‘That’s ridiculously unlucky,’ I say, a tad sarcastically.
‘Indeed,’ he says. ‘You might want to rethink where you park it in future.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because it appears that all four tyres were slashed with a knife.’
A chill runs through me as I imagine someone systematically working their way around the car, thrusting a blade into the rubber.
‘You’ve gone white,’ says Beth, as I numbly end the call. ‘What is it?’
I force a smile. ‘That’s probably because they told me how much the car was going to cost.’
‘That’ll teach you for buying one for the same money that you could buy a house,’ she says, laughing.
‘Indeed,’ I say, ashamed at the comparison.
I know she’s only joking, but the comment makes the divide between our lifestyles painfully obvious. Perhaps everything that’s been happening lately is my payback; a warning not to take anything for granted.
‘So, what’s the next step?’ I ask, in an attempt to bat my paranoia away. ‘How are you going to go about finding Millie’s father?’
‘Well, I’m not sure the official channels are going to be much help. I applied for child maintenance a few years ago and they opened a file, but they never managed to track him down. I don’t know if they keep looking – I don’t suppose they have the time.’
‘And if someone doesn’t want to be found . . .’
‘True enough,’ she says. ‘But I did have a look on the internet, with the little information that I have.’
I reach into my bag for a pen and pad, relishing the idea of having someone else’s problem to focus on instead of my own.
‘So, what have you got so far?’ I ask, turning to a fresh page and writing Beth before underlining it.
She smiles wryly. ‘So, he had his own business.’
‘And?’ I ask.
‘Surprise, surprise, it no longer exists.’
‘Okay, what about his parents?’ I ask.
There’s a flash of something in her eyes, but as quick as it came, it’s gone again. ‘I didn’t meet either of them, so no leads there.’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Did he have any hobbies? Any places he used to go?’
‘He worked really hard and was away a lot. He was hugely ambitious, and he wanted the best for us.’ She laughs hollowly. ‘Or so I thought.’
She stops and looks lost in her thoughts, as if it’s only just dawning on her that when he said he was working, he was actually with the other woman.
‘Did you own a place together?’ I ask, in an attempt to bring her back.
‘We didn’t get that far,’ she says. ‘He was just about to move in with me.’
‘So, there’s no paper trail at all?’ I say.
She shakes her head ruefully. ‘It’s embarrassing. How can I know so little about my child’s father?’
‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. It’s just one of those things, though I do hope you know his name.’
She looks at me witheringly, but there’s humour in her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘And his date of birth, actually.’
‘See,’ I jest. ‘What else do you need to know?’
She rolls her eyes, but I can see that she appreciates me adopting a more light-hearted approach.
‘So, come on,’ I say, my pen poised. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Thomas Evans,’ she states boldly.
I can see her lips moving and hear a muffled sound, but I can’t even begin to compute what she’s saying. My head fills up with a hotness that feels like it’s trapped, with no way out. I need air to breathe, but I panic that I can’t take it in quickly enough.
I want to throw myself across the table and hold a hand to her mouth, so that she can’t say anything more. But because I don’t, she continues, blissfully unaware.
‘Date of birth, 21 May 1976.’
Her head tilts to the side, a look of concern on her face, and I try to stand up, but feel so dizzy that I immediately fall back down again. I can’t breathe, my lungs won’t let me, and my body burns.
‘But . . . but it can’t be,’ I falter. ‘That’s not possible.’
The last thing I remember is Beth mouthing, ‘Are you okay?’, seemingly in slow motion. Then everything goes black.
PART 2
Nine Years Earlier – Beth
14
It had been a long day – I was off the back of parents’ evening and knew I was staring down the gun at thirty English tests. Jacob’s attempt to rearrange ‘is pen pig the in my’ into a sentence was on top of the pile; ‘My penis in the pig’ was