Better Left Buried by Emma Haughton Page A

emphasize her point. “Come on, Sarah, pick this up a little. You’ve only got a couple of weeks to go and this simply isn’t coming together.”
    I’m almost afraid to look at her. There’s impatience on her face mixed with concern; I’m not sure which makes me feel worse.
    She plays the bars up to my entry again. I come in half a beat too late and Mrs Perry stops. Doesn’t raise her eyes from the piano music. Simply goes back to the beginning and starts again.
    I manage to come in on time and get to the bit where I have to hold on a top G when my voice falters. I stop and clear my throat.
    Mrs Perry looks at me. “Again?”
    This time I nearly make it through. Until I stumble on the allegro towards the end. Mrs Perry pauses, resting her fingers on the piano keys. I can tell she’s trying to hide her exasperation.
    â€œI’m s-sorry…” I stutter, pressing my lips together and blinking back the tears. Hoping she won’t notice.
    No chance.
    She turns round to face me. “Sarah…”
    There’s so much kindness in her voice, in that one word, that I break down. All at once I’m sobbing so hard I can’t breathe, let alone sing. I feel Mrs Perry’s arm slide around my shoulder as she guides me to the sofa at the other end of the room. I sink down, covering my face with my hands, trying to pull myself together, my breath coming out in short, faltering gasps, like I’m choking.
    Mrs Perry sits beside me, watching. Not speaking, just waiting.
    â€œI’m sorry…” I sniff, as she offers me a tissue.
    â€œNothing to be sorry for, Sarah. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
    I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t even want to think about it. But it all tumbles out, unravelling into words… How much I miss Max…and Mum. The burglary, Lizzie, seeing that man again outside the cinema. That wild look on his face as he drove towards me.
    â€œI thought he was going to kill me,” I tell Mrs Perry. “For that second or so, I really thought he wanted me dead.”
    It’s true. At that moment I thought that was what he was trying to do. Run me down. And even if it wasn’t what he intended, he came close. If he was trying to scare me, it worked. I am scared – and bewildered.
    What does he want with me? Why not just tell me? Why does he keep running away?
    I tell Mrs Perry all of it, and about the visit to the police six days ago. I’ve heard nothing since. Clearly they’ve no more clue who he is than I have. I’m losing hope that there’s anything they can do to sort this out.
    Mrs Perry sits, listening and nodding. She doesn’t tell me I’m overreacting or imagining things or getting carried away. She doesn’t start talking about Max and grief and all that stuff. She simply listens. And when I finally reach the end, she stands and rests her hand on my shoulder.
    â€œSarah, I had no idea. You poor thing.” She lifts my chin so I’m looking up into her face. I manage a weak smile.
    â€œHave you had lunch?”
    I shrug. “A cereal bar.” It was as much as I could manage in my rush to get here from the early shift at work.
    Mrs Perry grimaces. “Right. Well, let’s start there.”
    I sit at the kitchen table while Mrs Perry heats up some leek and potato soup from her freezer. It comes out in a block from a plastic box, so I’m guessing she made it herself. I can’t even remember the last time I had soup that didn’t come out of a tin.
    I feel a bit awkward. I’ve never been in this part of the house before. But unlike the rather stark atmosphere of the music room, her kitchen feels cosy and relaxed. The work area is decorated with pale green tiles, the shelves stacked with pastel-coloured teapots and mugs. There’s a large corkboard on one wall, covered with scraps of paper and pictures of smiling babies and kids.