said. ‘How’s things?’
‘Reasonable,’ she replied vaguely. ‘I’ve just teamed a dog up with what looks like a perfect potential owner, so that’s brightened my day.’
‘Excellent. Here’s hoping it works out.’ Joe was pleased for her. Her job meant a lot to her. She was a kind person, no side to her other than the one he’d imagined.
‘I spoke to Steve about Laura last night,’ she went on. ‘Can you talk at the moment?’
‘Er, now’s not a good time,’ he responded.
‘Oh. Are you on days now?’ she asked.
‘No.’ Joe took a breath. He was reluctant to tell her why he couldn’t talk, but he couldn’t lie either. ‘I’ve just collected Courtney from the hospital,’ he said, hoping she didn’t pick up on the guilt he could hear in his voice.
Plainly she did. ‘Oh,’ she replied after a pause, a short, flat ‘oh’ this time. ‘I see. Is she all right?’
Unsure what to say, he glanced at Courtney, who shook her head, indicating that she didn’t want him disclosing details. ‘She’s doing okay. It’s a bit difficult to talk, though. I’m driving. Can I call you back later?’
‘Yes, no problem,’ Sarah assured him. ‘I might be busy, but you can try,’ she added – pointedly? Joe wondered. ‘I’m glad your wife is all right. Give her my best. Bye, Joe.’
His heart sank another inch. Did that goodbye sound final?
‘There, that was better than ignoring her, wasn’t it?’ Courtney offered.
Yeah. He ran a hand over his neck. Somehow, he didn’t think so.
‘She sounds nice. Caring,’ Courtney observed.
Glancing at her again, Joe noted that she was smiling. There’d been something in her tone, though. Wistfulness? He felt bad for her, but surely she must see that there could be no going back. She’d almost destroyed him. She’d had no qualms at the time. She seemed vulnerable now – clearly she would be – but he couldn’t imagine she’d changed fundamentally.
Thirty-Three
Laura
Laura was halfway downstairs with armfuls of the decorating paraphernalia she still had to clear away after decorating Ollie’s room as a birthday surprise when she heard her mother’s unmistakable tones coming from the lounge. Oh no. Squeezing her eyes closed, she gripped the handrail hard. It was the day of his party and she’d been up since the crack of dawn. Despite taking a day off work yesterday, she still had so much to do – she was desperate for everything to be perfect – and Steve had let in the last person on earth she wanted to see without asking her. He’d been lovely when she’d been upset, so caring. What was his thinking here, though? He knew how impossible Sherry was, how pushy; that Laura didn’t get on with her and never would, no matter how hard he tried to facilitate a mother-and-daughter reunion. In Laura’s eyes, her mother had died the day Jacob had disappeared.
Gritting her teeth, she carried on down and went through to the kitchen to dump her stuff in the utility room. ‘Shit!’ Realising she’d spilled wallpaper paste on the draining board, she cursed out loud and whirled around to head for the lounge. She really wished Steve would stop interfering. There was too much at stake. He would put Ollie at risk, couldn’t he see that? But of course he couldn’t see. How could he … unless she told him?
Every sinew in her body tensing, she braced herself to push the lounge door open, and then froze as she heard Steve’s puzzled voice. ‘But surely she would benefit from some kind of therapy?’ he was asking, as if Sherry had ever considered anything that wasn’t beneficial to herself.
It’s not his fault. Laura cautioned herself to stay calm and not lose it with him. He was concerned about her, that was all. She’d had another sleepwalking episode the night before last. He was bound to be worried, but broaching this subject was dangerous. Her mother couldn’t have her talking, recalling. Her hope was that she never would.
‘But she’s had therapy,’ Sherry replied, an impatient edge to her voice. ‘I’m her mother, Steven. Don’t you think I would have sought all the help for her that I could?’
Steve sighed heavily. ‘Yes, of course. It’s just … that was a while ago, wasn’t it? I can’t help thinking that something like, I don’t know, hypnotherapy maybe, might help her. At least to understand why she blames you.’
‘Because she needed someone to blame,’ her mother retorted, her voice loaded with obvious agitation. ‘She still does. This is why she’s so awful