My back teeth snap.
‘Ugh yeah,’ tracksuit lady says. ‘Hopefully she’ll crawl back under her rock and never be heard of again.’
The back of my neck is hot and it’s hard to even draw breath. I want to drop my milk and bread and wrap my hands around this woman’s thick neck. But, of course I don’t. I’m in public. I follow her into the car park instead.
Fortunately for her a tall man steps out of a nearby car to meet her. He kisses her on the cheek and helps her put the shopping into the boot. Lucky lady – today!
Chapter Six
DARCY
Friday 14 June 2019
I sit at my dressing table and stare at my reflection. My face is brighter than usual as the street light across the road shines through the window, casting an orangey hue over everything while dusk falls. I don’t remember opening the curtains this morning, but they’re wide open now exposing me in my underwear to the row of tall and thin red-brick houses across the street. Blushing, I slip my arms into my dressing gown waiting on the back of my chair and shake my head as the dark circles under my eyes in the mirror remind me that I’m exhausted and not thinking straight.
It’s been a strange week. The social-media storm blew itself out almost as quickly as it began. On Tuesday I was so distressed and ill that Luke called the doctor. On Wednesday Luke reluctantly left me alone to go into work for a couple of hours. And by Thursday people were bored, as if it had never happened. For everyone except me, that is, because I can’t seem to get Tina out of my head. I can’t understand why she called in to the show. She purposely embarrassed me and it was almost as if she enjoyed it. But why? I was only ever nice to her. I felt sorry for her. People warned me to stay away from her. God, I wish I’d listened.
I stand up and snap the curtains closed. Darkness engulfs the room and I instinctively reach my arms out in front of me as I feel my way towards the light switch. The floorboards of my Georgian house creak underfoot and I freeze, reminding me that I’m a thirty-seven-year-old woman who’s still afraid of the dark when she’s alone. Flicking on the light switch, I groan at my messy bed I didn’t have the energy to make this morning. The sheet twitches suddenly and my breath catches.
‘Jinx, you naughty boy,’ I say, calming as I pull back the bedding to find him chewing on the diamanté strip at the end of my elaborate duvet. ‘Stop that. Stop that now,’ I add, tapping him on the nose.
He yelps as if I’ve hurt him, and jumps off the bed to scurry out of the bedroom, his paws slipping on the highly polished walnut floor.
‘Silly boy,’ I say, making my way into my en suite bathroom to check on the bath I’ve left running.
I keep the door slightly ajar so I can listen for Jinx downstairs. Water cascades noisily into the almost-too-full tub. I hurry, and turn off the tap. It’s instantly silent, apart from the odd crackle and pop of luxurious, waiting bubbles. The bathroom window and mirrors are fogged as steam dances in the air. It’s a relief to sit on the edge of the bath, and I take care not to get my dressing gown wet and reach behind my neck to fiddle with my mother’s pearls.
Jinx begins barking downstairs and I wonder if he needs to go out for a wee. Typical.
‘In a minute,’ I shout. ‘I’ll let you out in a minute.’
Unhooking the finicky clasp, I close my eyes and smile with satisfaction. I wait for the familiar clink as I drop my favourite necklace into the china soap tray next to the taps. But there’s no sound. I open my eyes to find the pearls have fallen on to the bath mat. I bend awkwardly, my back objecting with an audible crack as I pick up my necklace that thankfully hasn’t broken. Standing upright again isn’t easy as my enormous pregnant belly gets in my way, and I grab on to the side of the bath for assistance. I’m standing, rubbing my back and mumbling curse words, when I notice the soap tray is missing.
Jinx’s barking grows louder and a door downstairs creaks open. I hold my breath as I wait for the next sound. Jinx is muffled when another door closes, trapping him in the kitchen, or the sitting room, I imagine. Someone is on the stairs; I can hear the old oak groan under a person’s weight. Step. Creak. Step. They’re coming. My grip on the pearls tightens and my heart beats furiously. The walnut bedroom floor creaks and I step back until my spine collides with the sink behind me. It hurts, but I don’t take my eyes off the door.
‘Jinx, come here, boy,’ I call, as if my little dog can rescue me.
The bathroom door handle rattles. Terrified and desperate to steady myself, I grab the sink edge behind me. Something pinches my hand. There’s a sharp, sudden sting in the fleshy part below my thumb and I drop the pearls. I hear them hit the tiles with a bang and I know this time they’ve broken but I can’t pull my eyes away from the door to check.
The door swings open and I scream. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Hey. Hey. What’s wrong?’ I hear Luke’s voice.
‘Oh God,’ I puff out, light-headed. ‘You scared me half to death.’ Steam separates us and I squint, trying to see my husband. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I live here, remember.’ He laughs, stepping forward and coming into view. ‘Are you okay? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, so glad he’s here.
Luke smiles. ‘I brought you a little something. Don’t worry, it’s non-alcoholic.’
He’s carrying a bottle of open champagne in one hand, and a pair of crystal champagne flutes dangle upside down in his other hand.
‘But you’re not supposed to be home until tomorrow,’ I say, letting go of the sink to bend down and gather up the pearls that are scattered around my feet like shiny little marbles.
‘Your mother’s pearls,’ Luke says, and he sounds as disappointed as I am to see them broken. He crouches beside me to help. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I missed you.’
‘But the pitch. You’re supposed to be talking to Andrew Buckley.’ I pause to catch my breath. My hand is throbbing and my heart is still beating uncomfortably fast. ‘The meeting is tomorrow morning. We need that money or—’
‘He moved it forward,’ Luke says, grinning. ‘He just couldn’t wait any longer to hear our plans.’
‘And . . . ?’ My heart beats faster than ever, as I hang on his every word.
Luke raises the champagne bottle above his head with a triumphant air punch. Some champagne spills on his hair and he chuckles. ‘He loved it, honey. He’s going to give us the money. Darcy’s Dishes is safe. Everything is going to be okay.’
‘Really?’ I squeak, ecstatic, suddenly dying for champagne. But not the crappy glorified grape juice Luke has bought. I’d love to pop open the good stuff that we’ve been keeping in the liquor cabinet for a time like this. ‘He really liked us?’
‘Yes.’ Luke smiles, nudging closer. ‘He loved everything about the pitch. He liked my accent. Told me all about his grandparents. They were from Kent too. Not far from where I grew up, actually.’
‘Small world,’ I say, hating the feeling that washes over me. I wanted to be at the meeting. I wanted to hear a story about Mr Buckley’s English grandparents.