‘He could be living just a few streets away from here,’ Angel said, starting to skip.
‘Angel, stay close,’ Hayley begged.
‘There might be a phone number on his website. We could call him and?—’
‘Angel, stop.’ Hayley pulled her to a halt, swinging her out of the throbbing wave of commuters and into the doorway of a bakery. The scent of freshly baked confectionary filled her nose. Wafts of spun sugar hit her hard as Angel lifted her head, eyes large. All her daughter’s hopes and dreams about meeting her father coated her expression.
‘I just…’ Hayley started. She swallowed. ‘Just don’t get your hopes up too much.’
‘Why?’ Angel asked bluntly, putting her hands on her hips.
‘Because…’ Could she put this off any longer?
‘Because what?’ Angel’s voice was softer now, faltering.
Hayley squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to ignore the street sounds, shut out the smell of road traffic, simmering hot dogs and mustard sauce, icing sugar and fondant from the bakery. She had to do this now. She swallowed, feeling like someone about to pull the head off a favourite teddy bear.
‘The website didn’t exist.’
A truck had stopped next to the sidewalk with a whoosh of hydraulics and Hayley wasn’t certain Angel had actually heard what she’d said. There was no change in her daughter’s expression, no lip-trembling or tears welling up. Should she tell her again?
‘The website…’ Hayley started.
Angel nodded then, her chin defiant. ‘I heard what you said.’ Now there was a slight wobble to the voice.
‘I’m sorry, Angel,’ Hayley whispered out.
‘Why?’ Angel shook her head. ‘We’re trying every gallery in New York, aren’t we?’
‘Yes.’ Hayley nodded, determined.
‘It’s just one stupid website. He probably bought another one.’
Her daughter was trying to be brave and it hit her heart hard.That’s my girl.Never give in.
‘Absolutely.’ She nodded. ‘And we’re going to find out what it is and we’re going to find him.’
A guy dressed in a Santa suit began strumming out ‘Feliz Navidad’ as the snow started to fall again. Hayley slipped her arm around Angel’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go get us some popovers.’
Hayley’s phone began to ring, Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’ sounding out through the material of her rucksack.
Hayley unzipped her bag and dipped her hand into it.
She looked at the display. It was an unknown number. She pressed to answer and put the phone to her ear.
‘Hello.’ She swallowed down her rising heart. Angel dragged at her arm.
‘Miss Walker? It’s Rebecca Rogers-Smythe.’
‘Oh hello.’ She knew what this was. She didn’t need to be as clever as Angel to know she was going to be sacked. Her only surprise was the fact this hadn’t happened sooner. The shouting from the housekeeper and the look on the woman’s face the previous day had been an obvious indicator. One of them, or perhaps both, would have been on the phone requesting that Agatha never darken their door again.
‘I’ve had a call from the client you cleaned for yesterday.’
Hayley closed her eyes. She would jump in first and resign. It had been a ridiculous idea anyway.
‘Ms Rogers-Smythe—’ she started.
‘She would like you to drop in this evening if possible.’
