‘Please,’ I say, grabbing her hand. ‘I want you to help Nelly. She’s not a bad child.’
I see her eyes through the gap in the door. ‘Let go, let go,’ she shouts.
I let go of her hand. She pulls it back through the door and tries to slam the door, but my foot is wedged in the gap.
Mrs Pembury is breathing rapidly now. She says quite slowly as though trying to remain calm, ‘How did you know where I live?’
I don’t want to tell her that I followed her home once, so I just stare at her.
‘Please, you have to go. I’ll call the police.’
‘Why won’t you help me?’ I say. ‘I want you to give Nelly a chance. If she had extra time, she’d really surprise you.’
‘My husband is upstairs,’ she says, then calls upstairs. ‘Malcom!’
‘But you don’t have a husband, Mrs Pembury,’ I say. ‘He died five years ago.’
‘I’m calling the police,’ she says. ‘This is harassment, and I won’t stand for it.’
‘You’ll have to let go of the door to do that,’ I say. ‘And these chains break easily.’
She looks over her shoulder. A small dog appears from the kitchen and lowers its head submissively. Not the guard dog she was hoping for.
‘Can I just ask one question? Then I’ll go.’
‘I’m not answering any of your questions.’
‘Do you think it’s worth getting Nelly an autism assessment? It’s three thousand pounds, so I don’t want to waste money unless it will do some good.’
Mrs Pembury tries to kick at my foot.
‘Please don’t make me angry, Mrs Pembury. I would hate to have the loss of a leading educationalist on my conscience. I just want some advice about which disability to choose.’
‘You can’t choose a child’s disability,’ she shrieks.
‘But hypothetically, would you say that strong dyslexia trumps mild autism?’
‘Go away,’ she says, through the gap.
‘Do you think you can add them up? You know, if she has dyslexia and autism? I suppose I could just apply for both.’
‘Don’t ever come here again,’ she says.
‘Do consider my request, Mrs Pembury,’ I say, and remove my foot. The door slams shut. I walk back to my car and sit there watching the house until the lights all go off again, then tiptoe back to the front door.
‘Just a little thank you,’ I whisper, take the thick envelope out of my pocket and push it back through her letterbox.
Chapter62Supermarket
Sunday, 12 January
The little green dot on Find My Phone moves away from our house, makes its way up Alexandra Park Road, stops, waits for several minutes at the junction, then turns right onto Colney Hatch Lane, continues all the way down, crosses the A406, then turns left, and stops in Tesco’s car park.
I’ve regained some composure over the weekend, as I decided not to talk to Stephen about his mother’s background checks or threats. At least, not until I have a plan to remove her and all her evidence from Planet Earth. Instead, I put my head in the sand and played happy families, which felt nice.
This morning, however, Hollis called. He apologized for turning up at my house and said he’s desperate to meet now he knows we’re divorcing. I told him that we’re not, and that Stephen’s current preference is only based on his mother’s threats of disinheritance. There was a long pause on the line.
‘For someone so smart, you can be so dumb,’ he said.
