Susan was arriving a good hour before anyone else, and was one of the select few staying overnight in one of the Deakins’ spare bedrooms.
‘I’ve got a bottle of fizz stashed away in my wardrobe,’ Melissa had whispered to her behind her mother’s back when she’d gone over there yesterday to see the marquee. ‘We can put some music on and get into the party spirit so we hit the ground running when everyone arrives.’
And now here she was, done up to the nines and sitting on a double-decker bus that was trundling slowly towards the city centre, Susan felt like shouting down to the driver to get a move on. Still, Melissa had insisted on paying for her to get a cab out to the house instead of waiting around for another bus.
When Susan alighted from the bus at 4.30, it was already dark. She stepped off into the brightly illuminated bus station, then, pulling her woollen edge-to-edge jacket closer, walked briskly across the road and cut down a side street that she knew would lead her to the taxi rank up near the university buildings.
She’d just emerged back onto a quiet stretch of the main road when the girl approached her. She was young, with blonde hair pulled back into a low-slung ponytail. She wore tight jeans, and Susan caught a glimpse of a sparkly top under her black jacket.
‘Excuse me, can you help?’ the girl said nervously. ‘I’m not from around here and we’re late for a tea party for my great-gran. I’m looking for Riverdene Care Home. It’s close to the city centre.’
‘I don’t live in the city myself, but I might recognise the street name if you have it,’ Susan said.
The girl nodded. ‘My boyfriend’s waiting in the car; he’s got the invitation. He’s parked just around the corner, hang on.’ She set off and then paused a moment. ‘Probably quicker if you come with me, if you don’t mind.’
Susan hesitated. The bus journey had taken longer than she’d thought it would. If she delayed getting in the cab, Melissa would start wondering where she’d got to.
‘My great-gran is ninety today, you see,’ the girl added, her tone increasingly panicky. ‘It’s a really special party and we’re her surprise guests, as she thinks I’m on holiday. But if we don’t get there soon, we’re in danger of missing the whole thing.’
Susan relented. ‘OK, but I’ve only got a minute or two. I’m on my way to a birthday party myself.’
‘Thanks so much!’ The girl turned, and Susan followed. After twenty or thirty yards, she turned sharply right. This narrow side road was a dead end, so there was no through traffic or people using it as a shortcuts. It seemed eerily quiet compared to the main drag they’d just left. There was just one dark-coloured car parked halfway down, its headlights off.
‘There he is,’ the girl said, sounding relieved. ‘That’s my boyfriend’s car.’
They approached the passenger side, closest to the pavement, and the girl opened the door, but no light came on and the interior of the car remained dark.
‘I’ve found someone to help us,’ she said, and Susan noticed that her voice sounded strained and high-pitched. ‘Can you show her the invitation?’
The girl stood back, and Susan stepped forward and dipped her head. As she squinted inside the dim car, the hooded figure in the driver’s seat produced a piece of paper and held it towards her, but not close enough for her to take it.
Her heart rate suddenly doubled as a warning sparked in her head. Something about the situation suddenly didn’t ring true. Inside of leaning further in, she stepped back, ready to duck her head out again.
An almighty shove sent her sprawling down into the passenger seat. Something damp and acrid covered her mouth, and she gagged and coughed, clawing at her face.
‘Keep her down,’ a man’s voice hissed, and the hand pressed harder until she felt sure she would be smothered right there.
The male voice barked out again, and Susan heard the girl say something in return, but their voices seemed to fade further and further away… until suddenly Susan wasn’t in the car any more, but at Melissa’s house, and then, a second later, outside the nursing college. Finally, as a blanket of darkness descended, cloaking her entire head, closing in until there was just the tiniest speck of light, she was home again, lying in the warmth and safety of her mother’s arms.
Thirteen
Isaac is up super-early for the next few mornings, and today, Thursday, is no exception.
‘It’s just for the first week or so,’ he explains yet again before heading for the shower while I’m still fighting the grogginess of being woken by the evil 5.45 alarm he insists on setting each night before turning his bedside lamp off. ‘Bob says it won’t always be like this, and the earlier I get in, the earlier I can leave.’
Except his logic is skewed, because it doesn’t seem to work like that at all. He leaves early and gets back home later and later.
I’d actually begun to believe in the dream he sold me so enthusiastically – his being able to work half the week from home so we can spend more time together as a family in our lovely new home – but it feels like it’s already fading fast. So I’m trying to think about other benefits of the job, other ways it will bring us all closer.
The secured loan was settled when we sold the house although paying it off took all the available equity we had in the property. But thanks to Isaac’s signing-on bonus at Abacus, he was also able to settle the credit card balance that had started to slowly creep up again. We’ll also be in a position to take a holiday abroad for the first time in five years.
This is all great news and yet I can’t seem to get through to Isaac that more family time and a renewed intimacy between the two of us are the really important things.
Half asleep, I hear Isaac get out of the shower. He dresses quickly and kisses me on the cheek before leaving for work.
Instead of drifting between waking and sleeping like I usually do when Isaac has left, I get out of bed to make coffee. Then I take a bit more time getting myself showered and ready before I wake Rowan. He’s not settling into life at Lady Bridge nearly as smoothly as I’d hoped, so leaving less time for him to worry before we leave the house each morning seems like a sensible plan.
On Tuesday, he complained of a tummy ache, which promptly disappeared when I said he still had to go into school. Yesterday, he locked himself in the bathroom claiming he was about to be sick.
Each day at school pickup, he trudges out of the classroom, glum and listless. Always the last child and always on his own. Miss Packton gives me a sympathetic look and nods in encouragement to silently convey her conviction that, given time, he’ll be fine.
On principle, I don’t get dressed up to take Rowan into school. I certainly don’t look nearly as polished as the yummy Buckingham Crescent mummies who gather at the gates, but my clothes do match, and thankfully there’s been no underwear on show since my little faux pas on Monday morning.
The weather has been a bit damp and dull these past few days, but today is turning out fine, and I begin to feel a little brighter, managing to stop myself from worrying about Isaac’s punishing new hours and Rowan’s slow settling-in period. Plus, on Tuesday afternoon, I took the plunge and applied for the part-time teaching assistant position at the school. Isaac has been so distracted with his new job, I decided not to raise the subject in case I don’t get an interview. The school may have rules I’m as yet unaware of about current parents not being allowed to be employees.