“It’s okay. You need to get on.”
“We haven’t sorted anything out.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Come to Mother’s?”
Laura gave a small smile. “You just want an ally.”
“You’re right.” Isabella pulled her into an embrace. “I’ll be as quick as I can, and you have to promise to call me if anything happens. In fact, I’m going to call you. Every day.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m sorry we fell out.”
“We didn’t . . . not really,” said Laura. “I’m glad you’re getting out of here, actually.”
Izzy laughed. “What, you think that little jumped-up so-and-so is going to go for me?”
“She might.” Laura remained sober. “You’re all I have left. And she’s capable. She’ll stop at nothing.”
* * *
Laura checked the house when she got home, put on every security lock, but she couldn’t help feeling creeped out every time she went into the kitchen to fill her glass of wine. The fridge made a loudthur-wupas she opened the door; the wineglass seemed to echo on the granite worktop. She stopped and listened to the empty house: silence. Maybe it would help if she played some music. She turned on the radio, but the classical program was melancholy and all the other music stations jarred on her mood too; they seemed meaninglessly noisy and oblivious to her need to soothe her nerves. So she switched it back off again, butnow the house seemed quieter than ever. God, she wished Isabella were there.
Laura took a deep breath. She had to pull herself together. Cherry was not lying in wait somewhere in the house. Aware that she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, and it was now nearly six, she opened the fridge again and pulled out a tub oftzatzikiand a red pepper, which she roughly chopped. She sat at the worktop, eating her rudimentary supper, her mind wandering. What was Cherry going to do next? Laura was certain that there would be something else. How far would she go? She ran through her mind all the things she cared about: the house, her friends . . .Christ, there was Moses.She jumped up and ran to the bifold doors, opening them and calling him urgently, banging his food dish to make him come running. When he did, and after thorough checking, she found him unharmed, she slumped with relief. But she shut the doors after that, much to his disgruntlement. “Sorry, Moses, but I need you in tonight. There’s a crazy girl out there wanting to get me. And that means maybe you too.”
She sat back down at the breakfast bar. Couldn’t settle. Then despite knowing he didn’t want to speak to her, she grabbed her phone and called Howard. He didn’t answer. Deflated, she left no message. She went to ring Daniel, but unable to stomach another silent rejection, she put down the phone.
Trapped in her house, she stared out the window at the darkened garden, wondering where Cherry was, what she was thinking, what she was planning.
49
Wednesday, November 4
ADRIVER BLASTED HIS HORN AS LAURA NAVIGATED WHAT HAD TO BEone of the worst roundabouts in London. She was south of Croydon in Purley, a traffic-choked one-way system of a town, suffocated on one side by this monster roundabout, which was now spitting her out into the entrance road of an extremely large supermarket. She jolted over the speed bumps and headed for the car park, passing megadeals shouting at her from the posters along the route: three boxes of doughy pizzas, with fake smiling Italians, for three pounds. She parked and took a moment to think.
* * *
She’d lain awake last night for several hours, listening. In her mind, she’d wandered through the house, each room shadowy, capable of hiding someone. She’d pictured movement behind the curtains, heard the sound of breathing behind the door. In amongst the fear, she got flashes of anger, of being afraid in her own home, of losing contact with Daniel.
Cherry was just akid;as Isabella had said, if Brigitte ever tried anything like that . . . she’d what? Certainly wade in, perhaps put a stop to it. It was then she had the idea. She got up and switched on her laptop. She had to find Cherry’s mother. It wasn’t a certain thing by any stretch; in fact, there was a very good chance itwould be the worst move she could make. Cherry knew how to cover her tracks and gave off an air of the innocent victim, and a mother thought her child more perfect than anyone . . . but mothers also knew their children better than anyone else did—and maybe, just maybe, she knew something about Cherry.
* * *
Laura peered through the windscreen. This place was where Cherry’s mother might work. She’d remembered Daniel had once said she worked in a supermarket, and, hoping she might have the same surname as Cherry, Laura had searched staff and managers under “Laine.” She’d gone through about three chains until at Tesco she’d found a woman called Wendy Laine. The store’s location was about right—still commutable from Croydon, but Laine was a common-enough name, so it was entirely possible she had no connection.
If Cherry’s mother did work there, Laura wasn’t sure how best to approach her. Her story was outlandish and shocking—no mother wanted to hear that her child had done something awful. What if she was defensive, angry? What if she punched Laura or something? What if Cherry had already told her about the lie, and the woman hated her on sight? Anxiety and fear pushed Laura out of her car.
A woman in tracksuit bottoms, a size too small, walked past, dragging a girl no more than three, with pierced ears and a brash Disney T-shirt. She was lagging behind, more intent on eating whatever sweet was wrapped in the long, lurid, yellow-and-green paper than following her mother, whose cart was loaded up with bags, at the top of which were cartons of the frozen fake-Italian pizzas.
Laura locked the car, then made her way to the supermarket entrance. Wendy Laine was a checkout manager, the website had said, but she would obviously work shifts. There was no way of knowing if she was working today—except, as she walked in, she saw a board by the entrance with all the managers on duty. Wendy’s name was there, and next to it was her photo. Laura stared and was disheartened. This woman’s hair was a rather bright shade ofreddish brown and she looked nothing like Cherry. A security man was watching her.
“Everything all right?” he said, a note of suspicion in his voice.
“I need to see Wendy Laine, please.”Is there any point?
“What’s it about?”
