‘Hey, wait!’
She quickens her pace, but her friends aren’t put off. They catch her up and ask what’s wrong. They want to know where she’s going in such a hurry. They’ve seen her face and can tell she’s been crying. They coax her up onto the bank and demand answers. Pull her down onto the grass beneath the frondy willow tree, where it’s cool and dark.
After a few moments’ hesitation, she finally succumbs to their concern, letting the words spill out of her like poison from a wound. Her friends’ eyes widen. They gasp and cry and hug her and vow to help her do something about it.
She is exhausted. But she is also relieved that her friends are here with her. That they have taken over. She’ll follow their lead and do what they say. She thinks it will be easier that way.
But she’s deluded. Nothing about this will be easy.
Nine
Thursday
TIA
Back home, I’m still fuming about the deputy head’s attitude towards what happened with Rosie. I huff into the house, itching to tell Ed about the meeting we had. If I’d thought about it, I would have asked him to come with me. Maybe Mrs Lovatt would have taken the situation more seriously if we’d both been there. I often have that problem – I may be thirty-one, but I still look about eighteen, so people tend to dismiss me as young and stupid. Which I most definitely am not.
‘Ed!’ I call up the stairs. ‘Want a coffee?’
‘Yeah, be down in a minute!’
Good. I could do with a good rant about Mrs Lovatt and her hoity-toity ways.
I turn at the sound of the mail thudding onto the porch doormat. It’s come earlier than usual. These days it doesn’t usually arrive until lunchtime. I pick up the stack and head into the kitchen-diner. I love this room – it’s so light and airy with its wide wooden doors that lead out onto the kid-friendly garden. Ed and I designed the room together and he transformed it almost single-handedly, except for the electrics, and my paintbrush skills. Before we bought the house, it was a bit of a wreck. But it was the only place we could afford on this side of town, close to the lake and to the school so that I don’t have to drive the kids in every day. Plus, my best friends Kelly and Fiona live nearby. Although Fiona and I aren’t nearly as close these days. Not like way back, when the three of us were inseparable at school.
I flip absent-mindedly through the mail. There’s the usual slew of flyers that I dump straight into the recycling bin, a bank statement for our joint account which actually doesn’t look too horrendous this month, and a large cardboard envelope addressed to me. I can’t remember ordering anything, and it’s not my birthday. I lay it on the counter for a moment and put fresh water in the coffee machine. While it heats, I open the envelope, mildly curious as to what it could contain.
As I slide my fingers in between the stiff card, I notice that I need to get my nails redone – the colour’s grown out already. I’ll make an appointment later. It looks like there are photographs inside the envelope. Maybe it’s this year’s school photos, but I’m pretty sure I already had those back in September. Surely they wouldn’t do two lots in one year. It’s great to have pictures of Rosie but the cost is always astronomical. With me being a stay-at-home mum for the past few years, things have been a little bit tight. Ed earns a decent amount, we’re not badly off, but extras like school photos always hit quite hard.
I slip the photo sheets out of the envelope, prepared to be suckered into buying the lot at the sight of my gorgeous daughter pulling a heart-melting smile, but these aren’t school photos – they’re too grainy and blurred. And they’re not of Rosie either. I frown. The photo is of a man and a woman coming out of a club. They’re leaning into one another, kissing. My frown deepens.
When I see who it is, I almost drop the photos in shock.
I slide off the top photo and stare at the one below. This time, the couple are inside a cab, kissing more passionately. The photo is taken from outside, but it’s obvious who it is. My stomach churns, and sweat prickles on my forehead. Upset and confused, I look at the final photo with trepidation. The couple are in bed and it looks like they’re having sex.
Each of the photos has a date stamp in the corner. They were taken last month, in June. And I can recall exactly which day that was. It looks like the man in the photo has dark hair, but in each of the pictures, his face is turned away from the camera. The only face I can make out clearly is my own. The woman in the photos isme. The only trouble is, I have no memory of kissing anyone that night, let alone climbing into bed with them! I would never cheat on Ed. Never.
Who sent the pictures?I snatch up the envelope once again and peer inside, giving myself a paper cut on my finger in the process, but there’s no note – nothing. I turn over the glossy, slippery photos, but there’s nothing written on the back either.
Who are they from? What do they want? What the hell is going on? Acid burns my throat and chills ripple across my skin. I honestly feel like I’m going to throw up. But right now there are footsteps coming down the stairs.Shit.It’s Ed. He’ll be in here any moment. What should I do?
Think, think.I was going to make coffee for us both and talk about something – what was I going to talk about? My brain has stopped working. I yank open one of the kitchen drawers and shove the photos and envelope beneath some tea towels, trying to get my breathing under control.
I manage to close the drawer just as Ed comes into the kitchen. Then, like some kind of cliché, I wipe my brow. I need to compose myself before I turn around. Taking a deep breath, I smudge away a stray tear, but I can’t bring myself to turn and look at Ed just yet.
‘Are we having a coffee?’ he asks. ‘I’ve got to leave for work in twenty minutes.’
‘Yep, just making it.’ I walk unsteadily over to the cupboard and pull out two cups.
‘How did it go at school?’
School?And then it comes back to me – I spoke to the deputy head earlier about Rosie. About those boys saying that awful thing about me. Was that really only half an hour ago? It feels like a week. And it seems almost trivial compared with the revelation of the photos. But then, are the pictures even real? Maybe they’ve been photoshopped.Yes, that’s probably it. I’ll have to examine the photos more closely, but that has to be the answer. But who would do such a thing, and why?
Why do awful things always have to happen at the same time? First that terrible rumour at school, and now these photos. Could my week get any worse?
‘Tia?’ Ed comes around the counter.
I turn and manage to smile. ‘Hey, yeah, it was a bit…’ I shrug, realising my voice is higher than usual and I sound like a crazy person.
