use of her unlimited text allowance to discuss my unseemly meltdown on the night of the party. No doubt they were polishing their bargepole to push us, the troubled family, far from their doors.
‘Where can she be at this time of night on a schoolday?’
Patrick sighed. ‘For God’s sake. Why can’t she just do what she says she will do when she says she’ll do it?’
I texted Faye.
Could you see if Georgia knows? Sorry to involve you in our dramas. Thank you.
I imagined Faye reluctantly putting down her iPad, padding across her seagrass hallway, clucking about Phoebe, opening Georgia’s bedroom door quietly in case she was already asleep. Georgia would probably sing like a canary rather than pull the duvet over her head and shout at her to ‘Piss offffff’. And helpfully run through Instagram or Snapchat rather than look at her as though she was a complete idiot for asking. Faye wouldn’t have to hang her head and wonder where in the labyrinth of reminding her to say please and thank you, floss her teeth, be grateful to the teachers for looking after her, her daughter had taken such a wrong turning that she wasn’t sure they’d ever get back on the right road again.
Faye’s number flashed up on my mobile. ‘Georgia’s not here!’ She sounded panicky, but also accusatory.
‘What do you mean? I thought you brought her home?’
‘I did. She must have sneaked out through the garage.’
‘To go where though?’
‘I don’t know. I bet she’s with Phoebe somewhere.’
The way she spat out ‘Phoebe’ left me in no doubt that she blamed Phoebe for leading Georgia astray.
‘At least they’re together.’ I paused. ‘Let me think.’
Faye spoke first. ‘Is Victor at home? I don’t think he’s particularly friendly with Georgia, but he might know something.’ If I hadn’t been so stressed, I’d have taken some petty satisfaction from the fact that Faye was always ‘Georgia and I are so close, she tells me everything’ – except that Victor was her boyfriend.
I rushed on. ‘Victor’s been at home since about five. I’ll ask him and ring you back.’
I knocked on his door. I always gave him plenty of time to answer, unlike the way I barged in with Phoebe.
‘Come in.’
I pushed the door open, feeling a bit embarrassed to find him sitting in bed bare-chested. We were a pyjama sort of household and it was just odd to be somewhere intimate like a bedroom with a child that wasn’t mine in a state of undress. I wondered whether Patrick would feel the same.
‘Sorry to disturb you. Phoebe hasn’t come back from the rehearsal and Georgia went home but snuck out again. Faye’s really worried and so am I. Do you have any idea where they might be?’
His face dropped. Ginny had never been able to hide her feelings either. Indecision clouded his face as he dithered between what was worse for the girls: dobbing them in or attempting a cover-up. ‘I’m not sure where they are.’
I sat on the bed. Boundaries be damned. ‘Victor, I know you won’t want to get them into trouble, but they’re so young and silly. Phoebe looks so much older and doesn’t understand that men of twenty-five will expect her to have the life experience of someone their age. I’m not going to go off the deep end like I did the night of the party, but it’s not safe for her to be out late at night doing God knows what.’
Resignation washed over him. ‘Georgia invited me to go to a party on the industrial estate. I’ve got to get up early for rugby tomorrow so I said no.’
‘The Flatland Estate? By the railway bridge?’
I hadn’t been down there in years, but I couldn’t see any good coming out of a party in some rank old warehouse surrounded by bathroom fitting units and drainage companies, none of which would be open at this time of night.
‘I think so. I didn’t bother with the details. I didn’t think they’d actually go.’
‘Was it a party of someone from school?’ I asked, the uncoolest mother in the world, phrasing it as though I thought they’d all be playing musical bumps with cake in a napkin to take home. God, how I yearned for the security of those tedious afternoons in the village hall.
‘Maybe an older sibling of someone at school. Sort of friends of friends.’ Victor reminded me so much of Ginny when she didn’t want to offer any information. He had inherited her talent for vagueness.
I waved