‘Seven thirty,’ Iris replied flatly.
A numbing sensation crept into Greta’s chest, as if she’d been sprayed with anti-freeze.
Seven thirty?
Lottie had probably returned from her afternoon with Jayden by now, and might be wondering where her mum was. Had she already made herself something to eat?
Glancing outside, Greta saw figures bustling along the street, carrying umbrellas and briefcases, their shoulders hunched against the drizzle. The sky was dove grey, and somehow it didn’t look like evening.
The cool feeling spread further down her limbs, all the way along to her toes and fingertips.
‘Seven thirty in the evening?’ Greta asked, just to make sure.
Iris’s pursed her lips and didn’t look up. ‘No. In the morning.’
The words hit Greta like a slap. Her eyes shot to the clock on the shelf, then out of the window again. ‘The morning?’ She leapt to her feet. ‘Have I been hereallnight?’ she cried out.
‘I told you time moves differently with the coffee,’ Iris said. ‘You shouldn’t have meddled.’
Greta’s cup wobbled as she pushed away from the table. ‘I have to go. Lottie will be going out of her mind with worry.’ She looked around her feverishly. Then another thought hit her just as hard. ‘I’m meant to be doing a radio show this morning. I’m due in the studio by eight thirty.’
She made a dash for the door and yanked it open. Breaking into a run, she didn’t stop to look back.
The rain stung Greta’s face, and her feet pounded against the pavement. The wind tore at her coat, and worried tears streamed down her face. The radio interview flashed in her mind, but she shoved it away. Lottie came first. Shehadto get home to see her.
Greta tried in vain to hail a taxi, but they were all filled with commuters. She couldn’t access Uber on her dead phone, and she wished she’d driven to the coffee shop instead.
The park was nearly deserted, a blur as she sprinted through it. A few fed-up dog walkers traipsed around, trailing after their bedraggled pooches. Ducks gathered around a mound of soggy breadcrumbs, their feathers wet and matted.
Greta pushed onwards, her lungs burning.
By the time she reached her flat, her hair stuck to her forehead in damp ribbons. Her hands were red and numb from the cold, and she fumbled with her keys. The door wouldn’t open more than a few centimetres, and she saw the safety chain was on. Greta shoved a shoulder against the door in frustration. ‘Lottie,’ she shouted through the small gap. ‘It’s me. Let me in.’
Inside, a scraping noise sounded, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps. Lottie’s eye appeared at the narrow opening, sharp and judgemental enough to make Greta’s stomach shrink.
The chain rattled, and the door swung open. Greta stumbled inside, drenched and breathless, watching as Lottie retreated to the kitchen without a backward glance.
‘Nice of you to bother coming home, Mum,’ she said over her shoulder.
Greta’s mind scrambled, searching for an explanation. How could she tell her daughter the real story?Sorry, love. I drank some magiccoffeewhich took me to the town featured in the Maple Gold commercials. Time moves differently there, and I was almost eaten by a shark.Her cheeks shone hot at the thought of it.
‘I bumped into some friends,’ she said, cringing at how lame it sounded. ‘We went for dinner and . . . I stayed out longer than expected. I, um . . . fell asleep.’ Greta reached for her pearls out of habit, but they were gone. Picturing the broken necklace on the coffee shop table, she groaned.
‘Right,’ Lottie replied, her voice flat. She sat down with a bump and shoved a piece of toast into her mouth. An empty milk carton lay on its side on the table, a droplet of milk hanging off the pour spout. ‘A meet-up that turned into a sleepover, yeah?’
Greta sank into the chair opposite. Her daughter’s twisted lips were the opposite of the cheery smile she wore in Maple- ville. She already missed her sweet nature.
‘It wasn’t like that. I stayed out by accident, even missed a radio show I had lined up this morning. Nora is going to kill me.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Lottie folded her arms. ‘Dad was worried sick about you. He was going to call the police . . .’
Greta’s blood ran cold. She ran a hand through her damp, tangled hair, tugging at the knots. ‘He knows about this?’
‘You weren’t home for dinner. When it got late, I called him.’ A tidal wave of guilt engulfed Greta, leaving her floundering. ‘I’m so sorry . . .’
‘You guys need to get your act together,’ Lottie said with a sniff. ‘Not the best example you’re setting.’
Greta opened her mouth, but no words came. She was too exhausted to explain or justify herself. She still felt groggy from Iris’s coffee, and her wet feet squelched in her shoes. Missing the radio show felt like a huge blow.
