The loo upstairs flushes. Imogen’s head snaps up. She has a few seconds before he’ll be down, and she can hardly process what she’s reading. Should she be afraid of Toby, too? What should she do? She swallows. Her throat feels dry as paper. Her hands are clammy. She looks at the phone.
Where are you?Ruth has messaged to Toby, over and over again, between accusations. A new text arrives asking the same question as Imogen holds the phone.
She types a reply:At Edie’s house with Imogen. Come quick.
She presses Send. Her heart is pounding so hard she feels as if her chest will explode. She can hardly get a breath in or out. The bathroom door squeals as it opens. She lurches across the sofa to replace the phone where she found it, tucked into the cushions. The screen glows, advertising the fact that she’s used it.
Toby’s calves are visible as he walks downstairs, then all of his legs, and his smile could be warm, but she reads it as sinister. He runs his hand through his hair. She swallows.
His phone screen is still glowing. She smiles back at him, but it feels robotic to her and she’s worried he’s going to pick up on her panic.
He sits heavily back down on the sofa. Only a few feet separate them. She avoids looking at his phone in case he follows her gaze. It’s beside his thigh. The screen goes blank.
She tries not to let her relief show. She stands up. “Actually, I might wait for Mum on my own, if you don’t mind. I don’t feel too good.”
“I’m here now,” he says. “I might as well wait with you. If you want to go ahead and have a lie down, go for it. I’ll hold the fort. To be honest, I don’t really feel like going home right now.”
She sees his coat on the chair at the bottom of the stairs. “I need the loo,” she says.
He turns the TV back on. She walks behind the sofa, stepping quietly and stops beside his coat. She glances back at him. He’s glued to the screen. She feels the outside of his coat pocket. His car keys are inside it.
She wants to flee again, but she’s not going to risk heading out on foot like before. Taking Toby’s car would be better. She’s had a few lessons and though she doesn’t have her license yet, her mum says her driving is coming along well.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
She jumps. “What?” she says.
“I can see your reflection in the TV.”
“I was just scratching my leg.” It’s a lame excuse. It’s obvious she wasn’t. He stares at her. She stares back.
“Do you need money?”
“No.”
“You were looking in my coat pockets.”
“I don’t need money.”
He switches off the TV and swivels his body so he’s facing her properly. Her skin feels as if it’s humming.
“Listen, Imogen. If you have a problem, I’m here for you. I’m a great listener. I work very closely with a lot of young people. It’s what I do. You’ve had a really rough time lately so if you’re experiencing some difficult emotions, that’s perfectly understandable. You don’t need to lie to me. You can trust me.”
She shifts from one foot to the other.
“All of us miss your dad horribly and grief can make us do some strange things, so if you want money, you only have to ask. Honestly. I’m on your side.”
Imogen is running calculations in her mind. She could drive to Jemma’s house. And call her mum from there.
Because this is too much. First Mark, now Toby.
She plunges her hand into Toby’s coat pocket and grabs his keys, turns on her heel, and flees the house. Right before the door slams behind her she hears Toby’s shout, hears his surprise and outrage, and they propel her on.
The gravel on the drive is sharp and her socks are thin. It slows her down. She presses all the buttons on his key fob until the car unlocks and she climbs in. Her hands shake as she hits the central locking and tries to get the key into the ignition.
He walks relatively calmly across the drive toward her. He looks confused. It’s almost more frightening than if he ran. He puts his hand on top of the car and leans down, his face only inches from hers. She can’t hear what he says. Her feet are pumping pedals, trying to find the one she needs to press to get the key to turn. His knuckles rat-tat on the glass and she screams, a noise so loud that it fills the car and hurts her own ears.
“Imogen!” His voice is muffled by the glass.
