testing it out to see how it sounds.
“Thanks for today, Rhys. You shouldn’t have had to see me like that.”
He unclicks his seatbelt and grins. “You make it sound like I’ve seen someone get stabbed or something. I keep telling you, I’m nearly eighteen. I can handle stuff.”
I hold my hands up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to patronise you.”
“I’m not like Dillon,” he says, jumping out of the car and shutting the door.
As I get out, I see Mrs Simmons’ curtains move. The woman never gives it a rest. I know I can’t take her snooping personally – James says it has always been a hobby of hers – but it’s hard not to feel that she is keeping tabs on me. What will she think of me bringing Dillon’s friend back in my car? I will tell the truth if she asks. I bumped into him and have given him a lift back to Wimbledon.
Rhys insists on waiting until I get the front door open and seems offended when I laugh. “Look, honestly, I’m fine. Thanks for everything, but you’d better get home now.”
“Okay, see you soon…Callie.” He turns around but then changes his mind. “You might need this,” he says, thrusting something into my hand before striding off down the road.
The curtains next door twitch again so I head inside and close the door before I dare to open my clenched fist. I already know what I will see when I bring myself to look, and I am right. I am staring at a piece of paper, Rhys’ phone number scrawled across it in slanted handwriting.
There are only two things I can read into his action. The first is that he just wants to make sure I’ve got someone to talk to about Dillon. The second I will not allow myself to consider.
Later, when I’ve relaxed a little at the inevitability of being alone all night, I make myself a sandwich and cup of tea and settle on the sofa to try and do some reading. I get lost in the words, and they offer me temporary respite. My mood has lifted, but I’m not sure why, other than the fact I don’t have to deal with the boys until Sunday night. And even then, I will have the game to give them, although that will bring a different set of problems if James sees the rating.
I text Emma to check on them and she takes a while to reply, but when she does it is a curt message of three words: They are fine .
Refusing to let her get to me, I call James to see how his drive to Leeds went. He takes a while to answer but I convince myself this is only because he will be busy setting up equipment and preparing for the photo shoot. “Drive was fine,” he says. “Are you okay?”
I tell him I’ve had a good morning but don’t mention going shopping in Kingston or bumping into Rhys. Then I hear Tabitha in the background, her throaty voice unmistakable.
“Is Tabitha with you?”
He coughs. “Oh, yeah. Her cousin had to go into hospital so she’s just hanging around with me.” It is a strange choice of words, but I tell myself not to panic. “Anyway, better go, the bride’s shooting daggers at me. Talk later.”
Still clutching the phone, I think about Dad. How his paranoia and suspicion drove Mum away. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let his life become mine. I repeat this in my head, like a mantra. But as soon as I stop, something else takes its place. What if it’s not paranoia?
Chapter Eleven
James comes home earlier than I expect on Sunday. It is not even midday and he hasn’t texted to say he will be setting off, so when I hear a key turn in the door, I stay seated at the kitchen table, expecting it to be Emma bringing the boys back early.
“Oh, you’re back!” I want to rush over and hug him but something stops me. Nevertheless, I am pleased we have a bit of time to ourselves before the boys get home. “Is Emma still planning to take the boys for lunch?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Paused in the kitchen doorway, James nods. “Think so. She doesn’t know I’m back yet.”
This is good
“Thanks for today, Rhys. You shouldn’t have had to see me like that.”
He unclicks his seatbelt and grins. “You make it sound like I’ve seen someone get stabbed or something. I keep telling you, I’m nearly eighteen. I can handle stuff.”
I hold my hands up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to patronise you.”
“I’m not like Dillon,” he says, jumping out of the car and shutting the door.
As I get out, I see Mrs Simmons’ curtains move. The woman never gives it a rest. I know I can’t take her snooping personally – James says it has always been a hobby of hers – but it’s hard not to feel that she is keeping tabs on me. What will she think of me bringing Dillon’s friend back in my car? I will tell the truth if she asks. I bumped into him and have given him a lift back to Wimbledon.
Rhys insists on waiting until I get the front door open and seems offended when I laugh. “Look, honestly, I’m fine. Thanks for everything, but you’d better get home now.”
“Okay, see you soon…Callie.” He turns around but then changes his mind. “You might need this,” he says, thrusting something into my hand before striding off down the road.
The curtains next door twitch again so I head inside and close the door before I dare to open my clenched fist. I already know what I will see when I bring myself to look, and I am right. I am staring at a piece of paper, Rhys’ phone number scrawled across it in slanted handwriting.
There are only two things I can read into his action. The first is that he just wants to make sure I’ve got someone to talk to about Dillon. The second I will not allow myself to consider.
Later, when I’ve relaxed a little at the inevitability of being alone all night, I make myself a sandwich and cup of tea and settle on the sofa to try and do some reading. I get lost in the words, and they offer me temporary respite. My mood has lifted, but I’m not sure why, other than the fact I don’t have to deal with the boys until Sunday night. And even then, I will have the game to give them, although that will bring a different set of problems if James sees the rating.
I text Emma to check on them and she takes a while to reply, but when she does it is a curt message of three words: They are fine .
Refusing to let her get to me, I call James to see how his drive to Leeds went. He takes a while to answer but I convince myself this is only because he will be busy setting up equipment and preparing for the photo shoot. “Drive was fine,” he says. “Are you okay?”
I tell him I’ve had a good morning but don’t mention going shopping in Kingston or bumping into Rhys. Then I hear Tabitha in the background, her throaty voice unmistakable.
“Is Tabitha with you?”
He coughs. “Oh, yeah. Her cousin had to go into hospital so she’s just hanging around with me.” It is a strange choice of words, but I tell myself not to panic. “Anyway, better go, the bride’s shooting daggers at me. Talk later.”
Still clutching the phone, I think about Dad. How his paranoia and suspicion drove Mum away. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let his life become mine. I repeat this in my head, like a mantra. But as soon as I stop, something else takes its place. What if it’s not paranoia?
Chapter Eleven
James comes home earlier than I expect on Sunday. It is not even midday and he hasn’t texted to say he will be setting off, so when I hear a key turn in the door, I stay seated at the kitchen table, expecting it to be Emma bringing the boys back early.
“Oh, you’re back!” I want to rush over and hug him but something stops me. Nevertheless, I am pleased we have a bit of time to ourselves before the boys get home. “Is Emma still planning to take the boys for lunch?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Paused in the kitchen doorway, James nods. “Think so. She doesn’t know I’m back yet.”
This is good
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