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‘Do you want to stay home today?’ I ask, concerned.
She hesitates. ‘I’ve got a Chem test third period.’
‘Mrs Welsh will let you make it up, won’t she?’
‘I suppose.’
‘You get back into bed, and I’ll call the school. As soon as I’ve dropped Tolly off at nursery, I’ll come up and sort you out properly.’
I follow her as she shuffles back to her bedroom. I’m not surprised she’s sweating: even in the middle of summer, she’swearing long grey sweatpants and a baggy black T-shirt. To my surprise, she suffers me smoothing out her duvet and tucking her in as I used to do when she was little. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ I say, dropping a light kiss on her damp forehead.
‘Mum?’
I turn in the doorway, struck suddenly by how vulnerable she seems. Without make-up, her hair pulled back from her face in a loose ponytail, she looks no more than twelve. ‘What is it, sweetheart?’
‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ she mumbles, looking down and fiddling with a large silver ring on her middle finger. It looks vaguely familiar, though I can’t quite remember where I’ve seen it before. ‘Texting Caz. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
I come back into the room and perch on the bed. ‘You didn’t upset me, Bella. It must have been awful, watching your mother get carted off to a police station. I’m so sorry to put you through all that.’
‘You were awesome,’ my daughter says unexpectedly. ‘I’d have freaked out if I got arrested, but you were, like, totally cool.’
‘I was?’
‘I should’ve trusted you,’ she says. ‘I know you’d never drink and drive. Not, you know, after Uncle Nicky.’
He died long before she was even born, but he’s still as much a part of our family as my mother or Tolly. ‘I was incredibly stupid,’ I sigh. ‘I should have realised I might’ve been over the limit from the night before. I can’tbear to think what could have happened with the two of you in the car.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ she says generously.
I hesitate. I don’t want to wreck our delicate detente, but I’m aware I may never get a better chance to talk to her while she’s in such a receptive mood. ‘Bella, I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ I say quietly. ‘Three hundred pounds was taken out of my account in cash a few days ago. Was that you? If it wasn’t, I need to know so I can talk to the bank about it.’
She stiffens. For a moment, I think I’ve blown it, but then she exhales slowly. ‘Please don’t ask me to say what it was for,’ she mumbles. ‘And no, it’s not drugs or anything illegal.’
I manage to stifle a thousand questions I’m bursting to ask as Bella picks fretfully at her nails, which are already bitten down to the quick. ‘You always told me if someone was in trouble, I should help,’ she says finally.
‘It’s a lot of money, Bella. Are you sure you can’t tell me what it’s for?’
She wavers. I can sense her weighing the options, and I hold my breath, willing her to confide in me. But before she can say anything, Tolly erupts into the bedroom, demanding his breakfast, and I see Bella visibly withdraw into herself, the moment gone.
My stomach churns with anxiety as I finish getting Tolly ready for nursery. She says it’s not drugs, but she’s lost so much weight recently, and she’s sopale. This isn’t the first time she’s been physically sick in the last coupleof weeks, either. Something is seriously troubling my child, and I have to find a way to help her – which I can’t do unless I have the right information. As soon as I get back from dropping Tolly off at kindergarten, I make Bella a cup of ginger tea to settle her stomach, and take it upstairs. I don’t want to push her, but I can’t see I have a choice. If she’s angry with me, so be it. I want to be her friend, but it’s more important that I’m her mother.
Bella’s awake, listening to music. She pulls out one white earphone as I enter her room, and I hear the tinny thump of music, one of those awful German electronic bands she likes so much. ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she sighs. ‘I swear on Tolly’s life, I’m not taking drugs.’
I search her face. Perhaps I’m foolish, but my maternal instinct tells me she’s being truthful. She may be keeping secrets from me, but I believe her when she says it’s not drugs.
She makes room for me to sit beside her, and I put the steaming mug of ginger tea on the bedside table. ‘So why did you need the money?’ I ask gently. ‘If it’s not drugs, what was it for?’
‘Please, Mum. Please don’t ask me that.’
I pause, torn. ‘You said it wasn’t for anything illegal?’
‘I swear. And it’s done now. I mean, it doesn’t matter anymore. And I’ll pay you back, I promise.’
‘It’s not the money.’ I choose my words with care. ‘Bella, I’m worried about you. Is thereanything you can tell me? I won’t shout or get angry, I promise. And I won’t tell Dad, if that’s what you’re anxious about.’
I watch her worrying the silver ring around her middle finger, back and forth, back and forth. She hasn’t taken it off since she got it. It’s like she—
Of course! Metaphorically, I clap my hand to my forehead. How did I not see this before? There’s only one thing that makes you lose weight and throw up with nerves and swing wildly from joy to misery in the space of a moment:love, the oldest drug in the world.
