Accidents Happen by Louise Millar Page A

under the table, watching her father’s face, waiting for him to react. She’d seen him do this so many times with his own staff, keeping his expression completely impassive as an employee spoke, so that by the end you could almost see the sweat break out on their brow as they waited to see which way his face would break: the beaming grin of approval, or the eyes suddenly darting away, robbing them of eye contact, that told them he was not impressed with their efforts.
    This time, however, Richard’s face broke the right way. He clapped loudly, the rest of his staff joining in on cue, relieved. ‘Well done, sir! Impressive stuff,’ he said, then, turning to Saskia. ‘Good job, darling.’
    Saskia smiled demurely as Richard’s staff gave her another round of applause, as if they had any choice. She was Richard Parker’s daughter, after all.
    ‘Well done, Sass,’ Richard repeated, as he picked up his car keys from his desk. ‘Right. I’m off to work at home. Playing golf with Jeremy after lunch, if you’re looking for me. Can you talk to the chap about fees and contract conditions?’
    ‘No problem,’ replied Saskia, patting his arm, then weaved through tables of computers and design drawing desks into her own office, shutting the door and sitting down.
    She had done a good job. She knew she had. Another success to chalk up. As Dad often told his friends and clients, usually loudly and embarrassingly in front of her: ‘Don’t know what we’d do without our Sass. Bloody place would fall apart!’
    Saskia sighed as she opened up her laptop. Not exactly true. And, anyway, with the salary her father paid her, there would be nowhere to go to. She must be the best-paid office manager in Britain.
    Saskia looked at the screen and saw a note to herself: ‘Snores’.
    Right.
    Checking that Dad was gone, she summoned Facebook and started the process of creating an account for Jack. Ignoring the age-limit warning, she created an account linked to her own email address under her nephew’s name, adding three years to his age and a photo of him wearing dark glasses, where he could easily have been thirteen.
    When the nagging doubts surfaced, she pushed them away. If her sister-in-law was really going to dump poor Jack in a new school, it was the least Saskia could do to help him keep in touch with his old friends. She and Hugo had moved schools enough times as Richard built his bloody business empire to know how it felt.
    Her finger hovered over the ‘submit’ button for a second. Saskia exhaled and pushed the button. Jack’s Facebook page went live.
    She opened up an email message to the marketing agency to request agreements in writing, her mind still on Jack. He was sensible. He wouldn’t do anything silly, would he?
    Saskia started typing, blinking hard.
    Oh well. Too late now, anyway.
    The minute the Scottish man left the cafe, Kate felt the urge to run straight to Blackwell’s to buy his book.
    She went to bite her thumbnail and stopped herself.
    No.
    She made herself summon Jack’s pale, bloodied face again from this morning.
    And now she’d made a fool of herself again, talking to a complete stranger about bloody numbers.
    The book was a test of her resolve, and she was going to pass it. Buying it would completely contradict what she’d set out to do this morning. If she didn’t get a grip on her anxiety, she was going to lose Jack. What was more useful was to think about what the Scottish man had said.
    ‘I just don’t think about it.’
    How the hell did you do that? She put David’s proposal in her bag. Well, work was the best way to start.
    Waving to the waitress, she left the cafe and headed down Cowley Road, crossing Magdalen Bridge above students and tourists punting in the river below, into central Oxford. The elegant greenhouses of the Botanic Gardens appeared on her left. She swiftly turned into the entrance, before she could change her mind and rush to Blackwell’s on Broad Street.
    As she