‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘I’m busy.’
‘I’m busy too but I’ve made the effort to come and see you.’
She sighed inside but put on a smile. ‘We’re going to takean awful lot of money tonight but only if I make a large vat of tomato sauce.’
He put his arms around her waist from behind, pushed himself against her and murmured in her ear. ‘We can do it while you’re stirring stuff on the stove.’
‘It might spill on you,’ she said. ‘Hot sauce on your cock. Painful.’
He winced and pulled away, defeated. ‘By the way, Dylan’s got the job.’ His tone was petulant.
Imogen felt her heart inflate, as if she was being lifted off the ground. ‘He did? Oh my God, that’s amazing!’
‘He’ll be getting a call this afternoon.’
James was looking at her expectantly. She dutifully kissed him. ‘Thank you. For all you did.’ Inside she was ecstatic but careful not to show it too much. She remembered James’s face when Dylan had come to opening night at the restaurant.
Her clever, clever husband, she thought. He had just changed the direction of all their futures. She wished she could congratulate him there and then but of course she had to wait for him to be told and then callher– and then she had to remember to react as if it was new news.
‘I had Lara Miller’s mother in my office this morning,’ said James.
Imogen’s euphoria instantly evaporated.
‘Following Lara’s absconding from school. I think it would serve Rosie well if she backed off a bit.’
‘She’s hurt,’ said Imogen. ‘And upset. Lara tried to drown her.’
He smiled, his brow furrowed with mild impatience. ‘Did she? Really?’
‘Yes,’ said Imogen stubbornly.
‘Rosie is fine. Whatever happened back in September has passed. Lara has displayed no violence towards Rosie that we have seen at the school. Look, I have to follow protocol, OK? I know it’s all going to be fine, but maybe you could have a word with Rosie, nip this in the bud before it escalates.’ He kissed her on the lips, long and sensual. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, ‘and I’ll try not to think too much about what we should be doing at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.’
She watched as he left, then let out a long, heavy sigh.
FIFTY-SIX
Saturday 12 December
Nancy lay in bed the morning of the Christmas fair wondering if she could pretend it didn’t exist. Pretend Imogen and her cronies wouldn’t be there on a stall, hell, pretend even that none of the last few months had even happened. This thought scared her because it tapped into the nagging doubt that was poking its head above the surface of something she was burying deep:had she made a huge mistake in moving here?
She quickly jumped out of bed; she was not going to delve below the surface and examine the size of the iceberg she feared she had created. There was the fresh air, she reminded herself, the air that was saving Lara’s life. That was priceless.
Nancy opened the curtains and gasped with delight. Fat white flakes floated past the window and the garden was covered with a layer of fresh snow. Nancy ran out of her room and down the corridor to Lara’s. She went in and saw her daughter rousing.
‘Guess what?’ said Nancy excitedly.
Lara yawned. ‘What?’
‘Come and look out the window.’
Lara got up, her hair tousled, and stuck her head behind the curtains. ‘Snow!’ she squealed.
The hall was decorated for Christmas, adorned with tinsel and bunting that the children had made. A large tree stood in the corner, covered in baubles, and music was blaring on the speakers: the festive pop songs that were wheeled out each year. Imogen was at her usual stall with Erin; she refused to do it without her friend. Being with Erin made it more fun, they got to chat.
Imogen looked around. It was already busy. The fair was the biggest event of the PTA calendar and nearly all the kids and their families came. The teachers were in full attendance too, forming a rota on the refreshment stand, and usually there was a real festive feel about it all. She could see Nancy milling around, checking each stall in turn. At some point she would come to them on the bottle stall.
