Her face has drained of colour and she’s wearing a worried expression.
‘Who is that guy?’ I hiss, trying not to let the boys hear me.
‘It’s him,’ she says in a low voice so the kids can’t hear.
‘Who?’
‘He’s the man who called round to my house asking about Sophie. He said she’d gone missing and that he was her husband. His name’s Greg Jones.’
‘So what’s he doing talking to Tia?’
‘I don’t know.’ Kelly fidgets with her hands in her lap.
‘That man’s not called Greg Jones,’ Sonny calls out from the back seat. Obviously we weren’t speaking quietly enough to keep our conversation private.
‘What do you mean he’s not called Greg Jones?’ Kelly turns to look at her son. ‘How do you know what he’s called?’
‘Because that’s Rosie’s teacher, Mr Jeffries.’
Kelly tuts. ‘No, I think you must have got it wrong, Sonny.’
‘It’s definitely Mr Jeffries, Mum,’ Ryan chips in. ‘He sometimes teaches us PE, if Mr Nichols is off.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’ Kelly asks.
Both Ryan and Sonny make noises of agreement.
With one eye still on the road, I glance across at Kelly, whose face is now even paler than before. I wonder what on earth this could mean.
Thirty
TIA
The plastic handle is digging into the skin on my fingers, so I transfer the shopping bag to my left hand and roll my right shoulder back and forth. I should’ve divided the groceries between two bags and evened out the weight. I’m debating whether or not to set the bag down on the pavement, but that might give Mr Jeffries the idea that I want to linger and chat, when actually I’m dying to get these groceries home before the hot sun curdles the milk and wilts the vegetables.
I bumped into Rosie’s teacher a couple of minutes ago on my way home from the supermarket. I nodded and smiled and gave him a quick hello, but then he started talking to me about the weather and it would have been rude to cut him off, so here we are on the corner of the empty street in the middle of a stilted conversation. I would have thought the last thing a teacher would want on his day off is to talk to one of his pupil’s parents.
He pushes his dark fringe out of his eyes. ‘I saw your husband at the regatta yesterday. He put in a good performance on the lake.’
‘Thanks, I’ll tell him you said that. He’ll be pleased. Do you sail?’
‘Used to when I was a kid, but haven’t done it for years.’
‘Well, if you want to get back into it, let me know and I’ll give you Ed’s number. They’re always looking for new members at the club.’
‘Thanks!’ He seems genuinely thrilled. Great, this would be a good point to slope off. ‘Well, it’s been nice talking to—’
‘Look, I’m glad I bumped into you, Mrs Perry—’
‘Please, call me Tia.’
‘Thanks, Tia. I’m glad I bumped into you because I wanted to ask how Rosie’s been getting on at home… you know, after the incident last week with those boys calling you a murderer.’
I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. Mr Jeffries’ facial expression is sympathetic, but the starkness of his question has shocked me a little. Using the wordmurdererlike that. And just when I had started putting that unpleasant incident behind me. ‘Uh, yes, Rosie’s fine now. It was probably like Mrs Lovatt said – just children getting carried away and making things up.’
‘Yes, that’ll probably be it.’ He smiles and straightens. ‘Well, I’m glad Rosie’s okay now. She’s such a bright child – a real pleasure to teach.’
‘Thank you.’
