Her dad’s orders were simple enough. She closed the door and felt the warmth of the lounge-come-kitchen. Jasmine was lying on the living room floor, bobbing her head up and down with her earphones on. Phoebe darted to their bedroom, leaving the light off. She nudged the window slightly and stood on a wooden toy box. She needed to know what Aunty Clare had come to tell her dad.
‘But the truth needs to come out!’ Aunty Clare yelled as she snivelled.
‘You dare say a word. It will be the end of you, do you hear?’
Phoebe had heard her dad go off at her mum before. He could get scary when he was angry. He hated her mother going anywhere on her own and he’d always made her feel guilty. It was confusing for them all, especially when he came home with presents the next day.
‘But, I can’t do this any more.’ Aunty Clare’s sobs echoed under the canopy. A ray of light shone in Phoebe’s direction as one of them moved under it. She almost hyperventilated as she allowed the curtain to drop, hoping that her dad hadn’t seen that she was eavesdropping.
‘You can and you will. Now go away, live your life just the way you have been and don’t come here again.’ He paused and light moved away from the window once again. She heard Aunty Clare scurrying away, crying as she splashed across the sodden road. She didn’t hear her father’s footsteps following her.
‘I won’t just go away. You’ll see.’ Aunty Clare’s voice seemed distant. She had to get the last sentence in. That would enrage her dad.
The light flickered. He was still in the porch. She peered through the gap in the curtain, one eye closed as she squinted for a better view. Her father was puffing on something – it was a vape.
Another thing he and her mother had argued about, his smoking. He’d packed up when Rory was born. Phoebe hadn’t been aware that he’d started vaping. The smell crept through the slight gap in the window. Something sweet, dessert-like. He cleared his throat and began stomping back. Phoebe ran from the bedroom straight into the bathroom across the hall and flushed the chain as she wondered what truth her dad and Aunty Clare were hiding.
She shivered as she ran the tap to wash her hands. The man who’d stared at her just before Aunty Clare turned up. Could he have been the person watching her at the park? She struggled to swallow. She knew one thing, she wasn’t going to sleep well tonight. She checked her phone. Still nothing back from her mother.
‘Phoebe. Phoebe!’ her dad called.
She took a deep breath. He was coming to tell her off. He’d seen or heard her listening at the window. She placed her hand on the door handle and almost wanted to cry. ‘Phoebe,’ he called again.
‘In the toilet.’ She opened the door, bracing herself for a scolding.
‘I need to do something. Watch your sister for a while. Lock the doors after me and don’t touch the cooker or open the door to anyone. Do you hear me?’
She nodded. He was leaving them alone, again, and she got to be in charge. He hadn’t spotted her at the window. She exhaled, her heart banging against her ribcage. ‘Yes. Where are you going?’
‘Not far.’ He grabbed the umbrella from by the door and he was gone. She pulled the chain across as she thought about the man in the mac, his grin, his stare locked on hers. Peering through the spyhole, she shivered. It wouldn’t be the first time her dad had hurried out, leaving her in charge. What if the man came back? Her phone beeped and a Snapchat message flashed up.
Phoebe – don’t tell Dad, don’t tell anyone and don’t reply. I need your help. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Keep your phone on and I’ll be in touch. I love you so much but I can’t talk now. Mum. Xxx
Her pulse quickened as she read the message over and over again and smiled. Her mother was okay.
Thirty-Seven
Mary hurried to the lounge, almost slipping on a colouring book. Her beautiful home once again in total disarray. She couldn’t live in such chaos for much longer. She wanted order back in her home. She wanted it to smell fresh and clean, not of the stale food she kept finding under the settee cushions. The constant cleaning was wearing her down, mentally and physically.
Harrison filled the lamp lit lounge with the sounds of his latest tantrum as he kicked the door several times. Being small didn’t mean he caused no damage; there were scuff marks everywhere. Rory was curled up in the chair, hugging a cushion as he sobbed. His sad red face almost identical in colour to Harrison’s angry red face. On the floor, Harrison grabbed his plastic cars, smashing them continuously as he screamed and yelled.
Her daughter’s damp raincoat had been flung across the bottom of the stairs. She hadn’t heard her come home. ‘Clare, Clare!’ Mary paced around, picking up the clutter, trying to ignore Harrison.
Howard poked his head around the corner. ‘I’m just putting the kettle on. Tea?’
She grabbed one of Rory’s teddies, a stuffed cat, and threw it at her husband. ‘If you offer me tea one more time, I’ll—’ She’ll what? Throw teddies. Her poor husband backed away and left her to it. She almost wanted to sob. She hadn’t meant to throw the stuffed cat at him, her frustration had got the better of her and the kids were driving her insane. She’d apologise when Harrison stopped yelling. She glanced at Rory as he cried and went to scoop him up, then she stopped. She could hear whimpering coming from behind the curtain.
Creeping forward she tugged at the sea-green tartan material and peered around. ‘Clare, what are you doing here?’
Her daughter’s chubby face was pressed against the glass, snot and tears smeared everywhere as she prised herself from it. ‘I can’t cope, Mum. I can’t do this.’
Mary grabbed her daughter and pulled her away from the window. They’d had a lot of words that day and both had said things that they didn’t mean. Clare had stormed out in a temper as she often did. Mary had brought the children home from nursery and they too had picked up on the tension and now all hell was breaking loose.
‘He’s just too much for me. I sometimes think I’m losing my mind. I don’t feel like me, I’m just like some cut-out, going through the motions. I’m so sorry, Mum, I need you. I can’t cope.’ Clare’s bottom lip quivered again as Mary pulled her daughter close and led her to the settee, stepping over Harrison who was now sprawled out like a starfish amongst his broken cars.
‘Howard?’
Her husband hurried back. ‘Are you alright, love? Not going to throw any more teddies at me?’
