‘What is this?’ Ash asks after a while, more to make conversation than out of interest. It’s awful, in Ash’s opinion, loud and monotonous, worse even than Carla’s opera music.
‘Rap,’ his son informs him. ‘Drake. What do you think?’
‘Yeah,’ Ash says, ‘groovy.’
Olly rolls his eyes and Ash feels old. He has given up trying to speak his son’s language. He has given up, too, trying to convert Olly to music from the Seventies and Eighties, which is all Ash ever listens to himself. By choice anyway.
They’ve been working for about an hour, Ash removing the tiles on one wall with a hammer and chisel and Olly sanding down the wall opposite – when a car horn sounds from outside. Ash hardly registers it over the music and the racket they’re making, but Olly drops everything and rushes to the front door to greet Liv. Olly’s a mess, but he doesn’t seem to care. He washes his hands in the kitchen – Ash has cut off the water in the downstairs loo – and brushes down his jeans with his hands, which dirties them again without visibly improving the state of his jeans. As he says goodbye to Ash, Olly’s face is still stippled grey with dust, and tufts of his blond hair, also speckled with grey, stick up like antennae.
Liv doesn’t seem to mind Olly’s scruffiness, so Ash doesn’t say anything. In fact, she’s smiling. It’s the first time Ash has seen her looking genuinely happy for a while.
‘Liv and I will be back before dinner,’ Olly says. ‘’Bout five-ish.’
Ash watches from the open doorway as Liv and Olly get into her Nissan Micra – Ash learnt to drive in one of those, albeit a much older model, decades ago. Unlike Olly, who passed his test on his first go and crashed his car a month or so later, it took Ash three attempts to pass his driving test, but he has never had an accident. He thinks back to Roly’s accident, years ago, when they were at uni, and wonders how Tracey is now. Does she still walk with a limp after all these years? Does Roly ask himself the same question?
He’s still observing them when Olly leaps back out of the car and runs up to him.
‘Don’t tell Liv what we were talking about earlier,’ he says, looking over his shoulder, as if to check she’s well out of earshot. ‘I’ll tell her when we’ve spoken to Ian, when we know, like, what to expect if … you know. Liv will blame herself. I haven’t told her anything. Ring Ian, though, yeah? Promise?’
It’s not very coherent, but Ash gets the general idea. ‘Yes, I promise, if you’re sure that’s what you want,’ he says.
‘Yeah. But, like, a hypothetical convo, yeah? Like you said.’
Ash has forgotten his exact words, but he definitely didn’t phrase it quite like that. ‘No problem, Olly,’ he says. ‘Go and have some fun.’
‘Oh, we’re not going out for fun,’ Olly says. ‘We’ve got jobs and stuff to do.’
‘Jobs?’
‘Yeah, like, chores.’
‘What? Who for?’
But if Olly hears him, he doesn’t answer. He has already turned away and raises one hand in a wave without looking back at Ash.
Ash closes the front door and walks slowly into the kitchen, where he pours himself a glass of water and guzzles it down thirstily. He’d be very surprised if Olly had any errands to do. It’s more likely an excuse to get out of doing any more DIY. Ash sighs. Then he slides his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and, before he can change his mind and break his promise to Olly, he rings Roly.
Chapter 41
Carla
NOW
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, neck-deep in work, when my mobile rings. I hate being interrupted when I’m working and I occasionally switch off my phone altogether when I need to concentrate, but I don’t like to do that if the kids are out, which is the case today. Margo’s at her friend Ellie’s Hallowe’en party – I’ve done a great job with the face paint to go with her witch’s costume, though I say it myself. Iris has gone for a swim with a friend – not Mille, who comes up in a rash whenever she comes into contact with chlorine, but a boy in her English class called Tom Fischer whom Iris has mentioned a few times lately. And Olly has gone to Barnstaple.
I glance at the caller ID. It’s Jo. It won’t be urgent, so I decide to call her back later – I don’t want to lose my train of thought – and I let the phone ring out. I went for a walk earlier with Cheddar – it did us both a lot of good – but I need to get on with my work now. But my mobile immediately starts ringing again. I look at the screen a second time. It’s Jo once more. Maybe it is urgent, after all. Or maybe she just really wants a chat.
Leaning back in my office chair, which I’ve wheeled into the kitchen from my study, I swipe to take the call. ‘Hey, Jo,’ I say, careful not to let any exasperation seep into my voice. ‘How are you?’
‘Carla, oh my God, I don’t know how to say this. I think … unless I’m mistaken …’ Jo sounds distraught. I hear her take a deep breath. ‘Do you know where Iris is?’ she asks.
‘Iris? Why?’ I look at the clock on the kitchen wall. It stopped long ago. I pull my mobile away from my ear and check the time. Half five. ‘She’s probably on her way back from the pool in Barnstaple right now. What on earth’s the matter, Jo?’
‘Would she take the link road?’
‘Probably. Why? What’s going on?’ I’m getting impatient now and my sense of unease is growing.
‘There’s a car … overturned … on the link road. And I saw … I saw a car … the car looked a lot like Yvonne’s. I mean, I don’t know what Yvonne’s car looks like, but I’m almost certain she was at the wheel.’
