to alleviating my anxiousness. The town is still waking up. ‘Open’ signs being turned around, doors flung wide, A-boards set out, and tables and chairs arranged for the breakfast and coffee crowd. I navigate my way past all of it, nodding good morning to friends and neighbours as I go. As though nothing is wrong.
I’ve lived in Ashridge Falls all my life, but I’m not a beloved member of the community. I’m too stand-offish. Too self-contained. Sure, I’m liked, maybe even respected a little – I like to think so anyway – but not loved. Not like Kelly or Ed, or even Tia. That’s fine though. It suits me. Although a part of me admits that it would be lovely to be more easy going. More friendly and approachable. I guess it just isn’t in my nature, though maybe it used to be.
I stop in my tracks. Up ahead I see a familiar dark-haired figure talking animatedly to Tia’s brother, Ash. Ash Dewan is a local police officer. A nice guy, strait-laced and responsible – the complete opposite of his sister, who was always a bit of a tearaway. Right now, Ash is standing by his car sharing a laugh with Paul Barton, the local dentist. And Paul Barton is definitely someone I do not want to see.
If I turn around and head back the way I came, he might still spot me and catch up. So instead, I keep my head low, cross over the road and duck into a residential side street. I amble past the stone-fronted fisherman’s cottages, deciding to go for a longer walk than intended. Molly will arrive at work soon anyway, so she can deal with any customer queries that might come in.
I try to empty my mind, admiring the colourful window boxes and smartly painted front doors. Most of these houses are spruced-up holiday cottages. I’ve worked on a couple of them myself. They’re tiny, but full of charm and character. It’s nice and shady down here. Cool and quiet. I’ll keep walking until I’m sure the coast is clear.
Eight
She stumbles along the lake towards home. Her head bowed; her mind numb. She needs to get home. To close the door and fall onto her bed. There are too many people here – picnickers, clusters of kids hanging around chatting, skimming stones. It’s a sunny summer’s day, so what did she expect? She should have walked home via the quiet back streets. But the thought of that is almost as frightening.
‘Hey!’
Before she can stop herself, she looks up.
Her best friends are on the grassy bank by the old willow tree, waving and calling her over. She can’t ignore them. But how can she put into words what’s just happened? How can she explain it to them? She decides the best thing to do is to point to her watch, shrug apologetically and keep walking like she has to be somewhere else in a hurry.
She feels like she’s acting a part. Like those girls are not really her best friends. This town isn’t really the place where she lives. Today is just a scene out of a really horrible play.
‘Hey, wait!’
She quickens her pace, but her friends aren’t put off. They catch her up and ask what’s wrong. They want to know where she’s going in such a hurry. They’ve seen her face and can tell she’s been crying. They coax her up onto the bank and demand answers. Pull her down onto the grass beneath the frondy willow tree, where it’s cool and dark.
After a few moments’ hesitation, she finally succumbs to their concern, letting the words spill out of her like poison from a wound. Her friends’ eyes widen. They gasp and cry and hug her and vow to help her do something about it.
She is exhausted. But she is also relieved that her friends are here with her. That they have taken over. She’ll follow their lead and do what they say. She thinks it will be easier that way.
But she’s deluded. Nothing about this will be easy.
Nine
Thursday
TIA
Back home, I’m still fuming about the deputy head’s attitude towards what happened with Rosie. I huff into the house, itching to tell Ed about the meeting we had. If I’d thought about it, I would have asked him to come with me. Maybe Mrs Lovatt would have taken the situation more seriously if we’d both been there. I often have that problem – I may be thirty-one, but I still look about eighteen,