“I came back last time, didn’t I?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually. But I came back. You have to trust me.”
“Call me,” she says, “when you get to the shops. Send me a photo, of you at the shop. And if you’re not back in half an hour, Stuart, I can’t promise I won’t do something stupid.”
“I’ll be back in half an hour, OK? And I’ll send you a photo of me in the supermarket. OK?”
She nods and purses her mouth. “But, Stuart,” she says. “I’m trusting you. Please don’t let me down…”
The warmth of the early spring sun on my skin as I swing my empty bag-for-life back and forth makes me feel euphoric. The sight of normal people going about their normal lives, the sound of children screeching in the playground of the local school, dog walkers, Amazon delivery vans, fresh flowers on the pavement outside the florist, a small queue outside the French bakery, all of it fills my heart with joy. I make sure to send Jessamine a photo of myself in the supermarket. I even smile. Appease, appease. I’m in so deep that I can’t extricate myself in one fell swoop. Bit by bit. Moment by moment. But extricate myself I will.
Daisy beams when she sees me at the kitchen sink when she gets homefrom school that afternoon. “You’re back,” she says, and gives me a celebratory fist bump.
“I am,” I say, “and I’m making lasagna.”
“Oh my God,” she says dramatically. “Thank God.”
“How’s school?”
“Good,” she says, plucking grapes from the fresh bunch I’ve put in a bowl for her. “You know. OK.”
“What happened about that girl who was giving you a hard time. Tamara?”
“Tamika. Yeah. She’s still being a bitch, but it’s fine. I’ve got it under control. And there’s a boy…”
I see an uncharacteristic bloom of heat pass through her pale complexion and a small smile pulls at her mouth.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Jackson.”
“And Jackson is how old?”
“Same age as me.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Don’t tell your mum.”
“As if! And anyway, it’s not like anything’s happening. We’re just chatting. He’s nice, that’s all.” She stands and watches me drying a measuring jug with a tea towel. “How was Blaise?” she says, biting her lip slightly.
I turn and smile at her. “She was amazing. It was amazing. We had the best, best night. But your mum, she deleted her number from my phone, so I haven’t been able to message her.”
Daisy pulls her phone out of her pocket and looks at me over the top of it. “Blaise Tucker?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “Drummond. She has her mother’s surname.”
“Blaise with anS?”
I nod.
She taps her phone.
A moment later she turns it toward me. “Is that her?”
It is. It’s my girl, smiling and laughing all over the world, those big white teeth of hers, that sweet open face. I nod again. “That’s her.”
Daisy passes me her phone and says, “Send her a message.”
