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Lydia finally looked up from her cup. ‘What?’
‘Someone sent me a photo in a card from my gallery.’
She sat forward. ‘Of what?’
‘Some otters swimming underwater. Rebecca Stockitt. She’s a local artist.’
‘Not the card.’
I stirred my coffee. ‘Of Dan, in bed. With another woman.’
Her mug stilled halfway to her mouth. ‘Who?’
I shook my head. ‘She had her back to the camera.’
She didn’t hug me or pat my hand. She just raised her eyebrows and said, ‘So, you think Dan’s having an affair and whoever it is has it in for you?’
‘You think it’s the woman in the photo?’
She shrugged. ‘How else would they get a photo like that?’
I nodded. Of course.
Then she started crying. I couldn’t believe it.
She had lost her job at a nursing home and had had to go back into A&E. Her husband had been having an affair and had just left her for the floozy.
And then weird stuff, like me. Several kilos of chorizo sausage found rotting in her garden shed. Hundreds of spam calls a day. Six – six! – times now she had come home to find a squirrel had got in, scratching the walls and furniture, shitting on the carpet.
I almost said, You think someone’s out to get you too? but the idea that both Lydia and I were being targeted at the same time wasn’t something I wanted to consider.
‘I guess we’re just in a rut,’ I said.
She laughed. ‘I think it’s called karma?’
‘Karma? What did you do?’
She looked at me, incredulous, then leant forward. ‘Don’t you ever feel guilty, Frances?’
3
NOW
‘Mum!’ Jenna’s hand is on my arm. I look down and look up and slam on the brakes. I’m about to go careening past the turn-off for Port Emblyn School. The car tilts slightly as I make the right turn and Jenna shakes her head, tutting, turning away.
I bite the side of my cheek. Focus, Frances. No one needs to die today.
Someone played some weird pranks on me. So what?
I lost my job? I’ll find a new one.
My husband is cheating? Well, we’ll see who ends up on the wrong side of that.
I’m a fighter. You wouldn’t think it. I smile a lot and see the good in everyone and I’m a great listener, but underneath it all I’m tough. I’ve had to be.
At least, that’s what I’m thinking as I pull up to the grand school entrance and my heart stops before I register what I’m seeing.
I try to breathe, but I can’t.
