School Run (28 page)

‘Julie?’

Where is my daughter? Why don’t you know where she is?
That was what she’d be saying if she was here. God, it was hard being on your own, thought Nick, climbing upstairs to the third floor where Julie had her room. Like every other room in the house, it was full of photographs of her mother. Juliana laughing. Juliana blowing a kiss. They were all there, in the same position that Julie had arranged them when her mother had died. All present and correct, except for Julie herself.

It was only nine thirty. She’d be home soon. Nick went back to the kitchen and the huge American fridge that Juliana had insisted on. The same fridge that he had found her inside, in the middle of the night, stuffing food into her mouth, then throwing it up in the downstairs lavatory so Julie couldn’t hear. He wasn’t hungry but he’d have a glass of Chardonnay.

By eleven, he was frantic. Julie had to be back by ten on a school night, she knew that. Why didn’t she answer her mobile? Should he call the police? Was she out with that boy? Oh, God, what could he do? Nick was tempted to call Juliana’s mother. She lived in Newcastle and often visited in the holidays. But what was the point of worrying her when there was nothing she could do?

At nearly eleven twenty, just when Nick had decided he would call the police, Mutley barked and he heard a key in the lock. Thank God! He felt sick with relief.

‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ he demanded.

Julie, cheeks glowing, bounced in. ‘Sorry, Dad. I couldn’t get back until now. Hang on a minute.’ She turned round on the doorstep and waved at a car. Someone called, ‘Night, Julie,’ as they drove off. A girl’s voice.

‘Who was that?’

‘Jason. And some other friends. Can I have some of that?’

‘No, you can’t. You smell as though you’ve had a few already. Who was driving?’

She flopped down on the sofa and began to play with the TV remote control. ‘Jason, if you must know.’

Nick felt hot. Did men get menopausal too, or was it just parent paranoia? ‘I told you, Julie, you’re not to be driven by other teenagers. It’s a rule. I won’t have it.’

She rolled her eyes as she flicked through the channels. ‘Oh, give over, Dad. Anyway, if you really want to know, he wasn’t driving. I was.’

‘You were
driving
? That’s illegal.’

‘No, it’s not. We found some L-plates. Well, at the front, anyway. And I needed the practice. It’s not as though you give me enough. Now, please, I’m trying to watch
Big Brother
.’

Nick grabbed the remote. ‘How long has Jason been driving?’

‘Dad, give that
back
!’

‘Not until you tell me how long that boy has been driving.’

She rolled her eyes.

Nick could smell her breath from where he was standing. How many drinks had she had?

‘A whole year. That’s how long. Now, will you stop panicking? And give that
back
!’ She snatched the remote from him.

‘Then it
is
illegal,’ said Nick. ‘You have to have driven for three years before you can supervise a learner.’

‘How interesting.’

‘Julie.’ He sat down next to her on the sofa. ‘Look at me. You were lucky not be stopped by the police. Where did you go?’

‘Some bloke in Jason’s maths set. Jason needed to drop something off. Then we went to a bar. Chill out, Dad. It’s no big deal. I’m eighteen in six months and then I can do what I like. Mum was only my age when she met you.’

Her trump card. Juliana. Tomorrow. Two years. He ought to make allowances. ‘Let’s go to bed.’ He suddenly felt weary. ‘I’ll just walk Mutley.’

‘Let me kiss him before you go.’ Julie stumbled off the sofa and buried her face in the dog’s neck.

‘How many drinks did you have tonight, as a matter of interest?’

‘Three Bacardi and Cokes.’ She got up and turned up the television volume. ‘And before you ask, it was after I finished driving. Jason drove afterwards and he hadn’t had anything. Satisfied?’

‘I’m not happy about it,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not a good week, I know, but it’s hard for me too.’

Her eyes softened. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ She leaned towards him and kissed his cheek softly, like her mother had at the beginning. ‘I just want to see the end of this. If I’m not here when you get back, I’ll have gone to bed.’ She was looking at the screen again.

Maybe, thought Nick, the driving and the drink and the television were her way of getting through tomorrow. Perhaps Amber was right: he should respect the way she was dealing with her loss. Everyone coped differently with bereavement.

He bent down to kiss her. She smelt of cigarettes. Only a few years ago, he thought sadly, it had been baby lotion.

‘Night, Julie. Sleep well.’

FRIDAY

29

EVIE

‘It’s Friday and nearly the weekend, folks! And it looks like it could be a scorcher . . .’

Scorcher? It was ice cold in here. No one had spoken for nearly ten minutes. Evie had been wrapped up in the radio item on missing persons she’d caught at the end, last night. The advice line had recommended finding the missing person’s favourite place. But Robin’s was home.

‘Excited about the end of term?’ she asked, trying to make an effort for the girls. ‘You won’t have much work today, will you? In our day, we just played games and did quizzes.’

‘We want to know when Dad’s coming back,’ said Leonora, sullenly.

Evie swallowed, suddenly desperate for a cigarette – five years after having given up. ‘I’m sure he’ll ring soon.’

‘Have you got a bottle for Mrs Hedges?’ demanded Natalie.

‘No, should I?’

‘Mum always does at the end of term. She
is
our year tutor.’

‘Damn.’

‘Damn, damn,’ chanted Jack.

‘Don’t swear, Evie,’ said Natalie primly. ‘It’s bad for Jack.’

Gritting her teeth, she pulled into a garage. She’d buy Mrs Hedges a box of chocolates even if it made them late for school. She’d be damned – yes, damned – if anyone was going to accuse her of being a bad step-mother. ‘You might have neglected your responsibilities, Robin,’ she muttered to herself, as she strode across the forecourt, ‘but I haven’t.’

After she’d dropped off the girls at school, she’d go on to see her father. He might have different values from her, but when it came to the crunch, blood was blood.

‘So, you’ve finally made time to come and see your old dad, have you?’

Evie cleared a pile of yellowing newspapers off the torn leather chair and sat down, hoping it was clean. ‘Don’t start talking like that, Dad. It’s only been a fortnight.’

‘Nearly three weeks.’

‘All right, I’m sorry. But you know what it’s been like.’

He patted her arm, lit another cigarette and leaned back into his chair. The flat reeked of tobacco, and in the background Helen Shapiro crooned softly from a record player Evie remembered from her childhood. A nasty smell of cabbage hung in the air; she ought to have brought him something decent for lunch, she thought.

‘Any news of Robin?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m going to have to report him missing soon.’

‘I still think you should sit tight. If that boy’s got something up his sleeve, he’s not going to thank you for scuppering it.’

‘Then why hasn’t he rung to say he’s all right?’

‘Maybe he’s tried.’ Her dad eyed her mobile distrustfully.

‘Those things aren’t that reliable, you know, especially if he’s ringing from abroad.’

‘Don’t.’

Evie felt so nervous that she began to inhale her father’s fumes. She could do with a puff but she’d given up when she’d met Robin because he couldn’t stand smoking. She ought to tell Dad she’d been sacked but she couldn’t, not yet: he’d be so disappointed.

‘How are you doing anyway?’ Her eyes swept round the room. Benjamin lived in the top floor of a block of mansion flats in Hackney. In Victorian times it would have been a prestigious house, looking out over Clapton Square and surrounded by other four and five-storey buildings. Now it was divided into several apartments, with high ceilings and spacious dimensions that froze the occupants in winter. She’d offered to install central heating but Benjamin had been adamant that his two-bar electric fire was enough.

He’d always been stubborn, even when Mum was alive. When Evie moaned about it, Robin would laugh and say that was where she’d got her determination from. He admired Benjamin, even though the feeling had never been reciprocated. People had to earn Benjamin Cohen’s approval and it didn’t happen overnight.

‘How’m I doing? All right, I suppose.’ Benjamin sniffed. He could look after himself well enough, Evie knew. She had offered him a place in their home, but he had turned her down. His brain was as sharp as ever. All those newspapers she had just moved were open at the financial pages.

After he’d gone part-time as a cabbie, he had decided to do what he called a bit of dabbling. Evie hadn’t taken much notice of it until Robin, after one of his increasingly long discussions with his father-in-law, had told her that Benjamin was doing ‘rather nicely’ with his portfolio.

‘He wouldn’t know one if it hit him,’ Evie had said disbelievingly.

‘You’d be surprised,’ Robin had said. ‘He’s given me a few tips that have paid off.’

Pity her father didn’t use the extra cash to do something about this place, thought Evie. She couldn’t even have a cup of coffee because she knew the chipped mug would have a grimy ring round the inside.

‘Coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘My stuff not posh enough for you?’

This was so typical of her father. He’d start a conversation, as he had at the beginning, then veer on to normal things that didn’t matter. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t eat or drink anything until I know Robin’s OK.’

‘Know your trouble, girl?’ He leaned towards her and she could see the white hairs inside his nose. ‘You want everything straight away but life’s not like that – there are no definites. If you keep on working for something, though, it usually falls into place. Mind you, when your chap does get back, he’ll have me to answer to. I told him when you got married that if he ever laid a finger on you or hurt you mentally I’d make sure he paid.’

Robin hadn’t told her that.

‘He wouldn’t hurt me, Dad, not like that. He’s a good man and it can’t be easy, not having a job.’ She took a deep breath. She’d come clean after all. ‘Actually, Dad, he’s not the only one who’s out of work.’ Briefly, she told him what had happened at the meeting yesterday.

Benjamin’s face remained impassive. ‘That’s business for you. Bastards, but they’re the kind of people you’re dealing with. You’ll just have to get out there and find something else.’

‘I will, but not until Robin gets back. Concentrate on one thing at a time – that’s what you’ve always told me. Well, now I’m going to put my own career on the back-burner for a bit while I look to my family. Sorry, Dad. I know you’ve always wanted me to be a career woman but sometimes other things have to take priority.’

He looked at her admiringly, which wasn’t what Evie had expected. ‘You’re so like your mother.’

‘I am?’

‘Quietly stubborn. In other words, bloody-minded. Well, maybe you’re right. Meanwhile, let’s have a look at those letters and figures you found in Robin’s car.’

She handed them over and watched, desperately wanting her father to say it was all right, wishing he wasn’t frowning as he turned the pages. ‘Look at the letter underneath, Dad.’

‘I’m reading it.’

She waited. Even now, she couldn’t believe what was written there. She’d been shocked enough when she’d found it last night, in the same wodge of papers hidden in the car. And this morning, when she’d reread it, it hadn’t been any better.

The letter was from the firm of solicitors that Robin’s old firm had used.

Dear Mr Brookes,

WITHOUT PREJUDICE

Following our letter of 23 June, we are writing to inform you that unless you pay back the sum of £25,000 that you borrowed from your former employers, we will place the matter in the hands of the police.

Benjamin was shuffling the papers, reading and rereading them like a bad hand of cards. ‘Twenty-five grand. That’s what the letter says.’

Evie nodded.

‘But he’s borrowed a lot more from these loan sharks.’

‘I know. Twenty-five thousand would be bad enough – we haven’t got that kind of money to pay back. But the rest . . . Dad, I don’t know what we’re going to do.’

Benjamin lowered his glasses. ‘Do you think he’s being blackmailed?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that. But why?’

‘I’m not sure – but it might explain why he had to borrow so much, to keep someone quiet. Is your pay-off enough to borrow against so you can settle his debts?’