Haze
I had just got homewhen the call came from Bibi’s headmistress announcing that our presence was required immediately. I was trying not to panic. What the hell had she drawn now? I wasn’t sure which would make Fox flip out more—that I’d hidden how Bibi had come across me covered in Clark’s blood, or that I’d hidden how it had traumatized her so much she’d been drawing about it.
Fox was going to meet me there. He had muttered something about wanting to leave the office early anyway. His dedication to his day job had been severely lacking recently. Trying to find himself had been taking priority over trying to find us big money. Our bank balance certainly wasn’t what it had once been. It hadn’t helped that I hadn’t done a new painting in over a year. I needed to get my latest one finished and over to Hamish at the gallery to help gain yet more financial benefit from the Clark Dixon kill.
I was pulling into the school car park when a biker cut me off and sped ahead of me. He then had the audacity to wait for me next to the one empty parking space. Road rage was a recurring issue for me, and that was why Fox never let any sharp objects in the car when I was driving.
I flung open my car door and got out. “What the hell is wrong with—”
The biker had pulled off his helmet.
Fox.
Of course.
He’d bought a motorbike.
We never hear about women having midlife crises, because we don’t have time for this shit. How nice to be a man and have the luxury of being able to wallow and overcompensate with ridiculous purchases.
Fox was grinning at me. “Look! I’ve always wanted one—and it’s great for beating traffic.” He revved the engine. “I got my motorbike license when I was in college. I was always going to get one soon as I graduated, but you know my parents, they—”
“Can we just deal with Bibi first?”
I hadn’t been inside a headmistress’s office since my own schooldays. It felt the same. The stale air of files of paperwork and impending disappointment. Mrs. Baring was short, with tightly pulled-back hair, and she looked like she didn’t know how to smile. She had not acknowledged Reggie even once, though he sat on my lap, resplendent in a Baby-gro that was designed to look like a suit and tie.
Next to me, Fox tried to get comfortable in his hardback chair, his new leather Belstaff jacket creaking every time he moved.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cabot. I’m afraid we’ve had to call you in because Bibi hit a boy in the face today.”
A mix of emotions. Relief that it wasn’t another bloody drawing. Worry that she’d inherited our violent streak.
Mrs. Baring leaned forward. “Thankfully, no hospital treatment was required.”
Please.She was four. Her right hook was going to have to wait awhile before it was able to hospitalize someone.
She clasped her hands to her chest. “But there was blood.”
“Who was the boy?” asked Fox.
I knew who it was. “It was Ted, right? He’s the little shit that was pulling her hair yesterday. He probably started it. Doesn’t she have a right to protect herself? Are you victim-blaming?”
“We can allow a certain amount of leeway for rough play, butshe punched him, seemingly unprovoked, and called him…” Mrs. Baring cleared her throat and looked down at her notepad. “A f-u-c-k-i-n-g dirtbag.”
We took this in.
Fox cleared his throat. “We know that that sort of talk isn’t right for a four-year-old.”
Mrs. Baring looked between us. “I don’t know what language she’s exposed to at home.”
Fox did an admirable job of not looking at me.
“But we do expect a certain high standard of behavior from our students.”
There was a knock on the door. Baring stood up. “We have found that parents of the aggressor and the injured party meeting to discuss next steps is usually the most helpful course of action.”
The door opened and a tall woman stepped in. Her pale blonde bob was perfectly styled. She was unsmiling and wearing a blue trouser suit with a nipped waist that I’d been admiring on Net-a-Porter just last week.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cabot, please meet Ms. Diana Morgan. Ted’s mother.”
