other side of the road, where I know there’s a lonely, narrow path Elle would’ve had to take to get home on foot.

  I imagine all sorts in my head.

  It’s almost half-six by the time I pull into our drive. I see a white van parked across the road but I know it can’t be Iain’s.

  I get out of the car and run to the front door. The air is balmy this evening, and a sheen of sweat has plastered my hair to my forehead. I push it away with the back of my hand as I let myself in.

  I can hear the hum of the television coming from the living room. I can smell something else and realise it’s food – fatty and meaty.

  ‘Elle?’ I shout.

  I rush into the living room when I get no reply.

  The first thing I notice are boxes of half-eaten pizza and side orders stacked on the coffee table before I see Elle is sitting next to a man.

  Jason is sitting close to Elle on the sofa, a half-eaten slice of pizza in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other.

  Elle has her iPad balanced on her knees, her face illuminated by the screen. She doesn’t look up.

  I must be staring, because Jason shifts himself away from Elle and puts his beer down on the coffee table.

  ‘Hey,’ he says.

  I ignore him a moment and focus on Elle.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I watch her eyes move a fraction in my direction but she avoids actually looking at me.

  ‘Elle?’

  ‘How could you leave me standing there?’ she says, but stares at her tablet screen.

  ‘I just lost track of time. I’ve had so much on my mind that I just forgot and I am so sorry.’

  ‘We’re done talking now,’ she says. Her voice is harsh, cold.

  Even Jason shoots her a look of surprise.

  Jason . . . I turn to look at him now and wonder why he’s here. Anything’s better than dealing with how my daughter is treating me right now. Whether I deserve it or not, she’s just cut me down and I’m hurt.

  I stare at the pizza boxes.

  He looks sheepish. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’ He holds up the slice of pizza. ‘Iain said it was OK to order in . . . since we didn’t know what time you’d be home . . .’

  He trails off when he sees my face. I’m embarrassed, angry. I’m a whole mix of feelings I don’t even want to confront head-on right now.

  ‘There’s loads left over if you want any.’

  On autopilot, I grab a pizza box and head to the kitchen.

  Jason follows me and I hear Elle say, ‘Just leave her.’

  Jason mumbles a reply I don’t catch, then I hear him walking down the hall after me.

  ‘Where is Iain?’ I say as I bite into a slice of meat feast.

  ‘He had to go out on an emergency job.’ I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows hard, uncomfortable. ‘Elle didn’t want to be left on her own. Iain called me and I had just finished a job around the corner. I came straight over.’

  His eyes leave mine, wander further up my face.

  I pull at my fringe, self-conscious, yanking it across my forehead, not that it’s going to make much difference.

  ‘Where’s the job?’

  Jason finishes his pizza, saying as he chews, ‘With this lady in Pirton. She had a flooded kitchen, so Iain said we may as well order a pizza, to cheer Elle up.’

  This is what it’s come to. Cover the awkwardness with a takeaway.

  I’m not sure whether he’s making general conversation or if he feels some need to further corroborate Iain’s absence, as if I need convincing why he’s here with Elle.

  ‘Jason?’ Elle says, appearing in the doorway. ‘You’ll miss the film.’ She looks at me and I smile but she doesn’t return it.

  I notice Jason’s cheeks flush red. He realises how this might look. Luckily I know my daughter. Any infatuation with Jason is purely one-sided.

  I stare after her as she goes back to the living room. ‘I need a beer.’

  Jason goes to the fridge. ‘I’ll get it.’ He stands with his back to me and rifles in the drawer for the bottle opener.

  ‘I forgot her.’

  He pauses, before he glances over his shoulder at me. ‘She’ll get over it.’ He pops the cap off the bottle. ‘These things happen,’ he says as he hands it to me.

  ‘Twice in as many weeks?’ I gulp down a large mouthful of beer.

  He winces. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself.’

  I smile weakly and reach for my handbag. ‘You must let me pay for the pizza.’ Avoiding talking about it, yes, I know, but this is weird for me. I’m a private person. Even if Jason’s a good friend of the family, I’m struggling here.

  ‘No,’ he says, waving his hand. ‘My treat.’

  I pull out my purse. ‘No, really, I feel bad about all this.’ He’s uttering further protest but I’m not really hearing him. I stare down into my purse. There’s a cashpoint slip where the notes should be, but nothing else.

  I’m sure I had money in there.

  I look in the coin section in case I broke into the notes, and forgot, but all that’s there is about three pounds in silver.

  I check the cashpoint receipt. I drew out twenty pounds yesterday.

  Strange.

  Maybe I did spend it all.

  ‘Put that away,’ Jason says, gently folding my hand around my purse, so it shuts. ‘Seriously, I’m gonna get cross. Pizza is on me.’

  I go to speak but hear Elle coming back to the kitchen. I see she has her tablet in her hand again. ‘Jace? C’mon, film’s started.’

  She ignores me, but I’ve seen the screen of her tablet and, thoughts of the missing money pushed aside, take a chance on trying to get her to speak to me, even if it’s a poor choice of subject matter.

  ‘Haven’t you had enough of reading about that?’

  She stares at me and then the tablet, looks bemused.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a little insensitive?’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘We know Caroline’s parents. I know Caroline.’

  ‘Knew,’ she corrects me. ‘Knew her.’

  I remain silent. Elle’s grown up in an age where she has access to news stories all day via social media, on her mobile, tablet, laptop . . . She’s seeing storie
s like these all the time and, I worry, becoming almost desensitised to some of it. It’s becoming the norm. A click, read and move on generation.

  ‘Horrible, that,’ Jason says, craning his neck to see the screen. He’s clearly uncomfortable with how Elle’s treating me and I can’t help but admire him for trying to step in. ‘It makes you worry.’

  ‘I’m not worried,’ Elle says to him.

  ‘No?’ Jason says, raising his eyes to meet mine.

  ‘It’s about being street savvy. They obviously didn’t know how to recognise a dangerous situation when they saw one.’ She looks at me then. ‘Sorry, but it’s like Caroline. She disappeared while walking down a country road because she didn’t get her mum to come and pick her up from her friend’s house at midnight.’ Elle looks to me then. ‘Stupid, right?’

  Wow. Cutting, and what’s worse is, I can’t really defend that, can I?

  ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Jason says.

  I forgot to pick Elle up. Twice. It was daylight hours, but I can’t help feeling she’s unfairly putting the blame on Ruth. Caroline was like Elle. Headstrong and with the sense of arrogance that comes with being young and feeling like you’re invincible. Ruth had told her to call when she needed a lift and Caroline hadn’t. It was that simple and that tragic. Something that could happen to anyone.

  ‘That’s hardly fair, Elle,’ I say.

  She looks at me and then back to the tablet screen. She clicks on another news story, indifferent. ‘Truth hurts.’

  She heads back to the living room.

  Jason gives me a look.

  ‘I guess I deserved that.’

  ‘No, she’s out of line.’

  I shake my head. ‘I forgot her and she walked along the Linkway. What if—’

  ‘She was fine, Charlotte. You’re being too hard on yourself.’

  ‘How can I make this up to her?’

  He smiled. ‘Well, she’s been banging on about driving lessons.’

  I cast him a look.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to trivialise anything.’

  ‘And I’m certainly not buying an apology out of her.’

  I drop what remains of my slice of pizza in the bin and stare at the laundry basket, still sitting there from this morning. I begin to sort it, wanting to do anything to take my mind off the situation.