‘Of course. I needed to return this.’ Kitty held out the jacket. ‘It’s got your wallet inside. You’ve got visitors, I see.’ She nodded towards the woman.
‘You could say that,’ muttered Nick under his breath.
‘I was just leaving,’ said Carla, though she didn’t move.
‘Good,’ said Nick. ‘Because I’ve said no, Carla. You can’t dump your daughter here and expect…’
‘Your daughter?’ said Kitty before she could stop herself.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Carla, turning. ‘What is this, an audience?’
Nick sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘Kitty’s new in the village. She’s a teacher.’
‘A teacher?’ Carla’s expression softened a fraction. ‘Good. Someone sensible, at least.’
Before Kitty could retreat, Carla had taken her by the arm and guided her inside. ‘Perfect timing,’ she said brightly. ‘You can help me knock some sense into him.’
‘I really shouldn’t…’
‘Too late now.’ Carla steered her towards the sofa.
The house was bright and spacious but held a hint of stale beer in the air, and the magazines and empty coffee cups scattered around were in contrast to the sleek fixtures and fittings. Kitty perched on the edge of a cushion while Carla paced up and down the rug, hands fluttering to her hair.
Nick looked ready to explode. ‘You can’t do this, Carla. I told you I’ll take the test. Until then…’
This was what the fight was about? A daughter Nick hadn’t known existed? Kitty didn’t know whether to laugh or feel hugely sorry for Carla and the child.
‘Until then, what? You’ll pretend she doesn’t exist?’ Carla spun round. ‘I’ve raised Emily on my own for five years. I’ve never asked you for anything. Not once. Now I need help for one week, and you’re acting like I’m asking for a kidney.’
Kitty’s chest tightened. There was no mistaking the tremor in Carla’s voice. This wasn’t a performance; it was a woman unravelling.
‘A week?’ said Nick.
‘A few days, maybe less.’ Carla pulled a tissue from her bag. ‘My dad’s dying. He’s got days, Nick, maybe hours. I can’t take Emily there. I’ve run out of options.’
The room went quiet. Nick’s anger deflated.
A small voice drifted in from the snug. ‘Mummy?’
Carla turned. A little girl, who must be Emily, stood in the doorway, clutching the hem of her T-shirt, eyes wide. Kitty’s heart swelled in sympathy for the child.
‘It’s OK, baby,’ Carla said softly, crossing to her. She crouched, brushing a curl from the girl’s face. ‘We were talking. Grown-up talk.’
‘Are we going home soon?’
Carla’s mouth trembled. She swallowed, then smiled. ‘Not just yet.’ She gestured to the other woman. ‘This is Kitty. Why don’t you show her what you’ve been watching on TV?’
Emily’s gaze moved shyly to Kitty. Kitty smiled, crouching to her level. ‘I love CBBC,’ she said. ‘What are you watching?’
Emily brightened a little. ‘Bluey.’
‘The best one,’ said Kitty. ‘Why don’t you go back to the snug, and I’ll be through in a moment to watch with you?’
Carla gave Kitty a grateful look, an unspokenthank you, and Kitty nodded almost imperceptibly.
Once Emily had wandered to the snug, Carla straightened. ‘You see? She’s fine. She’s adaptable. She’ll be alright here for a few days.’
‘You’re really leaving her today?’ asked Kitty.
