‘Kara, do you want something?’ she asks, exasperated. ‘I’m busy right now, so?—’
‘It’s not Kara,’ I blurt, fearing she’ll cut the call.
There’s nothing but silence the other end for an excruciatingly long moment, then, ‘Who is this?’ she whispers.
I take a huge breath. ‘It’s me, Evie,’ I say, swallowing hard. ‘It’s Mum.’
She takes an eternity to respond, then, ‘I don’t know what’s going on here but I’m not doing this,’ she says, and the line goes dead.
‘Shit!’ I stare at the phone through tear-filled eyes. I’m about to text her when it rings, causing me to start. Seeing it’s her, I hit call receive. ‘Evie, please let me speak,’ I beg. ‘I know you must be upset and confused, but it is me, I promise you.’
‘Prove it,’ she shoots back.
I rack my brains for something she’ll relate to. ‘My snuggle toy,’ I seize on. ‘My Peter Rabbit. I gave him to you when you were having a bad dream. You said he looked sad and you wanted to give him lots of love to make him smile.’
There follows another heavy silence, then, ‘What do you want?’ she asks bluntly.
I squeeze my eyes closed, fail to stop the tears from falling. ‘Just to see you,’ I reply tremulously.
‘You could have seen meanytime,’ she fires back furiously. ‘What do youwant?’
‘To talk to you,’ I say quickly. ‘To explain. Try to,’ I add, hopefully. ‘Will you let me?’
‘Start talking,’ she hisses, with bitter-edged anger.
I falter. I can’t bear to lie to her, but I have to. I can’t let her go back to the house. ‘I’m at work right now, in between patients,’ I tell her. ‘I’m running late, which is why I called. I’m not sure I’ll make it for three o’clock. I was hoping you would meet me a bit later, at a café somewhere perhaps?’
I wait as she pauses agonisingly again.
‘Where?’ she asks eventually.
‘Costa Coffee in about an hour?’ I suggest. ‘Is that okay?’
‘I suppose,’ she agrees reluctantly. ‘How will I know you?’
That hurts. I’m sure she meant it to. Clearly she’s hinting that she’s forgotten me. ‘I’m wearing a grey jacket and jeans,’ I answer without commenting. She’s entitled to every bit of her anger. ‘Look forward to seeing you then.’
She ends the call abruptly and I feel sick to my soul. I’m sending her on a wild goose chase. What kind of mother does that? What kind of mother watches her child from a distance, making no contact with her? A desperate one. A woman who’s determined to get her child back but who knows her husband will make damn sure she stands no chance. No, as much as I want to, I can’t meet her yet. I need to do what I have to do first. I need to get her away from the house to somewhere she’ll be safe.
After pushing the phone back into the pocket of the woman who’d tried to take my place in my daughter’s life, I help her to standing.
Once she’s reasonably steady on her feet, I walk her to the door and, fervently hoping that the repulsive landlord spends his eternity in one of his own vermin-infested flats, guide her to the landing.
With her arm around my neck, progress down the stairs is tricky, but after pausing halfway down to rest, we manage it. I’m surprised when she mumbles, ‘Evie,’ as I manoeuvre her into the car, proving that she really does care about her. I have to give her kudos for that.
I drive fast once we’re under way, but carefully, since I have no documents for the car. If I get stopped, it will lead the police straight to the dead body propped in the armchair. After checking there are no vehicles parked on her drive, I carry on a short distance and park in a disused farm entrance well away from the house. Also well away from Jemma’s house. I don’t want to alert her to my presence.
Hurrying to get Kara out, I help her stumblingly along the lane, then use the spare key my mother took from their key rack to gain access.
‘Evie,’ she murmurs again, as I unhook her weight from my neck and allow her to plop down on the sofa. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s fine. Meeting someone in Birmingham,’ I answer, wanting her to know that no harm has, or will, come to her. I love Evie with my bones. Once I’d realised that by some miracle I’d survived a fall that should have killed me, Evie and her future was what focused me. I was bruised badly, internally and externally, but I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t beaten. I would make Jack pay. I would get home using whatever womanly wiles I had. I would get Evie back, although I knew it wouldn’t be easy with Jack claiming I was insane, my apparent second ‘suicide attempt’ lending validity to his claim.
‘Where’s Lina?’ she asks, glancing confusedly at me.
That surprises me. It seems she cares about her, too, despite all she’s put her through. Did anyone ever tell her, I wonder, that she’s too caring for her own good? ‘Next door in the annexe,’ I provide, not wanting to dwell on the subject of my mother.
‘I need to talk to her,’ she mumbles. ‘I need to know that Evie is?—’
