‘Bullshit,’ said Beth. ‘It’s not about being liked, it’s about being dominant. Don’t let this woman, or anyone else, get you down. They’re going to have to put on their big girl pants and get over it.’
Nancy smiled. Beth was right.
5 September
RIPTON PRIMARY, YEAR 6
Lorna Fielding, Phoenix’s mum
Hey Imogen, just reaching out to see if Rosie is feeling OK 20:17
Nicole Wilson, Bella’s mum
Yeah, poor Rosie. And poor you! Just goes to show, you can’t turn your back for a minute. Can’t believe that Lara actually pushed Rosie in. And held her head down! Awful. 20:18
Erin Mackie, Tilly’s mum
It’s terrifying. I think we all need to keep a close eye on our kids. I’m certainly not leaving Tilly alone with her. 20:18
Hannah Chapman, Jakob’s mum
Seems a bit strange to me. To do something like that just because Rosie was better at paddleboarding? And anyway, I thought that Lara said Rosie had fallen in. 20:19
Erin Mackie, Tilly’s mum
Of course she said that, she doesn’t want to get into trouble. And some kids can do really evil stuff for the pettiest of reasons, you know. Just look at the news. Didn’t that kid in America shoot up his school because his teacher gave him a D minus in English? 20:19
Sarah Ramsay, Noah’s mum
I’ll pray for her tonight. 20:20
Erin Mackie, Tilly’s mum
Good, cos she needs someone to exorcise the devil out of her. 20:20
Sarah Ramsay, Noah’s mum
No, actually I meant Rosie 20:21
Imogen Wood, Rosie’s mum
Thanks, most of you, for your support. I know when Rosie is fibbing and this isn’t one of those times. And Lara didn’t just lie, she hardly blinked an eye when Rosie got dragged from the reservoir, half drowned. It could have gone horribly wrong and there would have been a tragedy in this village. I, for one, am not going to stand back and watch anything else happen. So I WILL be keeping an eye on that Lara. 20:22
ELEVEN
Sunday 6 September
‘I’m off for a run,’ said Imogen as she came into the kitchen.
Dylan was making pancakes. It was his and Rosie’s weekend treat while Imogen went to get some exercise. It had started when she’d needed to get out to run off her dark moods, the pain and devastation of losing the house and the restaurant. As life had settled into a new normality, she’d kept on running and her husband and daughter still relished their sugar-filled breakfasts.
‘Enjoy,’ he said, as he flipped a pancake.
She left the house and once she was away from the windows, she checked her phone. The message she’d been expecting was there.
Imogen ran out of the village then continued three miles down Cuckoo Lane. It was the road that had some of the largest houses in the area. Six-bedroomed detached places with long driveways. She slowed as she neared one of the houses, an Edwardian red-brick with tall windows, then, checking no one was around, she turned into the driveway. She ran uphill to the house itself, feeling her muscles acheas she passed the stone lion, the neat, tiered fountain. Then at the top of the hill, just before the front door, she stopped. Resting her hands on her thighs, she leaned forward and caught her breath.
A hand landed on her backside. ‘Glad you could get away,’ said James, grinning at her. He too was out of breath, dressed in running gear.
