‘Shh,’ I snap. ‘I heard you the first time. That’s definitely my mum, right?’ I glance at Zac’s bemused expression.
‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘But she looks . . . rich.’
I watch as she points a set of keys at a high-spec red Mini Clubman. The lights flash and the alarm chirps.
Zac gives a low whistle. ‘Nice car.’
Adrenaline pulses through me, and I undo my seat belt. ‘I’m going over there. She can’t deny it if I’m standing right in front of her.’ I fling open the car door.
‘Deny what?’ His brow knits. ‘What’s going on? Jade!’
As I step out of Zac’s car, Mum slides into hers and, before I can move, she’s pulling away from the kerb, driving off. I swear and slip back into my seat.
‘Follow her,’ I pant.
‘What?’ He turns to look at me.
‘Go!’ I nod in the direction of the rapidly receding Mini.
‘Oh, right.’ Zac rams the Ford into gear, and we surge out on to the road as he guns the engine, speeding to catch up with her.
‘Hang back a bit,’ I say. ‘We don’t want her to spot us.’
‘Why not? Surely that’s the whole point – you want to speak to her, right?’
‘I want to see where she’s going.’ I crane my neck, peering through the windscreen. ‘Just keep her in sight.’
Zac glances at the dashboard. ‘Haven’t got much petrol,’ he warns. ‘We might have to stop.’
I huff. ‘What are you talking about? We can’t stop.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ Zac retorts. ‘If I’d known we’d be in a high-speed car chase, I’d have gone to the garage for a full service.’
I can’t help snort-laughing at that, remembering it was his dry humour that attracted me in the first place.
He grins back, and I shake my head, adding, ‘We’ll just have to hope she’s not going too far.’
‘All right, but if we run dry, we’ll be stranded.’
I glance at my phone. ‘I could call her? Ask what she’s doing.’
He nods. ‘Good idea.’
I try her number, but it’s no good. ‘Voicemail,’ I say glumly.
We cruise out of town, traffic humming around us, the outskirts of Southampton unspooling past our windows. My phone lies useless in my lap – voicemail every time I call.
Zac drifts along in the left lane of the dual carriageway so he won’t spook her. He peppers me with questions as I stare ahead at the red blur of the Mini, wondering about her destination.
I realise it’s actually good to have someone to talk to about it, rather than keeping my worries bottled up. I tried asking Mum on a couple more occasions. But, just like that first night, she shut me down each time. So I fill Zac in.
‘So she was in a Range Rover with some bloke you’ve never seen before?’ Zac clarifies.
‘Yep, and she denied it. But you saw her just now. It’s definitely her, right? I’m not going mad.’
‘Hundred per cent,’ he says. ‘Do you think she’s leading some kind of double life? Like, with another family? Maybe that guy was her husband.’
I huff out an incredulous breath. ‘No way. If that was true, why would she choose to live in a grotty flat and work shifts in the pub?’
