‘I did it, Nic!’ Callum’s eyes shone as she reached him. ‘I got the tin of spaghetti and Mum’s crisps and I got us a couple of Mars bars.’
Nicole yanked him around the corner so they wouldn’t be seen from the main road. She didn’t trust that old bag back there not to wheedle her way out of things. Then, they might think Nicole had done something wrong. They might come after her. ‘Stick that lot in here,’ she said to her brother, opening up her carrier bag and waiting while he tipped his haul in with the bread and milk. ‘We better eat the chocolate before we get home,’ she said, suddenly not so hungry any more. ‘And if you tell Mum we nicked stuff, I’ll feed you rat poison and lock you in the wardrobe.’
Callum’s eyes grew wide. ‘I ain’t a grass, Nic.’
‘Better not be.’
Callum dug his hand into the carrier bag and pulled out one of the Mars bars, tearing off the wrapper. Nicole did the same. They leant against the side wall of someone’s house while they crammed chocolate into their mouths.
‘Look what we’ve got here.’ A figure appeared around the corner and his hands shot out grabbing each of them by their school shirt collars. ‘Got a receipt for that chocolate have you?’
It was the security guard, and he had them firmly in his grip. Nicole kicked him in the shin, but the man just laughed and held her further away from his body. ‘You two can come back with me to the shop and wait while we call your parents. And you’ve got an apology to give to that lady you accused of stealing.’
‘You can’t prove anything,’ Nicole cried through a mouthful of chocolate. ‘We didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘We’ll check the security cameras, shall we?’ the man said. ‘Then we’ll see. Come on, back to the store.’
Nicole writhed and kicked, but the man had a firm grip on them. She wasn’t going to get out of it. She pictured her mum’s face when she got the news. A cold feeling settled in Nicole’s stomach. Why had she let herself get caught? Next time, she’d have to be much smarter.
Eleven
2019
Flora’s– a rustic artisan bakery-slash-café – is set on the corner of a small, exclusive row of cafés and restaurants just a short walk from school. Along with the various eateries, there’s a designer florist, a winery, a deli and an overpriced gift shop. The obligatory Tesco Express looks somewhat out of place here.
I push open the door toFlora’sand, as I weave my way past the other tables, I’ve already spotted various groups of yummy mummies and gym bunnies from our school. This must be the local hangout for ladies who lunch, workout and do coffee. Does that description apply tomenow?
I spy Darcy seated at a table in the corner. Two other women sit chatting with her, laughing hysterically about something. They give me pursed-lipped, squinty-eyed smiles when I arrive. In my head, I dub themthe poison twins. Darcy introduces us and I treat them to my most charming smile, but I can tell I don’t quite come up to scratch. My clothes aren’t as well tailored, my handbag isn’t genuine leather with the right name tag, my nails are bare of varnish and my curls are too… natural. I’m glad Darcy isn’t snooty. Maybe it’s the American influence – I’m sure they don’t have such blatant snobbism going on in the States.
The poison twinsfinally move away in a flurry of expensive perfume and air kisses.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ I ask Darcy.
‘Come, sit. They’ll take our order at the table.’
‘Okay, great, I wasn’t sure if it was waitress service or if you had to go up and…’ I’m rambling like an idiot so I shut up, slide in opposite Darcy and dump my bag on the floor. We’re meeting to finalise the details of the boys’ party on Sunday. Not that there’s that much to sort out – it all seems to be pretty much taken care of by Darcy.
She lays her small cream leather messenger bag on the table and slides out a notebook and jewel-encrusted silver pen. I curse myself for not being quite that organised, but I’m sure I’ll be able to remember everything that’s needed.
‘Hi, Flora, I’ll have a decaf Americano, please,’ Darcy says.
I turn my head to see a stunning waitress standing behind me. She’s tall and slim with coffee coloured skin and black, spiral corkscrew curls which tumble over her shoulders, ‘Oh,’ I say, momentarily distracted by her beauty. ‘Hi. A double-shot cappuccino, please.’
‘Flora, this is Louisa,’ Darcy introduces us. ‘Louisa, this is Flora’s place – she set it up two years ago – it’s won awards and everything.’
‘You’re embarrassing me now,’ Flora says, dimpling.
‘You have to try her pastries,’ Darcy says. ‘Can you bring us a plate, sweetie?’
‘Sure,’ Flora replies before sashaying away.
‘So,’ I say, turning back to Darcy. ‘How are you? How’re Mike and Tyler?’
‘Everything’s good,’ she says. ‘Tyler can’t wait until Sunday.’
‘Nor can Joe. It’s like he has ants in his pants. He can’t sit still; he’s bouncing all over the place.’
‘Tyler’s the same. I think they might just explode when the big day actually arrives.’
