Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Judy Leigh 2019

Cover design © Emma Rogers 2019

Cover [photograph/illustration] © Shutterstock

Judy Leigh asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008269227

Ebook Edition © January 2019 ISBN: 9780008269234

Version: 2019-01-29

Dedication

To Liam and Cait, always.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Judy Leigh

About the Publisher

Chapter One

I haven’t touched the black coffee I poured half an hour ago, or the scrambled eggs. I really don’t have a hangover after Demi’s wedding, although it was certainly a day to remember. The string quartet playing Vivaldi was hilarious, Adie raising a champagne glass, acting the distinguished father of the bride, while my sister Bonnie sobbed in the corner and drank too many cocktails. She left him two days before Demi’s wedding after finding lipstick smudges on his shirt collar again. I told her it would be a bad idea to go back to him, and she gave me the usual reply: ‘But he needs me, Georgie.’ So I dragged her on the dance floor to bop to Aerosmith and watched helpless while she threw up outside in the lush grounds of the spectacular Cheshire mansion. Of course, Adie, the brother-in-law from hell, sidled over and led her away, promising to look after her forever, and I was left by myself in the bar.

Then I was accosted by a man with a neatly clipped beard who tried to smooch with me to ‘Lay Lady Lay’, breathing down my ear like an asthmatic bloodhound. Not flattering, not even for a fifty-five-year-old woman who’s been single for almost six years and has hardly had a second look from a decent man in all that time. Not that I’m interested. I ditched the snorting bloodhound on the dance floor, strutted past Demi and Kyle, who were swaying together, their eyes locked, oblivious to the mayhem caused by her philandering father, and took a taxi all the way back home to Liverpool. It was a costly evening all round.

This morning, my head aches so badly because I’m worried about my daughter and my sister. It’s ten o’clock and Jade didn’t come home last night. She left the wedding straight after the church service, wrinkling her nose and telling me she was going to a proper party where there’d be young people, not ageing has-beens making fools of themselves. Jade’s often out until two in the morning but seldom all night, and she’s not answering my texts, which is unusual. Bonnie’s keeping quiet, too – no reply to my six messages over the last hour. I assume my sister has a hangover and is still asleep. I expect she’s gone home with Adie. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was stifled in their airless bedroom, lying pale in the four-poster with the curtains drawn while Adie hovers overhead, fangs at the ready, rubbing his hands together with glee.

Jade’s twenty-four: she knows she can do as she pleases but I’m becoming concerned. She often comes in late on a Saturday night after hours of non-stop clubbing, but not much gets in the way of her Sunday morning muesli and a 10-k run. Apart from the half-marathon she’s preparing for, she works as a personal trainer, so she knows the value of sleep and a good breakfast. I pour more coffee and breathe in roasted beans.

I’m in a soft dressing gown to my ankles and furry boot slippers. I look a mess. My hair’s sticking out, dried with hairspray and sweat from last night’s dancing. My skin feels slack, like it doesn’t fit the bones in my face. I do a reasonable impression of Marge Simpson, but it’s nothing I can’t fix with an hour in the gym, a shower and a bit of TLC. I check my phone again, and then push the half-eaten breakfast away from me. I wonder why I thought I wanted scrambled eggs. I smile to myself. It’s the same thing with men: appetising and desirable at first glance, then too hot, then too tepid and finally unpalatable. I pour more coffee and check my phone again. The screen is blank and I feel the same way.

I go down to the basement where the gym is: Jade’s Gym, where she brings clients for one-to-one fitness coaching. I close my eyes and remind myself that although I’ve lost Terry forever, the divorce gave me a four-storey semi-detached house with a huge mortgage, so that I can run my own business and Jade’s, too. My salon’s on the ground floor with a gravel parking space outside. The kitchen and lounge with the raised garden behind ageing French windows are on the first floor and there are three bedrooms at the top. Beauty Within was my choice of name, because it’s a beauty salon within my house: 5 Albert Drive. A lovely part of Liverpool: trendy and a little bohemian at the same time. Perfect for me. Jade and I revel in the fact that we don’t even have to open the front door to go to work, except to let in clients.

It hasn’t always been that way. After all the dives and sweatshops I’ve worked in since I was eighteen, painting nails and waxing legs all hours of the day and late into the evening, pacifying fretting clients and fussy bosses, I’m grateful to have my own business, even if it’s sometimes a struggle to make ends meet.

I spend ten minutes on the exercise bicycle and realise that I did drink too much last night. The wheels are spinning and so are the walls. I heave myself out of the saddle and crawl up three floors to my bedroom, shower, make myself presentable then check the time and the phone for messages. Nothing from Jade or Bonnie. It’s 11.30. I have to go out. I throw some things in a shopping bag, pull on a warm coat in dusky pink and some black boots and I’m off, striding across the park. I should make it for midday.

It’s glorious outside: a beautiful March morning, early spring, and the park is a flurry of flowers, purple crocuses and a blanket of bluebells. The sky is pale blue and little clouds float across like toy yachts. There are the usual Sunday dog walkers: a black-clad Goth woman with a white wolf on a lead; a couple with a brown mongrel, clearly too in love to notice the dog running in circles and lifting its leg against a tree. I push my hands deep into my pockets, feel the breeze whisk my hair and tickle my cheek, enjoying the satisfying crunch of gravel beneath my boots. I may be fifty-five and unloved, but I try to cut a stylish figure. It’s important to me as a beauty therapist to look as good as I can, even if no one’s interested. I keep my hair smart, a rich honey blonde, and my teeth are in good working order. I had a smile that could light up a room, once upon a time.

I turn into a row of terraces just five minutes’ walk from the park. These houses have a history. Once grand, later dishevelled, they now provide cheap accommodation and a good income for private landlords. I take out my key, ring the bell three times, which is my signal, and open the door.

Nan’s in her usual place, by the gas fire, wearing the same old baggy brown cardigan. Uncle Wilf’s. She has a dark green woolly hat on and tufts of white hair stick out around her face. She’s sparrow-like behind black-framed glasses, with huge watery eyes, baggy tights and fluffy slippers. There’s a mug of beer on the table next to her, and a half-empty bottle of Guinness. She struggles to get up, pushing her hands on the chair arms to stand as tall as she can, and despite my protests, she heaves herself upright – five-feet tall now – to give me a hug. I pull her to me and her bones are as light as a chicken’s. She smells of Pears soap, beer and something musty like riverbeds.

‘How are you, Nanny?’ I say.

‘Did you remember to order next week’s groceries on the line? Did you bring the extra Guinness? I’m getting a bit low.’

I start to empty the bag: beer, biscuits, cake, fruit, chocolate. She grabs my hand. Hers is thin-skinned – purple veins and brown blotches.

‘Oh, you’re my good girl, Georgina.’

‘Cup of tea, Nan?’

‘A Guinness’d be better, love.’

‘You drink too much, Nan.’

‘So the doctor says. But it keeps me company. Besides, Guinness is good for you. They say so on the telly.’

I bustle about and notice the photos on her mantelpiece either side of the loud clock need dusting. Taking a tissue from the box beside her chair, I pick each one up carefully and wipe the glass. There’s a black-and-white photo, all smiles: Nanny and her husband, Wilf Basham, who was my mum’s elder brother. She’s my aunt but everyone calls her nan, never Aunty Anne or even Aunty Nan any more. A few years older than my mum would’ve been, she’s eighty-eight, but made of stronger stuff than either her husband, who died five years ago, or my poor mother, who never made it close to sixty. There are two photos of her wedding in a time when fashions were puffy dresses with petticoats under ballooning skirts. Uncle Wilf has the slicked-back hair of a Teddy boy and a long jacket, his face as serious as an undertaker’s.

I pick up another photo of Nan with my mum, Josie, my dad, Kenny and Wilf. Mum’s dark-haired, like Bonnie, although Mum’s is cut short and backcombed, 1960s style; Dad is fair like me, same straight nose and a too-wide grin. They’re laughing, enjoying the caravan holiday Nan is always reminiscing about in North Wales, smiles stuck to their faces as if it were their happiest moment.

I turn back to Nanny Basham. She has froth on her upper lip and is grinning at her Guinness, her eyes shining like a naughty child’s behind thick-lensed glasses.

‘Your shopping will be here tomorrow first thing, Nan. The supermarket man will bring it in for you but you’ll have to put the frozen stuff in the big freezer immediately. And sort out the fridge stuff. I’ll put everything else away on Tuesday. And I brought you a Sunday dinner, the ones in the box with the Yorkshires. You like those, don’t you? Shall I put it in the oven now?’

She nods and slurps again. ‘Put the telly on, Georgina, will you, love? There’s a football game on in a bit. My Wilf always loved to watch the Reds on a Sunday afternoon. I like to see all those lads running about in their little shorts with their skinny legs.’

She settles in her chair and I set to making her lunch. The screen rattles in the background and Nan giggles, poised like a queen, waving the remote like a sceptre.

An hour passes quickly, plates clanging and Nan sucking gravy and demanding another Guinness. I glance at the phone screen as I clear away her lunch and wipe up the dishes. There’s still nothing from my sister or my daughter. Nanny’s performing one of her monologues in the next room, reminiscing, leaving me a split second to answer after each rant. She’s still in the armchair, in front of the television, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, warming her fingers.

‘Your mother wouldn’t have liked it, Georgina. I mean, Josie’s not here to see it but, God bless her, she’d have spoken her mind, that’s for sure.’

‘I know, Nan—’

‘In our day, we thought marriage was for life.’

‘Like a sentence for murder?’ I shout from the little kitchen. She doesn’t hear.

‘All this chopping and changing partners. Like a bloody barn dance. At least Bonnie’s stuck with her man.’

I mutter, ‘He’s sticking his arms round other women. She’s stuck it for over twenty-five years. It’s time they became unstuck, Nan.’ Again, she doesn’t hear.

‘Mind you, I don’t like that Adie Carrick. I liked Terry Wood, though. He was a nice lad. Your Jade’s just like him, you know.’

I’d been fond of him, too. I breathe out and glance at my phone again. ‘Unreliable, you mean?’ No texts, no messages.

I dry my hands and go back to the lounge. She’s calling to me, her eyes on the television.

‘Good-looking, both of them, father and daughter. Fit, well made. She’s the image of him. Same violet eyes. You should have hung on to him, Georgina.’

I sit down and shrug. ‘He took off with another woman, Nan. Remember? Alison with the little rabbity face. Seriously, she even dresses like Jessica Rabbit. Tight outfits, silly posh voice. She thinks she’s sex on legs. He thinks so, too.’

‘Where did he move to?’

‘Ealing. Where the comedies come from.’

I’m looking at the back of her head. She’s still staring at the television.

‘He has a little lad now?’ she asks.

‘You know he does. He must be four years old or thereabouts.’

She turns to me and frowns.

‘He’s called Arran. Like the sweater.’

She nods and drains her tea, puts the cup back on the table and inspects the empty Guinness glass.

‘You’ll come over on Tuesday then, Georgina?’

‘Like always, Nan. I’ll bring you a few extra things.’

‘I’d like some of those double-chocolate biscuits with the white bits in them.’

‘All right, Nan.’

‘And …’ She raises the empty bottle.

‘All right, Nan.’

‘It’s the second half now. We’re playing the blue ones and they’re losing by a goal. The ones in blue are from London. There’s a nice little one though, very cute. Dark hair in a knot on top of his head. He’s about to hit the bar. Watch a minute.’

I lean on her chair and stare at the screen. After some nifty footwork, an earnest-looking little man in a blue jersey with his hair pulled back from his face cracks a shot against the post. The ball slams hard and the wood snaps like it might split. The little footballer puts his hands to his head and gazes up at the sky.

‘How did you know that was about to happen?’

She grins, her lips wet with the last of the Guinness. ‘It’s yesterday’s game. It’s a repeat. They’re showing it again. Cheap telly. You off now?’

‘Yes, Nan.’

‘I’ll see you on Tuesday, will I, Georgina? Let yourself out.’

‘Righto, Nan.’ I turn to go and she fumbles with the empty glass.

‘One more of these?’

‘You’ve had two.’

‘Another one makes three. I can still count. I’m not drunk yet, am I? Or demented.’

I shrug and go to the kitchen, wave an opener at the serrated lid and bring in a fresh bottle. I kiss the top of her woollen hat.

‘You warm enough, Nan?’

‘Just about. The heating’s expensive so I keep it on low.’ She glances up and her eyes narrow, crafty as a fox’s ‘You don’t want to worry about me, Georgina. I’m all right.’ She stares right into my eyes. ‘I’m not the only one who’s lonely, misses a bit of company.’

I shrug on the pink woollen coat, pull my boots on. ‘I’m not lonely.’

‘Get away with you,’ she chuckles. ‘I can smell it on you. You think you’re independent. But you’re getting older and you have nobody to care about you. Jade’ll be off soon enough, you mark my words. And you’ll be all by yourself, watching telly by yourself every night, cold and thinking about the past and all the opportunities you missed, with no one to talk to. You know, Georgina, what you really need is a bloody good—’

‘I’m off now. See you on Tuesday, Nan. Enjoy the football.’

‘It’s getting interesting now. The little dark-haired one is mustard. He’s got the ball again. He’s running with it. He’s a little whirlwind. He’s going to shoot. He gets a goal in a minute. We draw with them, two-all in the end.’

‘Bye, Nanny.’

I close the door behind me with a snap, put the key in my pocket and smile to myself. It’s the same every Sunday – Nan grumbling about the food and her aches and pains – and Tuesdays and Fridays aren’t much better. But she’s part of my routine and I’m used to it. I suppose I even like it. Nan’s one of those strong women, full of determination and sharp of tongue, although she’s becoming frail now. I head towards the park and check my phone but no one’s called or messaged. It’s ten past three. Nanny didn’t say thanks for lunch. But then, she never does.

Chapter Two

As I walk through the park, the sound of a police car siren drifts from the road. I shiver and automatically check my phone. Still no messages – I’m worried. My heart’s started to squeeze itself tight like a soft rubber ball in my chest. I give in: I press buttons with my thumb to dial. After a few seconds, Jade’s voice is loud in my ear. ‘What is it, Mum?’ I wonder why I didn’t phone her before. Of course, I know why. I don’t want another Jade tirade, accusing me of being the embarrassing smothering mother. I hear a sharp intake of breath at the other end.

She says, ‘What’s the problem?’

‘I was just wondering where you are—’

She puffs out air. Her way of telling me I’m exasperating; my maternal concern has annoyed her. ‘I’m with friends. But last night I—’

‘Last night you what?’

‘Never mind, Mum. I’ll be home later.’ There’s a pause; I’m waiting for her to tell me more. ‘Is there anything the matter?’

‘No, Jade. I just wanted to make sure you …’ I’ve already said too much.

‘Fine, I’ll see you later, okay?’

The phone clicks before I have time to reply. I’m pleased she’s all right but there’s the sinking feeling that I’ve interfered where I shouldn’t. I play back the call in my head. She’s told me nothing, except that she’s not happy that I’ve phoned and that something may have happened last night. At least I know she’s all right. I try to infer something from her words: where she was, who she might have been with, and there are no answers. Just my imagination overloading me with worrying images: Jade drinking too much; in clubs with the wrong sort of people; the wrong sort of men; the wrong man. I remind myself she’s streetwise; she’s at a friend’s, staying over, celebrating or sleeping it off. But something wriggles, niggles: mother’s instinct, perhaps, or just plain worry. I put my phone back in my pocket and try to put my fears away with it. They stay in my mind, buzzing like flies on a hot day.

I pick up my pace. I’m not far from home and, in my mind, I already have the kettle on. Maybe I’ll cook something nice for Jade, for when she comes in. I’ve decided some nourishing soup will do her good after being out on the town all night. In our house, food has always been part of the family culture: something to share, to nourish, to make with love for those we care about. My grandmother’s recipe for Scouse was passed down to my mum and to Nan. There wasn’t much money in our house, but my parents would offer a good meal to anyone who came to the door. We’d all sit round the table, chattering and laughing, and I try to keep the tradition: the family who eats together stays together. Of course, that’s no longer true in my case with Terry gone, but I try to make sure everyone who sits at my table shares food and drink and feels welcome.

As I approach my house, I walk under a hazel tree. Little golden catkins are beginning to form. I turn into the drive, my boots crunching on gravel. My car’s parked outside and it’s comforting to see the sturdy profile, the 2010 black BMW X5. It was an extravagant buy but it always felt safer to be driving alone inside something solid and strong. Like driving inside Iron Man’s suit, protected and smart at the same time. A car with status for a woman with status, I told the handsome young assistant at the garage when I bought it second-hand five years ago. Having an ex who works in computers has had its uses although, in truth, once I’d paid the deposit on the house, there was nothing left of the divorce settlement. I struggle to make ends meet each month, but there’s always just enough to pay my assistant Amanda and Jade, to meet the mortgage and to put food on the table. I manage: I’m in control of my destiny, that’s what’s most important. On my own, living off my wits. Which is good, of course – I’m independent and I’m never short of wit.

There’s something on the front doorstep, a package. As I approach, I notice it’s a bouquet of flowers: roses – red, white and pink – perfect blooms, expensively arranged. I pick them up in both arms like an old-fashioned prima ballerina and bring them to my nose. They have a light, sweet fragrance and I smile. I consider doing a low curtsey but decide against it in the heeled boots.

There’s a card, thick and embossed in gold. I pull it out and stare at the words: Thank you for looking after my Bonnie last night. Adie. I push the flowers away as if they’ve started to stink. In a way, they have. I hold them by the stalks, petals hanging down, heavy as a dead rabbit, open the door and march inside. I throw them in the sink and take out my phone. It rings for a while; Bonnie doesn’t answer. I wonder if he’s tied her up, gagged her. I make myself a cup of tea.

The steaming liquid comforts me. I think back and the images come quickly, remembering when Bonnie first brought Adie home and he was so well mannered and courteous. She’d been gullible with men before Adie, gravitated towards the overconfident type, had her heart broken a few times but moved on quickly enough with encouragement from me.

Adie was different, cunning: he saw Bonnie as a trusting, good-natured clip-on status symbol. I disliked him the first time I saw him and my views never changed. She was shy with him, but I could tell she was smitten, her heart lost in a moment. And Adie was cardboard-stiff in his best suit, like he’d just stepped down from the witness box, straight-faced and slimy, taking a slice of cake and murmuring, ‘You make the best gateau in Liverpool, Mrs Turner.’ Bonnie had giggled into her hand and turned shining eyes on him, as if he were a saint.

I was going out with a drummer called Magic who played in The Shipperies every Sunday night, wore eyeliner and looked like a Greek god. I had no time for my sister’s creepy suitor. As she poured tea, my mother said, ‘And what do you do, Adrian?’ His smile was just teeth and no expression in the eyes. ‘I buy old property, do it up and sell it on, make money.’ Bonnie was all breath and excitement. My mum managed to make it to their wedding, but she wasn’t well. She died a few years after that. She’d have hated to see Bonnie now.

I was a godparent at Demi’s christening seven years after they were married. Jade was two years old, wriggling and bawling in Terry’s arms all the way through the starched service. Bonnie hovered by the altar in a pink fitted suit and heels, nervous with little Demi Adrienne in her arms, the tiny baby swathed in metres of shining silk looking like the Christ child, while Adie shook the vicar’s hand and whispered, ‘Thanks for letting me have the Saturday afternoon slot at such short notice. I’ll give you a cheque for the Orphans of Somalia. Will a grand be enough?’ I saw Terry’s face. He didn’t like Adie either: he found him too competitive, too flash, whereas Terry was laid-back, good-natured, kind.

Then years later, Bonnie became thinner because Adie said he preferred women to be fashionably slim and she started to wear dresses that came to her knees because he said he liked his women tastefully glamorous. He paid for Dad’s funeral eight years ago and Terry hung back in the corner staring at guests he’d never seen before, his hands in his pockets, while Adie told everyone he’d given his beloved father-in-law the sending-off he deserved.

I sat with Nanny Basham in a corner while she’d cradled a bottle of brandy and sobbed, telling me about Dad and Mum and Wilf, the good times I’d heard about a hundred times before. Terry grumbled afterwards that he’d never had respect for Adie. That was something we agreed on. Adie Carrick was only out for himself. Bonnie was just a trophy, his in-laws just an opportunity to show how magnanimous he was.

Demi went to a private school, where she was demure in a grey blazer and tartan skirt. Jade was popular at the local comprehensive; it was a good school and she was sporty and bright, but Adie insisted on making comparisons. ‘You get what you pay for in this life.’

I always replied, ‘I’m not having my child at school with kids whose parents are politicians and gangsters.’

I’ll never forget how he looked at me. Eyes like bullets. Then Terry moved out. We’d been arguing a lot. I’d been doing the arguing; Terry retreated into himself: he met Rabbity Alison and the rest is history. I became Georgie Turner again, not Georgie Wood. After Terry left me, Adie squeezed my arm one day when I was making coffee in Bonnie’s kitchen, his lips against my ear. ‘If you need any money, Georgie, just say. We’re family, and family sticks.’ But I walked away, stared through the window at the patio and the swimming pool complex, and promised myself I’d manage just fine without his charity.

Meanwhile, Bonnie stayed in the background smiling sadly; years passed and she became quieter, more timid. Then she found lipstick on his collar, not her shade, and suggestive messages on his phone. A year later, there was a lacy G-string in his car. He claimed he knew nothing about it, then he suddenly remembered he’d lent the car to a friend the night before. I’d have left Adie for that, but Bonnie swore it was a one-time incident, she’d been neglecting him, it’d never happen again: he loved her.

Of course, Adie simpered, playing the part of the trustworthy brother-in-law; he told me that now I was by myself, now my man had left me, he’d keep an eye out for me, or lend me money. As he turned away, I pointed down my throat with two fingers and thought I’d rather roll naked in the gutter. I’m not afraid of Adie Carrick. I’ve never liked him or the way he treats my good-natured sister. I have suspicions about the property he buys and sells, and the money he makes, which seems to slide through his fingers like poker chips.

I put the mug down and reach for my phone. A text has come in: it’s from Bonnie. I read it, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Of course, I’m right. Adie and I have decided to give it another go. We’re off to a spa hotel for a week. See you soon. I throw the phone on the table and put my head in my arms. I picture them both, driving from Frodsham in his Boxster to an expensive hotel in Cheshire. She’ll have a facial there, paying ten times as much as I charge downstairs for a better aromatherapy one; he’ll have a full body massage from some young girl in a white overall with make-up as thick as a death mask, who giggles at his anecdotes about how hard he works for his money and how he dines on yachts with film stars.

I imagine Bonnie and Adie at a linen-covered table that evening, fresh from their treatments, him devouring bleeding steak, while she pushes salad leaves around a plate and frets about the four-poster room they’ll slink off to after he’s guzzled another bottle of Beaujolais. Suddenly I feel tired. Tired and glad I’m single. Tired, glad I’m single and yet not altogether sure. I rub my eyes and a feeling of misery lands on my shoulders and sinks into my muscles like cement. I shake off the loneliness, smear a lipstick smile on my face and set to making some supper for Jade and myself. At least we’ll have a pleasant evening together.

By ten thirty, the pan of chowder is cold, a translucent skin settled on the surface. The banana cake I’ve made is untouched and I’m sitting in front of the television, my glass empty after two gin and tonics. A key rattles in the front door and I jerk myself bolt upright.

Seconds later, I beam at Jade, who’s surveying me with arms folded and a frown on her face. She looks cold in the short dress and skimpy jacket she wore to the wedding. Her dark burgundy hair is well cut and hangs perfectly, glossy as glass, framing her face, and her eyes are round, dark velvet and soft as a doe’s. I grin, make my voice bright.

‘I made some lovely chowder. Sit down, love. I’ll bring you some.’

I recognise the glare. She’s about to tell me not to bother but she’s starving – she probably hasn’t eaten all day – so she flops down from full height onto the sofa, ignores me and stares at the television. I know this is the sign for me to bring her food, to wait for the right moment to ask how she is. Or, as usual, I won’t wait, I’ll ask the wrong questions, she’ll bite off my head and then there’ll be an argument.

She sits with the tray on her knee, spooning a stream of soup without shifting her gaze from the screen. She’s pretending to be glued to the new serial about a cop whose wife has been abducted, determined to ignore me, concentrating on waving the spoon towards her face. She clanks the cutlery against the bowl and starts on the banana cake, her movements automatic, her eyes hypnotised, staring at the television. She finishes eating and I wait for a few seconds.

‘Cup of tea?’

She waits a few more seconds.

‘Whatever. If you’re having one.’

I use the interlude as the kettle boils in the kitchen to decide what to say, how to be subtle and frame my questions. Then I march into the lounge, put the cup between her hands and blurt out, ‘So, where the hell have you been since yesterday afternoon?’

I expect her to ignore me or shout at me. Or ignore me then start shouting. I glance at her and I have to focus my eyes to believe what I’m seeing from my usually tough daughter. A tear is rolling down her face. She sniffs and wipes it away with the back of her hand. Another tear tumbles and her voice is tiny.

‘I wouldn’t expect you to know what I feel …’

I rush over to her. ‘Jade …’

She holds out a hand to push me away. ‘Don’t start, Mum.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve been with friends since this afternoon. I had to talk to someone who’d understand …’

‘Are you in trouble, Jade?’

‘No, no, it’s all right …’

I’m next to her, sitting on the chair arm, trying to hug her. She’s twisting away, furious, her hand over her face, making all the signs that she doesn’t want me to ask her anything. So, naturally, I persist.

‘Jade, what’s happened? Where have you been all night? Has something bad happened? Has someone hurt you? If they have, I swear I’ll—’

She gulps. ‘I’m all right, Mum.’

I put my hands on my hips, stand upright. ‘I can see you’re not. You’re upset. I’m not having this. Come on – out with it. Has someone …?’

She stares up and the anger in her eyes dissolves. Her lip trembles and I squat down, take her hands.

‘Jade …?’

She shakes her head. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Mum.’

‘Why not?’

‘You just wouldn’t. You’re not the type. You wouldn’t get it.’

‘Try me.’ I squeeze her hands in mine. With effort, I make my voice soft. ‘What is it, sweetheart? You can tell me anything.’

Her eyes meet mine and I notice tears, huge spheres swelling and tipping over. Then she swallows, takes a breath.

‘I’ve met someone.’

‘And?’ I lean forwards.

‘And nothing.’ Her breath shudders. ‘I just met someone. I know that he’s the right one for me. I’m sure.’

A motor seems to rev and roar in the vicinity of my heart, a loud, fierce engine, and my mind accelerates with it. So does my mouth. My hands grab her shoulders.

‘Oh. I see. You’ve met a man. And I suppose he’s married, is that it? He loves you but he won’t leave his little wifey? Is that how it goes? Some two-timing, sneaky—’

‘Mum.’ She wriggles away from me. ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand.’

I feel my face become hot and I take a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Jade. I didn’t mean to go off the deep end. I just worry.’

‘I’m twenty-four.’

I take a moment, smile, beam, try to make my face resemble an Oscar winner in the middle of paparazzi. ‘I’m so glad you met someone, love. So, tell me all about him.’ She frowns; her eyebrows cross suspiciously, so I grin even more. ‘I’m all ears.’

She waits for ten seconds, another ten, then her voice is quiet. ‘I met him at a private party. We spent yesterday evening and the whole of last night together.’

I’m about to jump in with a comment about it all being a bit sudden and then hit her with the follow-up remark about contraception and STIs, but I clamp my lips together and wait. She snuffles.

‘We were together briefly this morning. He stayed on to be with me. We talked and talked. He’s amazing, Mum. Kind and sweet and really nice. And we both said it together. It’s been instantaneous for us both and we both know it’s right.’ She checks my expression and I make sure I’m not doing my cynical face. I’m doing my happy-adoring-approving-Mum face. She whispers, ‘We love each other.’

My cheeks ache with grinning and I need to relax them by speaking, so I say, ‘That’s wonderful, Jade.’ I pause, hoping she notices my full, unswerving support, then I try again. ‘So, why so sad?’

The tears tumble again and she’s sobbing too hard to find breath to talk. I hug her and she leans on my shoulder. My neck has become damp and she whispers, ‘It’s awful, Mum. He’s gone back home. I won’t be able to see him often. He’s away a lot of the time. It’s his job.’

I try not to say that absence is a positive, to tell her the cliché that it makes the heart grow fonder. I don’t know what to say, so I settle for, ‘Is he in the army, then?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, Mum. It’s worse than that.’

My mind is filling with all sorts of frightening scenarios. She’s fallen in love with a gangster. Drug dealer. Long-distance lorry driver. Illegal immigrant. Travelling salesman. Undercover investigator. Tramp.

I opt for something positive and safe and ask, ‘Is he an airline pilot?’ and wait until her sobs subside.

Then she whispers, ‘No, Mum. He lives in Brighton, works in London. He travels all over the country, all the time. He trains every day, all hours, all week, plays games all over the world. I’ll hardly ever see him. His job is his life … He’s a professional footballer.’

Chapter Three

Business is frantic for the whole week in the salon. Although Jade has several clients in the gym each day, she spends most of her time ringing and texting her new boyfriend. I even hear her speaking Spanish to him, although I’m sure that’s for my benefit, as I know her Spanish isn’t fluent, given her compulsively bad behaviour in modern languages when she was at school. My friend Amanda, who trained as a beauty therapist with me years ago, is my full-time assistant in the salon. She and I are working through a fully booked schedule, doing manicures, pedicures, massages, tanning, waxing. It’s non-stop.

By Friday, we’ve hardly had time for a natter, so I suggest we have lunch upstairs together, especially since Jade is down below in the gym doing one-to-one isometrics with an amateur racing cyclist who’s just turned forty and wants to improve his chances of winning races. Amanda and I go up to the kitchen and I make us a salad sandwich and a cup of tea. She holds up her hands and examines her chipped nails.

‘I’m owed a manicure on the house, Georgie. Look at the state of these nails. I look like an alley cat.’

I put a coffee down in front of her and smile as she attacks it with relish. She’s been my friend since we were at college together and we share so much history. I watch her hunched over the table, her shoes off, wriggling her pink painted toes, her feet stretched out at the end of bright orange-and-black leggings. Her hair is long, wavy and intensely red; although, as she’s told me several times, the bottle proclaimed it was cherry copper. She has laughing blue eyes and loves to wear colourful clothes. ‘Unless I’m avoiding a fella. In which case it’s the SAS jumpsuit and a balaclava.’ Amanda’s been married twice and she’s now living with a firefighter called Rhys, whom she claims is the love of her life. Where romance is concerned, she’s a self-proclaimed expert.

She waves a hand. ‘The problem is, Georgie – we need more help in the treatment room and Jade’s too loved-up to get her backside in gear. I mean, I’ve worked with you here for what? Five years? How many days have I missed?’

‘Two. Both hangovers.’

‘I know,’ she sighs. ‘But, I’m always here to work, always good old Amanda ready to paint someone’s nails and dye their eyelashes, spray them fifty shades of orange. We’re flat out, you and me. Where’s Jade? When she’s finished with the client downstairs, she’ll be back on the phone again.’

I sigh. ‘She’s in love.’

‘My point entirely.’ Amanda holds up an empty plate. I dump a sandwich on it and she tackles it instantly. ‘Love should make people happy. If she’s in love, why is she so miserable?’

‘He plays football in London.’ I shake my head. ‘She can’t stop thinking about him, bless her.’ I mimic her low voice and pucker my lips. ‘Te extraño cariño.’

‘And what on earth does that mean?’

‘She misses him, I think. I’ve heard her say it a dozen times. It’s so unlike Jade to mope about a man.’

‘I know. And she’s always on the phone to him.’

I sigh. ‘All the time. She’s going to see him later tonight. Perhaps it’ll cheer her up.’

‘Where’s she off to?’

‘Brighton. He lives in a little village by the coast. She’ll be on the three o’clock train. Then she’s going to London to watch him play in a game tomorrow. She’s not back until Monday night. I’ve had to move all of her appointments.’

Amanda shakes her head. ‘Let’s hope he’s good-looking and loaded.’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t let her down.’ I fold my arms. ‘Or he’ll have me to deal with, Spanish superstar or not.’

‘He’s called Luis, Mum.’

Amanda and I turn round together and our faces flush like two red lollipops. My daughter’s leaning against the doorpost. I wait for hell to break out and mutter, ‘Sorry, Jade – I didn’t—’

But she’s all smiles. ‘You’ll have to meet him. He’s lovely. I know you’ll adore him. His English isn’t so bad and he’s so cute and funny.’

‘As long as you don’t get hurt, Jade.’

‘I’m fine, Mum. I told you. He’s the one.’

Amanda chips in. ‘Your mum’s only saying – it’s all been a bit quick.’

Jade throws her head back, laughs out loud. ‘And this from the woman who’s had how many husbands and affairs?’

Amanda waggles her head. ‘When you’re a mum, you’ll understand.’

‘I thought you didn’t have any kids, Amanda.’ Jade’s as sharp as glass this afternoon.

I make the peace by hugging my daughter. ‘You have a lovely time this weekend.’

‘I’ll do my best. I have to travel from Brighton to London in a special car tomorrow. Luis’s on the team coach. I won’t see much of him all day. But we’ll make up for it tomorrow night.’

I stare at her and think about calling her a brazen hussy but I clamp my lips together and try to remember what it was like to be in love. I certainly don’t remember being so open about my sex life. I say, ‘That’s nice, love.’

Jade’s beaming. ‘Right. I’m going to get ready. I’ll take a taxi to the station. Luis’ll meet me at the other end. We’re going somewhere glamorous over the weekend so I’ll need clothes.’

She whirls away and Amanda rolls her eyes and murmurs, ‘Fair play. You can’t blame her for it. What a dazzling lifestyle.’

I nod. ‘What are you up to this weekend?’

She purses her lips. ‘Rhys and I are invited to an anniversary party in Blackpool tomorrow night, so I’ll need to shop for a new dress.’

I contemplate the weekend that I’ll spend by myself, a visit to Nanny Basham tonight and on Sunday, and I wonder what Bonnie’s up to, if she’s back from the spa hotel and if she’s happy. I push my salad sandwich away untouched and Amanda looks at me eagerly. I slide it onto her plate.

It’s Saturday morning, clean-up-the-house time, and I’m hoovering four floors for all I’m worth. I push the nozzle in all corners, my arms extended as if I’m part of the machine: I am Hoover Woman. I have the radio turned up loud, my hair knotted into a floppy scarf, and I’m wearing a baggy T-shirt, leggings and no shoes, singing at the top of my voice. I climb to the top floor and hoover the three bedrooms, then I clean the hallway and the kitchen on the second floor, as well as the living room overlooking the raised garden.

I work my way down to the salon at ground level, the three little treatment rooms, the tanning booth, the reception area with the soft sofas, the gurgling pebble fountain and the stone Buddha. Finally, I’m in the basement, in Jade’s gym with music playing through speakers. Cobwebs have gathered in the corners and the main area smells of fetid sweat, testosterone and men’s underpants: a stench that I know hasn’t come from Jade. I resolve to spray some sweet pea room fragrance in the air later; although Jade’ll sniff it out when she’s back and tell me it’s highly inappropriate. Most of her one-to-one sessions are either undersized or ridiculously muscly middle-aged men.

I’m hoovering under the gym machinery and I notice a spider or two beneath the benches. They’ve expired and become crusty and dry, many legs in the air, so I bend down, nozzle arched, to commit them to dust. My back is flexible and it’s not hard to reach the corners. I view it as good exercise. My favourite band strikes up the opening chords on the music player. I lift the nozzle as a microphone, wiggle my backside and sing along, bawling at the top of my voice, ‘Walk this way.’

Suddenly I freeze. I don’t know why. Then I turn round and he’s standing there with his arms folded, smiling. Dark hair parted at the side, separated in two thick quiff-shaped tufts, navy jacket, roll-neck sweater, navy trousers. He’s pale, shaven so clean his face reminds me of a cricket ball. He’s staring at me. I jump and almost scream. I’m so glad I don’t.

‘How the hell did you get in?’

He smirks. ‘The front door was open.’

I glare at him. ‘Well? What can I do for you, Adie?’

He looks me up and down and his mouth is half-snarl, half-smile.

‘Bonnie sent me over.’

I can hardly imagine that. I lean against the hoover pipe, nozzle in the air, and stare at him like I’m Joan of Arc with my flexible lance.

‘Did she?’

He smirks. ‘She wants you to come over to lunch. I thought I’d come and pick you up.’ He surveys my headscarf, my bare feet, everything in between. ‘You look as if you need taking out of here to somewhere civilised. A light lunch, a chat, two sisters together.’

I wonder why she didn’t ring or text. Perhaps I missed it. I close my eyes and think for a moment.

‘I can take my own car.’

He shakes his head. ‘Bonnie insisted. Have a glass of wine with her. I’ll do the taxi-ing. Anyway, I’m here now.’ He frowns at the leggings. ‘You’ll need to get changed.’

I want to see Bonnie. I’ll put up with the bloodsucker husband from here to Frodsham. Half an hour’s drive.

I nod. ‘You can wait in the car, then. I’ll be five minutes.’

He sits down on one of the benches, adjusts the back flap of his jacket, makes himself comfortable.

‘I’ll be all right here.’ He sniffs the air around me. ‘Make it ten minutes, Georgie. Have a shower.’

Standing outside the oak front door, Bonnie looks pallid and slender in a filmy dress and heels; her hair is glossy, curled in soft ringlets. She smiles and puts her arms round my neck.

‘Thanks for coming, Georgie. Adie and I had such a great time at the spa. I was so looking forward to chatting to you about it.’

She glances over my shoulder – I can feel the tension in her arms. Adie’s behind us, having parked the car.

He smirks. ‘I have a meeting in my office, Bonnie. I don’t want to be disturbed. You girls have a nice lunch together. I ordered in the Chablis and the smoked salmon specially.’

He saunters away, snake hips, hooded eyes, leaving the pungent smell of expensive aftershave in the air.

Bonnie takes my hand. ‘Come on, Georgie.’

I whisper, ‘I thought you were dumping him?’

She shrugs. ‘I’m not strong like you. And he needs me. He said so.’

I sigh loudly and we walk into the dining room, with high glass windows, a magnificent carved wood table. The view outside is of a vast clipped lawn, birds swirling around a feeder: blue tits, robins. Huge poplar trees frame the windowpane, and the steady dark roof of the swimming pool and leisure centre. I frown at my plate, slivered salmon and rocket. Bonnie fills two crystal glasses with pale wine. We both poke at the fish with silver forks, two mirror images. I break the silence.

‘So, tell me about the spa hotel, Bon.’

‘It was lovely.’

‘What treatments did you get?’

She sighs. ‘A pedicure, a massage. A facial where they put little needles in the skin.’

I nod. ‘Abrasion therapy. I’ve seen the machines they use. I’d love one but they’re expensive.’

She shakes her head. ‘I felt like I’d hugged a hedgehog by the time the therapist had finished with me.’ She lifts her head. ‘Does my skin look better?’

‘Marvellous.’ I wonder if she should’ve had a tan. She’s pale as a gravestone. I gulp some wine and ask the question. ‘So, did Adie behave himself?’

She frowns, a little crease between her eyes. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Bonnie. How many other women have there been? You left him. Why the hell did you go back?’

She stiffens, looks perplexed, as if I’ve made a huge mistake or history has been rewritten. She nibbles a small portion of smoked salmon.

‘He apologised. He’ll never do it again.’

I put my fork down, sigh, reach for the Chablis. It’s cold and I feel the anaesthetic properties start to calm me, making me feel a little bolder and more protective.

‘I don’t know why you stay with him. He just wants you here as his trophy. The Barbie doll syndrome. Someone to dress up and keep indoors while he’s out money laundering.’

She breathes out so loudly it’s like a sharp gust of air. ‘Georgie, how can you say that?’ She clutches the knife and fork with white knuckles. ‘Adie worships me. Anyway, when you have a man who’ll do for you what he does for me – when you have a man at all, in fact—’

‘Don’t be naive.’

‘I’m not naive. You’re jealous.’

‘Jealous? Of you living with Shady Adie with the wandering womb weevil? I don’t think so.’

‘You’ve never liked him, Georgie.’ She’s going to cry.

‘Right first time. Because he’s no good.’ For her sake, I’m not holding back.

‘Why can’t you support me?’

‘Because he’s dishonest, Bonnie.’ There. I’ve said it: she needs to know.

She pouts. ‘He’s a successful businessman. A property developer.’

‘Have you ever seen any of the properties he dev—’

There’s a cough behind me and we both turn. A man in overalls is holding up a paintbrush. He’s short, stocky, fifty-something. He raises bushy eyebrows.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Carrick. Mr Carrick said I had to ask you about the feature wall in the bedroom. Did you want the new shade of Addiction or the Aubergine Dream?’

She sniffs. ‘Addiction.’ The decorator turns and shuffles off. ‘Adie’s left me in charge of Demi and Kyle’s extension.’

I gasp. ‘They’re living here?’

‘As soon as they’re back from the honeymoon. Just for a while. Until Adie finds them a house on the Wirral.’

‘I can’t imagine Kyle liking that. Or Demi.’

‘Adie said it’ll be nice for us all to stay together. They’ll have their privacy. And I’m in charge of the decorating.’

I stare at my sister and wave my fork in triumph. ‘You just can’t see it, can you, Bonnie? He has you all where he can control you. You’re just his little pawn.’

‘He bought me this.’ She whisks up her sleeve.

There’s a gold charm bracelet, loaded with shiny charms. She pushes her hand under my nose and I stare at the delicate gold shapes swinging: numbers, a flower, a crown, a mass of other tinkling trinkets.

I shake my head. ‘That wasn’t cheap.’

She looks directly in my eyes. ‘He said I’m worth the expense.’

I exhale. ‘It must give you a carpal tunnel problem …’

‘He made me promise never to take it off, Georgie. It’s a symbol of his love. Eternal and precious.’

I snort. ‘Did he get it in one of his dodgy deals?’

She opens her mouth to reply but her phone rings. She clutches it like a weapon and walks into another room. I breathe out sharply: I’m annoyed with myself. I should’ve convinced her calmly to leave him, kept my temper. My concern for my sister has made me outspoken. She’s too good for him, trusting and loyal. And here I go again, arguing with her, when all I really want is to protect her. Bonnie’s always been good-natured, but she used to have her own personality, a sparkiness, humour. I wonder when she became so dependent, so gullible. What happened to her self-confidence, her self-respect? I drain my glass and pour myself more wine.

Chapter Four

I finish a second glass of Chablis and the sound of heels makes me look up. Her voice is high, aghast, panicking.

‘Georgie, I can’t believe it.’ Bonnie rushes back into the room, waving her phone. She grasps my arm and I’m amazed at the vice-like squeeze. ‘Something’s happened. I need your advice.’ She propels me towards the huge patio doors, heaves one open and thrusts me out into the garden. ‘That was Demi.’

I shiver. The grass is damp and my boots sink into the softness of soil. There are snowdrops on the lawn, creamy white, pale orange, a patchwork of colour leading to the swimming pool complex. I imagine how nice it would be to be in their sauna – my skin is suddenly gooseflesh.

Bonnie’s eyes are wide. ‘Demi rang me.’

‘From the three-month Thailand honeymoon?’

She takes my wrist, squeezes the skin.

‘She’s phoned me to say that she’s having such a good time in Thailand, they might go on to Australia and stay for a bit. Isn’t that awful? What do you think?’

‘They’re young. They have no ties. They don’t need to rush back.’

‘Adie’ll be furious – she didn’t ask him first.’

‘There’ll be plenty of time to finish off the decorating in their extension, to paint the feature wall in the new shade of Addiction. Perhaps that’s why Demi and Kyle are extending their honeymoon. Perhaps they want to stay away from Adie.’

She wails, ‘What about me? I’ll miss her. She said they might be away for another three months. What shall I do?’

‘I think they’ve made a good decision, Bon.’

She’s staring at me.

‘Adie paid a fortune for the refurbishment of the extension for them in time for the summer. A new kitchen, a bathroom suite. He’ll be livid.’

I watch my sister and wonder why she’s so loyal to him.

‘Demi and Kyle want to be together. By themselves. They just got married. It’s a good thing, Bonnie.’

Her face crumples and she starts to snuffle. ‘My baby’s gone … All grown up and gone away. Now there’s just me.’

I hug her again. I’ll give her a few seconds and then I’ll suggest she comes to my house, moves into the spare room and starts a new life for herself. Or that she starts to think for herself; that she becomes her own person rather than a cardboard cut-out wife.

I’m about to tell her that it’ll all work out for the best, but she pushes me out of the way.

She announces, ‘I have to tell Adie,’ and her heels are tapping through the breezy patio windows; she’s sashaying through the dining room and towards the steps down to the next level, down to Adie’s lair below.

I belt after her, leaving the patio door wide and the draught swirling, the cold air wafting above the warmth of the underfloor central heating. I catch up with her at the bottom of the steps, by the big oak door, which is ajar. She’s about to knock.

Voices rattle inside. Adie’s hushed tones and another voice, a more throaty bark. My fingers close over Bonnie’s wrist, stopping her from knocking, and I hold my breath. Adie’s said something about handing over money. He won’t be able to do it for a week or two. The guttural growler tells him a deal is a deal and there’s no room for negotiation. He then raises his voice and I recognise a Scottish accent.

‘This is a big investment. You owe me – with interest, Adie.’

The reply is sycophantic, slippery as syrup.

‘I won’t let you down, Duncan.’

Bonnie’s hand has fallen from my grip. She raps softly on oak, then she pushes the door wide. I stare over her shoulder. Inside, the office is all white walls and polished wood. Adie’s standing behind his desk, his shoulders hunched. The other man is opposite, staring. He’s short but broad-shouldered, around sixty years old, in an expensive checked brown suit, pale red hair curled close to his head. His hands are in his pockets and, as he turns to us, his face hardens for a moment and then relaxes. He surveys Bonnie and beams.

‘Well, who do we have here?’

Bonnie is all breath, gushing. ‘Demi rang. She and Kyle have some news. Adie, she wants to extend the honey—’

Adie stiffens. ‘Not now, darling.’ His teeth come together. There’s no affection in the endearment. ‘I’m busy right now.’

The red-haired man opens his arms wide, palms up, taking over, his expression expansive. He turns to us and smiles. His face is broad, craggy, and his teeth are even. I notice thick eyebrows, red wiry hair, ice blue eyes as he stares from Bonnie to me and back to Bonnie.

‘So, you’re Mrs Carrick, I presume?’

She extends a hand. ‘Bonnie.’

She’s done this many times before, the practised smile, the tinkling laugh. Adie’s reliable showpiece. I frown and feel protective again.

The man chuckles, his accent strong. ‘Bonnie by name and bonnie of face.’ He holds her small hand in his large fist. ‘Charming. I’m Duncan Beddowes, by the way. I’m sure Adie’s mentioned me?’

Bonnie nods, unsure whether it’s polite to say yes or be honest and say no.

Beddowes raises his eyebrows towards Adie, who’s squirming for some reason.

‘You didn’t tell me you had such a lovely wife, Adie. You must be proud of such a treasure.’

She shakes her long curls and Adie mumbles something about Mr Beddowes being a business partner. Beddowes is staring at her wrist.

‘May I?’ He lifts her sleeve and the bracelet gleams underneath. Bonnie stands poker stiff and the man says, ‘Oh, well now. Look at this. What a lovely piece. Solid gold.’

‘A present from my husband.’ Bonnie flushes but Adie has blanched, his face the colour of the walls.

‘How very generous of you, Adie. What a wrist full of symbols.’

Adie’s about to say something.

The Scot turns to me. ‘And are you a friend of the family?’

Something makes me want to say no, just ignore me, I’m the Invisible Woman, but Bonnie’s still holding his hand and her eyes dance.

‘This is my sister, Georgie. We’re having lunch. Would you like to come up and share some smoked salmon? There’s plenty left.’

The probing blue eyes stare into her face a moment too long, then he says, ‘I’d like to stay but, unfortunately, I have to go home.’ He nods. ‘My wife’s expecting me for dinner.’

Adie’s hunched behind him, frowning, awkward. Bonnie doesn’t notice. Duncan Beddowes delves into his pocket and produces a mobile phone.

‘Would you mind if I took your photo, Bonnie, standing here with me? A selfie? And your sister, too? I know my wife would love a picture of you both. She’d be fascinated by your lovely taste in clothes, not to mention that gorgeous piece of jewellery. She’ll be very jealous. She’s always asking me where I’ve been, who I’ve met during the day, and I’ll be able to show her.’

Adie shakes his head, just a little, but Bonnie’s already posing, beaming, and the man holds his phone in place. He raises his eyebrows and I sidle behind my sister. He sticks a grin on his face and snaps away.

‘Oh, that’s a nice one. I know Jeanette’ll love to see that. Well, Adie, I’ll take my leave. It’s a long drive back. But I’ll be in touch soon. As we agreed.’

They grasp hands for a fleeting moment. Bonnie’s delighted; she fingers the charm bracelet and giggles. I bite my lip. I never heard of a man who’d want to show his wife a picture of himself flanked by two unknown women. I take a step back, my instincts shouting that I shouldn’t be there at all.

Adie’s silent on the journey home. I ask him if he enjoyed the spa hotel and he grunts. I ask about the Scottish man, if he was a regular business partner, one he’d worked with before, and Adie grunts again. For some reason, we drive through Norris Green, although it’s not on the way home, and he stops the Boxster outside a terraced house. The sky is splashed with grey, the street lights like soft haloes. It’s late now and the light has faded to a watercolour wash. The terraced houses have bay windows, closed curtains with dim lights, and the road is silent apart from a passing kid on a bike who veers too close to the car.

‘I’ll only be a minute. I need to see someone. It’s business. Keep an eye on the Porsche. Perhaps no one’ll steal it if I leave you in it.’

He lifts a small leather case from my footwell and steps outside, moving with fast strides. He rings a bell at a plastic door with no lights inside and someone opens – a tall, slim man in his twenties in a thin T-shirt and cargo pants. In the time it takes me to look at the telegraph wire running between the roofs, where someone has abandoned a battered pair of trainers, their laces tied, swinging from the line in the wind, Adie’s back. He shuts the car door with a clunk, pushes his case behind him and starts the engine. We speed away.

‘Everything okay?’ I ask.

His brow’s knotted. ‘No, not really. It was to do with my business partner, the one you met, Duncan. I was expecting a payment from the man who lives in that house. I’ll have to call back later in the week. A nuisance, that’s all.’

I glance out of the window as we turn into another side street. ‘Do you have many business partners round here?’ I offer my best smirk.

He doesn’t glance at me. His eyes are on the road and then, furtively, behind him through the mirror. I try again.

‘It’s good news about Demi extending the honeymoon and going to Australia.’

He doesn’t answer, or even acknowledge that he’s heard me. The sky’s darker now. Car headlights swerve towards us from the road and I blink. We reach Aigburth and he pulls at the handbrake sharply as we stop outside number 5, Albert Drive. I hope he won’t ask to come in, but he’s absorbed in something: he seems to be completely uncommunicative. He barely looks at me, so I slither out of the Boxster, bend towards the window from the pavement and say, ‘Thanks, Adie.’

He nods once. ‘Don’t be a stranger, Georgie,’ and he’s off, leaving me standing with exhaust fumes whirling round my ankles.

I raise my hand, but it isn’t to wave goodbye: I clutch my keys. Indoors, I climb the steps to the kitchen and put the kettle on. On my phone, there’s a text message from Amanda about a bargain cocktail dress. Nothing from Jade and nothing from Bonnie. I make a cup of tea and put my head in my hands. I’m not really sure what happened today in Adie’s office, but my instincts are buzzing like crowding bees and I’m not feeling comfortable. Adie’s clearly out of his depth.

The sink is cluttered with bowls: the one I used to make the Yorkshire pudding mix, the one I used to make gravy, plus the saucepans for potatoes and carrots and peas, which are cooked and steaming in a colander. The meat is resting and the Yorkshires have risen. I’m trying to wash the dishes before the hot water runs out.

‘There’s a lot of clanking about in my kitchen, Georgina.’

‘Yes, Nan.’

‘And it smells. And there’s steam everywhere.’

‘I know, Nan.’

‘You should’ve just bought me a dinner in a box again.’

‘I thought we could eat Sunday lunch together. I’ve made Yorkshire puddings from scratch.’

‘I’m used to the dinners in a box.’

I sigh. ‘I’m just about to bring it out, Nan. Proper gravy. You’ll love it.’

‘I liked the old food we had best, me and Wilf together. A proper pan of Scouse. I used to make mine with beef, though, not lamb. Lamb hasn’t had a life. Carrots, onions, potatoes, an Oxo cube. Lovely. This modern food doesn’t taste of anything.’

‘I’ll bring your roast.’

‘Get me a Guinness first, there’s a good girl.’

I wash the last of the saucepans in tepid water then lean over to the fridge, pull out a bottle and flip the top. I carry the glass through as I pour and deposit it, full and frothy, in front of Nan, lifting the empty one. She gazes up, her eyes glinting through thick glasses. She has a brown circle, a wide froth of beer, across her top lip.

‘Where’s this dinner you’ve been promising me for an hour?’

‘Just coming, Nan.’

‘I won’t eat it if it’s cold. I can’t stand cold dinner.’

I rattle about in the kitchen, cut meat, pile vegetables and Yorkshires, pour gravy and return with a steaming plate on a tray, settling it on her knee. She sups a noisy mouthful of beer and replaces her glass carefully.

‘I can’t eat all this.’

‘Try your best, Nan.’

‘All these Yorkshires.’

‘Two?’

‘It’s not gone cold, has it?’

‘Don’t burn your mouth, Nan.’

‘I don’t know why I couldn’t just have a dinner in a box.’

I bring my plate and a fork and sit in the other armchair. The television’s blaring. It’s a sports pundit giving his views on all the clubs in the league table. I fork a piece of Yorkshire pudding to my mouth and chew. It’s crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle.

‘Anything good on TV, Nan?’

‘The game’s on now. London boys against the Southern Saints.’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘Will it be any good?’

She has a mouthful of potatoes, making a soft sucking sound.

‘I saw it yesterday. The Londoners win three nil. It’s a good game. One of the Saints gets sent off. The one with all the yellow hair. He kicks the goalkeeper.’

‘You’ve seen it already, then?’

She ignores me and snuggles back into the chair, chewing.

‘This meat’s a bit tough, Georgina.’

She hasn’t touched the meat yet. I roll my eyes. ‘Best beef.’

We chew quietly for a while. Nan’s half cleared her plate.

‘I’m used to the dinners in a box.’ She reaches for the pint glass, slurps and leans forwards. ‘Kick-off now, Georgina.’

Nan’s almost finished all the dinner and her glass is empty. The big clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly. She clanks her cutlery, a sign that she’s making an effort with my substandard cooking. I close my eyes and listen to the commentator’s voice rise in pitch, speeding up, his voice cracking with excitement. I ease myself to stand, feeling bloated, and pick up Nan’s tray.

‘Nice Sunday lunch?’

She grunts. ‘I got it down me.’

I pile our plates, turn towards the kitchen. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘Guinness’d be nice.’

‘I’ll make us a pot of tea.’

I take a pace forwards and she calls out, ‘Wait. This is the first goal. Watch. It’s a good one.’

I turn back to the screen and blink. A small player in a blue jersey is running alone down the pitch at full pelt, his body bent forwards. He weaves past two tall players and one falls over. He has nifty legs, an agile body, and his face is determined. His fringe is tied in a knot on the top of his head and the rest is longish, dark and straight. He has deep-set eyes, thick brows and a handsome face. Another player, the one with the yellow hair, tackles him and the little player pushes the ball behind him. He twists, leaps into the air with it on the end of his toe and, with a deft overhead scissors kick, he launches it, a crack shot into the back of the net.

‘Goal!’ yells Nanny from the chair.

The little player runs, a wide grin on his face, and blows a kiss to somewhere in the seats at the front of the stadium.

The commentator shrieks, ‘And it’s a superb goal from the Spanish striker, Luis Delgado,’ and the camera pans to the cheering throng, to glimpse for a second a burgundy-haired young woman in a smart new cream-coloured coat, smiling and blowing a kiss back, before the camera whirls back to the player running on the pitch. I almost drop the tray. It’s Jade.

Chapter Five

On Tuesday morning, our first customer arrives in reception just before nine o’clock. It’s Sue McAllister – freckled, forty, tall, always smiling – for her leg wax. Amanda breezes in and asks if she’ll follow her to the treatment room. I sign the first customer in the appointments book and hear the front door open and close. A young woman in a bright green ski jacket and leggings stands in front of me, carrying a green sports bag.

I hold out a hand. ‘I’m Georgie Turner. Can I help?’

She has a charming American accent.

‘Good morning. I have an appointment with Jade Wood. Personal training. Nine o’clock.’

I scratch my head: Jade’s not back from her weekend in Brighton yet. I texted last night as I thought she’d be home that evening and received the curt reply: Don’t fuss, Mum – back first thing. I smile at the American woman. She has long fair hair in a loose plait that loops over her shoulder. She’s in her late twenties, a smooth face, pale and earnest. I check the appointment book.

‘Heather Barrett?’

She nods.

‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee?’

The woman looks alarmed. ‘I never drink coffee. Perhaps a glass of water.’

I move over to the water dispenser and fill a cardboard cup. The young woman takes it from me, frowns and sips. I glance at the clock: 9.05. My first appointment is 9.15, an aromatherapy facial. I smile at the American woman and I’m just about to make some vague excuse, when the door clicks opens and Jade’s standing in reception, grinning, glossy hair, dark sunglasses, a cream-coloured wool coat over her workout gear.

‘Sorry I’m late. It’s Heather, isn’t it? Shall we go straight down to the gym?’

Jade turns to go, whips off the sunglasses and winks in my direction. I know she’s had a good weekend. I beam back and mime drinking a cup of coffee. She nods and mouths, ‘Later.’ I breathe out relief.

We’re busy all day, ships passing. I have an appointment with a bride-to-be and her mother, planning make-up for two hours, then I pop over to Nanny Basham’s for an hour while Jade and Amanda have lunch separately. It’s almost six o’clock by the time we lock eyes again.

‘Shall we have a cuppa?’ I wave a mug hopefully.

‘Sorry, Georgie, love. Rhys has a dose of man flu and he’s working the late shift. I want to see him off.’

Amanda shrugs on a heavy green coat and, when she leaves, a chill breeze weaves through the door, cooling the warmth of the reception area. I turn to Jade, who’s in a Lycra crop top and leggings and looks exhausted. We lock the door and go upstairs to the kitchen. I put the kettle on and inspect a couple of potatoes to bake, making an effort to keep my voice light.

‘Nice weekend, Jade?’

She rolls her eyes, grins and nods.

‘He’s a talented lad, your Luis Delgado.’

She jerks her head and I think she’s about to come back with a cutting reply, but her face breaks into a smile.

‘He is.’

‘He was on TV at Nanny’s. He scored a great goal. And he blew you a kiss.’

‘Did you see it, Mum?’

I nod. ‘You were on telly, in the crowd.’

Her face has taken on a dreamy look.

‘I’m going up again on Thursday night. I’ve only one appointment on Friday so I’ll move it. He has a big game this weekend. It’ll be lovely.’

I chew my lip and hold back all the comments about love in haste, regret at leisure, and I ask, ‘Does he have a place in London?’

‘No, I told you, Mum. Didn’t you listen? He has a beautiful flat overlooking the sea in a little village outside Brighton. He and his friend, Roque, live on different floors. The view’s spectacular. Two bedrooms, en suite: Luis has sauna facilities. He has a driver, too, for when he and Roque don’t want to use their cars or the train. It’s in his contract. We don’t need to go out, really. But there’s so much to do in Brighton, which isn’t far away, and we’re only a couple of hours from London. It’s perfect.’

‘You’ll soon want to move down there, then?’

She shoots me a guilty look. ‘He’s special, Mum. I can’t wait for you to meet him.’

I move the conversation forwards. ‘How do you get on with the language? Is his English good?’

‘Not bad. Much better than my Spanish. And we have the language of love.’

I sigh and stick a skewer through the jacket potatoes, throw them into the oven. I shift my position to stand opposite Jade, lean against the worktop and decide I should speak frankly to her, tell her to be careful and not get hurt. I pull a bag of salad leaves apart and take a breath.

‘It must be very glamorous, being a footballer’s girlfriend.’

She pulls a face. ‘He’s my boyfriend first, Mum. Luis won’t be a footballer forever but we plan on being together—’

‘Jade, this is all very sudden.’

‘It’s called love, Mum.’

‘But you’re young and carried away by the passion, the excitement …’

‘That’s what love is.’

‘No, it’s hard work and communication and coping with the tough times.’

‘You’re just talking about you and Dad. Luis and I are different.’

‘That’s what everyone says, but it always ends in the divorce courts.’

‘Don’t you dare, Mum. Dad says you were the one who wouldn’t communicate.’

‘What?’ I hold up the knife I’ve just chopped tomatoes with. ‘He said that?’

‘He said you were bad-tempered and cold – you shut him out.’

‘So he sought love elsewhere?’ Tears spring to my eyes. Of course, it’s because of the onions I’m hacking to pieces.

‘He was lonely.’

I sweep the salad into a bowl and shake it like it’s Terry’s neck. I squeeze mayonnaise on top, like I’m throttling his wife, Alison’s, throat. I wonder why I’m still bothered. It was years ago.

‘Well, I’m just saying, Jade, be careful. Take your time.’

‘Like you’re doing? No relationships at all since Dad? You’re cynical, Mum, and you’re unhappy, so you just don’t want anyone else to be happy.’

My teeth snap together. She’s right. Over the last few years, there’s been no one. I hurl the empty mayonnaise bottle towards the bin. It skims the metal top and clatters on the floor. I know I should say nothing but the words bubble out.

‘Well, don’t come to me, Jade, when you’re broken-hearted and—’

I realise I’ve gone too far. Jade’s staring, her mouth open.

‘Mum. Don’t you want me to be happy?’

I rush over and hug her. She holds her arms out away from me, as if I smell. I sigh.

‘Of course I want you to be happy, Jade. I’m sorry, love. I’m being too protective, aren’t I?’ I feel her nod. ‘Sorry. I’ll start again.’ I move away, go over to the cupboard and pull out a bottle of red wine. ‘Shall we break our no-alcohol-in-the-week rule and crack a bottle open? Toast you and Luis. To love and good times?’

She pulls a face, raises her arms, stretches lean limbs, and for a moment she looks just like Terry.

‘Okay. We need a bit of bonding time, don’t we? But, trust me, Mum. I know what I’m doing. And when you meet Luis, I know you’ll love him.’

I pour wine into two glasses and the soft liquid glug is calming me already.

‘I’m sure I will,’ I tell her, raising the glass and swallowing a huge gulp of Merlot.

The following week flies by. Jade returns on Tuesday, deals with a dozen clients midweek and on Thursday, she’s back on the train to Brighton. On Friday morning, Nanny Basham has an early doctor’s appointment for her heart check-up, so I drive her to the surgery, where she manages to upset the receptionist and antagonise a woman with a fretful baby. I apologise to everyone in the waiting room, and she nags all the way home about the slack state of modern parenting and how the child only needed a comforter to stop it screaming. I nod and concentrate on the road. Nan and Uncle Wilf never had children.

Then we’re busy all day, hardly a moment to stop for breath. Amanda leaves at six, excited about a romantic evening she has planned, and when I go to lock up at seven o’clock, I notice a hunched shape sitting on my front step. Bonnie looks up, her face in shadow, and I open the door and propel her inside. She’s quaking with cold, huddled against her handbag. I shut the front door behind us.

‘Bonnie, what’s the matter? What’s Adie done now?’

She’s shaking. Her eyes leak and her make-up is smudged; the blusher shines livid against the pallor of her face, but the worst thing is the haunted expression in her eyes.

‘He was out until three last night. He said he was at a meeting but he smelled of perfume. I asked him if he’d been with someone else and he said no, but when I kept on nagging him, he said it was just some random woman at a business party and it didn’t matter. He said I shouldn’t make a big deal of it …’

I hug her. ‘Well done for walking out, Bonnie. You’re staying here with me now. How did you get here?’

‘I got a taxi.’

‘From Frodsham?’

‘He has my car keys. He told me I couldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t let me.’

An engine roars and Adie’s car turns into the drive. There’s hardly room for him to park next to my X5, so he leaves his Porsche at a diagonal and throws the door open, marching towards us, his head down like a bull, his bald spot shining pink.

Bonnie hides behind me and he moves towards her but I bar his way.

‘No, Adie.’

It crosses my mind he could simply push me to one side and I’ve no idea why I’m standing between my cowering sister and her tall, smug husband. I put my hands on my hips, lean forwards and impersonate an orangutan. The Alpha female.

‘We can go inside to talk, but I’m telling you now, if you make a scene, I’ll call the police. We do this my way or not at all.’

The blood drains from his face and I breathe out slowly. He nods. His hand clutches a mobile phone. His knuckles are white. He looks at Bonnie.

‘Are you all right, love?’

She nods. I fumble for my keys and stare at him, then her.

‘She’s obviously not all right, Adie. You’ve cheated on her. It’s not acceptable …’ I shake my head. Not acceptable? It’s worse than that.

‘Bonnie, I’ve been so worried. I mean, all this fuss over a silly woman. It was nothing, I swear …’

He ignores me, standing with my hands on my hips, and rushes over to Bonnie, wrapping his arms around her. His fingers move to her wrist, over the gold charms on her bracelet, and back to her face. His shoulders are hunched and I can see the tension in his spine through his coat. Bonnie stands stiffly, gripping her handbag, her eyes reflecting her misery.

‘Come in, both of you.’ I sound like an ancient schoolmistress. ‘We have some things to talk about, don’t we?’

In the kitchen, we sit down. Adie takes off his coat, puts his phone next to him on the table and scans the screen, head bent. I make coffee. Bonnie sips from a mug, inhaling steam; she looks washed-out. I hand her a tissue and begin the conversation.

‘Right, Adie. What’s going on? It’d better be good.’

I bite my lip and stifle a smile. I could be a United Nations special envoy. But this is serious. Adie wipes his face with his hands. His brow furrows, sweat lodged in the deep seams.

‘Bonnie, I’m so sorry.’

I thump the table with my fist. ‘I’m sure you are, Adie. But it’s not the first time you’ve played away, is it?’

Bonnie looks from his face to mine and her expression is blank. He focuses on me.

‘I love her, Georgie. Other women don’t matter. I can’t be without her.’

I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. ‘How much did you love her when you had your arm round another woman last night?’ I notice Bonnie’s eyes start to fill up again.

He sighs. ‘There are some things happening in my life right now – things I can’t talk about.’

‘Philandering is not one of them.’ I sip coffee. ‘You have a lot of explaining to do. You won’t cheat on her again, Adie. I promise you that.’

He turns a glare on me and his eyes are bitter. ‘You’re just angry because Terry cheated on you. You don’t understand.’

I lean forwards and keep my gaze straight, my eyes boring into his. ‘Try me.’

He turns a tender gaze on Bonnie, reaches out and puts his hand over hers. Her face softens. He takes a deep breath.

‘I’m a businessman, Georgie. I make a lot of money so I can keep my wife in a plush house. We have nice things. But sometimes I have to take risks and—’

‘What does that have to do with other women?’ My voice booms like a politician, retaliating during Question Time. I’m taking no prisoners.

Bonnie’s holding his hand. He brings it to his lips. Suddenly, I’m terrified he’s winning her round.

‘It was a business party. There were all sorts of women there, you know. I had to fit in: it would have been rude not to. It’s all a bit difficult at the moment. I’m having some temporary cash flow problems. A client of mine is pressing for a deadline and I didn’t want to say no to hospitality and offend him. It’ll take me a week to sort out the funds but then it’ll be fine. It was just the once, a woman I’ll never see again. I don’t even remember her name.’

I face him, square on. ‘Bonnie’s your wife, Adie. You can’t just go with other women and pretend it doesn’t matter. It’s disrespectful to everyone. And it’s not the first time. Why do you think she left you just before Demi’s wedding?’

Bonnie winces but she’s still gazing at Adie. I look from her to his face – he’s staring at her, all apologies, pretending to be sorry, and her lip trembles as she whispers his name. Love is blind. And stupid.

He puts a thumb to her cheek, brushes the skin as if it’s delicate silk and sighs. ‘Bonnie, please forgive me. I’ll never look at another woman again. I promise.’

She sniffs and a tear rolls down her face, then another. He has her where he wants her.

He takes her face in his hands. ‘Let’s go away, you and me. Let’s take a long trip. Goa, Sri Lanka. Let’s go tomorrow, stay for three months. Georgie can keep an eye on things.’

I snort loudly. He doesn’t notice.

‘A second honeymoon. Just think – we could renew our vows. We could stay as long as we like. Away from this awful place. Just you and me. What do you say, Bonnie?’ He pauses and then goes in for the killer persuader line. ‘Bon-Bon?’

I open my eyes wide. Bon-Bon? The chair scrapes and Bonnie staggers to her feet, snuffles and runs away. I hear her gasp and sob.

Adie glances at me, his face full of loathing, and then he chases her down the steps to the reception level below.

I rub my hands across my face and through my hair. I long for a shower, a piece of toast. I squint at the clock. It’s half nine. I wonder if she’ll leave with him. I hope not. I remind myself that on Sunday I’ll go to Nanny Basham’s to make her lunch. Bonnie could stay here and we could go together.

Below, I can hear Adie’s voice talking, lilting with emphasis. There’s a brief pause, a soft whisper, so I assume she’s sobbing and then he starts again, all syrup and persuasion. I try to ignore them, breathe deeply, but instead I pick up a paper napkin and shred it between my fingers into a hundred pieces.

His phone is across the table. I glance towards where Bonnie and Adie have gone downstairs. There’s no one around, so I reach for it and flick it open. I know I shouldn’t, but I wonder how many other women he’s in contact with: his phone could have evidence of his philandering.

I check his most recent phone call – there are no details of a number, but he’s spoken to the same unidentified caller three times today and five times yesterday. I look back through his other calls. He’s tried to phone Bonnie a dozen times, more. Then I notice he has an unopened text, and I press the button and catch my breath. There it is, the photo of Bonnie and me and the man, Duncan Beddowes, taken in Adie’s office. Bonnie’s posing, smiling for the camera, and my face is twisted in annoyance. Just below it, the message reads: I never make empty threats. The phone nearly slips from my fingers.

I hear voices becoming louder, Adie’s protesting and Bonnie’s petulant tones. I thrust the phone to the other side of the table and start to play with the shredded napkin, sip cold coffee. The happy couple appear, holding hands, Adie cheerful again, Bonnie looking sad. She can’t meet my eyes. Adie’s smirking, triumphant. He speaks first.

‘We’re going home now.’

‘Bonnie?’ I stare at her. ‘Bon, are you sure?’ She shakes her head, nods and shrugs. I stand. ‘I want you to ring me later, Bonnie.’ I stare at Adie, who’s wrapped an arm round her and is now helping her into her coat, a true gentleman. ‘Seriously, Adie. I want to know she’s all right.’

He lifts his coat, turns his back and points her towards the stairs. ‘You don’t need to worry, Georgie. But thanks for your help. We’re all fine now.’

He’s eradicated his infidelity in one sentence. I glare at him. He remembers his phone, scoops it from the table and pushes it in a pocket. Bonnie looks over her shoulder as she’s ushered away.

‘Georgie, I …’

‘Ring me.’

He steers her down the stairs and the last thing I see is her staring over her shoulder, a round-eyed gaze and smudged make-up. I breathe in and out like a seething dog and clench my fists. An image is soaking into the screen of my mind and words follow: the picture of Bonnie and me either side of a man we don’t know and the warning underneath: Remember …

Adie’s made a very real enemy and he’s definitely in trouble above his head. I wonder what sort of corrupt business he’s involved in. A shiver goes through me, from my shoulders right down to my toes.

Chapter Six

The next day, Nanny’s surprisingly quiet during my visit. She picks at her roast dinner for one and leaves most of it on the side of her plate. When she gazes at the television, she hardly hears me talking to her. I sit on the rug, snuggle against her knees and gaze up at her as she sips the last of her beer. The music booms and a smooth voice proclaims today’s news headlines. There’s a politician who’s in trouble. He’s made a crass remark and other politicians are calling him a buffoon and demanding that he resign. A woman from some fiscal group at a university talks about 3 per cent inflation, how prices are going up, and that it’s going to be a hard summer for investors. Nanny tuts.

Then the local news: the screen moves to a street I recognise in Norris Green. A man’s voice narrates that the police have staged a big coup to do with money laundering in which a large amount of cash was involved: the first man was arrested in what’s expected to be a sequence of arrests. I stare at the screen, at a plastic door with no lights on inside. I remember the same view from Adie’s Boxster. An old pair of trainers hangs from the telegraph wire. It’s the same house.

Nanny Basham adjusts her glasses and sucks her teeth. ‘This city is full of scallies. It never used to be like this.’

I shake my head and wonder if Adie has anything to do with the crime on the television. When we stopped outside the house, he said someone owed him money. For a second, I wonder if he’s lost it all. I know he is a wheeler-dealer, but it’s possible he’s involved in something worse.

I mumble, ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if it’s connected to Adie. Who knows what he does? It’s probably not legitimate. Bonnie’s best away from him, Nan.’

‘I agree, Georgina. But it can’t be easy for her.’

‘Of course it is. You just walk out of the door.’

‘Splitting up, like you did with Terry Wood? Some women find it difficult to be by themselves all the time.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Perhaps Bonnie’s not like you, Georgina. Perhaps she doesn’t hold with your ideas about women’s lubrication.’

‘Liberation, Nan.’

The voice on television talks about the arrest and how further arrests will be made.

Nanny shakes her head. ‘They want locking up, all of them. And the key throwing away.’

Nan looks tired. I ask her if she’s all right and she tells me she’s fine, she’s just worried about Bonnie. We both are. I can’t stop thinking about the text messages; burned in my mind is the photo of us standing either side of the man called Beddowes and I can’t rid myself of the image of Adie’s fading pallor as he watched his business contact take the selfie.

Bonnie doesn’t call me. I text her three times on Sunday night and by midnight I’m so worried, I ring. She answers me with a faint voice. She’s in bed with a migraine.

On Monday, I leave her alone and decide she should have time to herself. She can call me if she needs me. For all I know, she’s in Sri Lanka on a second honeymoon.

On Tuesday, my feet don’t touch the ground. Amanda and I are busy all day and we spend lunchtime advertising for a new beauty therapist. Now Jade is away so often, we need help and business is good enough to try out a new pair of hands.

I rush to Nan’s at lunch to put her groceries away and during the afternoon, I move from client to client. Diane Morris, now Diane Morris-Kandeh, arrives at 3 p.m. for a facial and spends an hour chattering about her husband, twenty-five-year-old Lamin who by all accounts is descended from a Mandinka warrior. He’s especially warlike in the bedroom. I roll my eyes because hers are closed, make my voice light and coo, ‘Lovely.’

Amanda and I are still busy at five o’clock. Jade texts me that she’ll jump in a taxi at the station when she arrives back from Brighton just before midnight. She has a client first thing tomorrow, at 7.30. I check my email and we have two applicants already for the therapist’s job: seventeen-year-old Lexi and twenty-three-year-old Ella-Louise, both claiming to have experience in treatments I’ve never even heard of. The younger one has apparently invented new nail-art designs and Ella-Louise has qualifications in intimate waxing for men, so I decide to interview them both on Thursday morning.

My last client of the day, Mrs Gaffney, whose first name is really Daphne, arrives for her pedicure at five fifteen. She’s seventy-seven and sprightlier than I am at the moment, given my thumping headache. She entertains me with a catalogue of raunchy tales about her first three husbands, so I always enjoy those sessions. She seldom talks about the fourth, who died last year, except to say, ‘He was the love of my life, God rest him.’

We finish just after six o’clock and Amanda stares out of the window. Beyond the frame, all is grey – the sky is dishwater dark outside, and then a splattering of rain hits the glass and she shudders.

‘Rhys’s working the late shift. It looks horrible out there. Am I up for a twenty-minute walk home in a freezing downpour through the park?’

I take the hint. ‘Stop for a cheeky glass of wine, a bite to eat. I’ll get you a taxi home later. We’ve worked hard today.’

She sits at the kitchen table and smiles. I uncork a bottle of Merlot and it splashes into two large glasses with a familiar glug. I’ll make beans on toast. The company will be nice.

Half an hour later, the Merlot bottle is half empty. Or half full. Amanda’s chatting about the coming summer and a holiday in the sun.

‘When we first met, Rhys and I spent July on the Algarve in a villa. We had a pool outside, rolling hills, no neighbours. He used to stroll around naked all day in the sunshine …’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘Sounds like a fire hazard to me.’

She misunderstands my cynicism.

‘Oh, definitely. I believe in keeping our relationship hot. I mean, I didn’t choose a firefighter for nothing. Sometimes I even get him to keep his yellow helmet on.’

I’m ready to join her in spluttering laughter, but her face is serious. I giggle anyway.

‘Rhys and I have everything we want, though. This year, I’ve asked him if we can spend money on experiences. I need a holiday. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.’

I imagine the beaches, the surf, the cocktails, the garlands; lei placed round my neck by a welcoming islander with a huge smile.

‘I’ll have to get the calendar out and look at holidays. It’ll be easy if we can appoint one of these new applicants.’

‘I hope we find someone.’ Amanda wrinkles her nose.

‘We’ll interview on Thursday. I’ve invited Lexi and Ella-Louise.’

‘We have plenty of work for at least one of them.’ Amanda scrapes her fork on the plate. ‘We both work far too hard.’

I agree and reward us both with a top-up from the wine bottle.

‘In fact, Georgie, you need a holiday, too.’

I think of Bonnie and wonder again if she’s at the airport with Adie.

I nod. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘When did you last have a break?’

I think about it.

‘I went to Paris eighteen months ago for a weekend. And before that I went to Palma for ten days. That was ages ago, though.’

She folds her arms across her chest. ‘By yourself?’

I nod. ‘I don’t mind travelling alone. It’s always an experience. I talk to people and I go to places where it’s safe, and there’s either a lot of sightseeing, or shopping, or a nice beach or a pool.’

‘What about a man?’

‘Oh, you can get one of those anywhere. You don’t have to go abroad.’

She giggles, humouring me. ‘No, really, Georgie, when did you last have a proper relationship?’

I trot out an easy answer. ‘I’m too busy.’ Then I stop to think. ‘No, I’m not interested in men and they’re not interested in me. Not the nice ones. There was the sleazy man with the clipped beard at Demi’s wedding. That’s the sort of man who tries to chat me up – the unpleasant ones. You can smell the desperation – they’ll sidle up to anything in a skirt. I don’t get many offers nowadays but I’m not at all worried.’

She leans forwards and pats my hand. ‘You’re still young, Georgie. You look good.’

I shake my head. ‘No, that’s all over with now.’

‘What is – love?’

‘I’m too independent, too old for love and all that nonsense. Men. Sex. The hassle. Having to compromise. Do what they want to do, go where they want. “Yes, dear – whatever you say, dear.” Sharing a bed with a snoring, sweaty bloke with a beer gut. Having to lend him money for the next bet or wondering if I’ll find frilly knickers in the back of his car that belong to the woman he’s seeing behind my back.’

‘You’re cynical.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Terry must’ve really hurt you.’

‘I’m well over him. He did me a favour. I’d rather have this place and the business, to be honest.’

‘But what about the company? Someone to cuddle up to? Someone to love who loves you back?’

‘I’m happy as I am. Besides, I’m past all that.’

‘Is it dating that bothers you, Georgie? I mean, after all these years, do you think you’d still be able to get excited about going out with a man?’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I’ve had two dates since Terry, both disasters. It put me off completely. What would be the point? I’m too set in my ways. And anyway, men only want a younger, prettier version after a few years …’

‘You mean like Rabbity Alison?’

I push the memory away, finish my wine and grin at her. ‘Okay. It’s big decision time.’ Amanda looks hopeful: she thinks I might agree to start dating. Instead, I offer her a mischievous grin. ‘Should we open another bottle or have a coffee?’

She glances up at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s nearly nine. Coffee, please. I’d better get off soon.’

I pick up the empty plates. The prospect of a bit of quiet, even an early night tucked up with the hot-water bottle, looms in front of me like an old friend. Jade’ll be home around midnight, but she has a key. I’ll see her at breakfast time. I don’t want to appear the fretful, needy mum.

An hour later, the kitchen is clean, with the plates put away, and I’m curled up in bed reading a book about a man who’s lived for hundreds of years but who’s lonely and can’t adjust to the present time. I’m immersed in the middle chapters. The radio is a tinny rattle of music in my ears. The eleven o’clock newsreader mutters something about rising crime rates and the high price of an average family house. I push my feet against the furry warmth of the hot-water bottle beneath my toes and I feel sleepy. I place the book gently on the floor on its front, switch off the radio and reach for the light. My phone buzzes an in-coming call and I pick up.

‘Hello. Bonnie. How are you?’

Her voice comes back as a whisper. ‘Georgie. I’m scared. There’s someone in the house.’

‘Huh? Tell Adie …’

‘Adie’s out. There’s someone downstairs. I’m in the bedroom.’ I can hear her breathing, a shallow rasp. ‘What shall I do?’

I sit upright, wide awake. ‘Are you sure? Did you Skype Demi?’

‘Yes, a few minutes ago. Then I heard someone moving about in the lounge and something fell or smashed. I don’t know what happened but someone’s definitely here. I’m scared.’

My thoughts race. ‘Are you on your own?’

‘Yes. Adie’s out until midnight, at a business meeting.’

I make up my mind at once. ‘Are you dressed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you get to the back door safely?’

‘No, but I could climb out of the window and onto the garage roof, grab the drainpipe, drop down to the lawn.’

‘Go now. Take your bag. Keep talking to me.’

‘Then what?’

‘Run to the road across the garden. Get in a taxi, drive into town. Call me.’

I hear her breath in ragged gasps. ‘Okay, I’m doing it, now.’

She’s left the phone on and at first I hear nothing, then a soft dragging sound, perhaps a window opening or a leg stretching, Bonnie climbing outside. A soft bump, silence, then she’s running. I’m holding my breath.

She gasps into the mouthpiece, ‘I think something awful has happened, Georgie. Someone’s broken in. I’m on the drive, my feet are wet – I’ll put my shoes back on …’ There’s silence, soft sounds, then she’s whispering into the phone: ‘I’m on the road now, looking up and down, but there’s no taxi. I was all on my own, Georgie. Adie left hours ago and said he’d be back late; there was a banging noise downstairs and … hang on. Taxi!’ There’s a pause, an engine. ‘Please, yes, the city centre – yes, of course, all that way. Please, quick as you can.’

There’s the gritty sound of a male voice in the background and her reply.

I whisper, ‘Are you all right, Bonnie?’

She breathes out. ‘Yes. I know someone was in the house. I could hear them moving. I can’t talk now.’

‘Bonnie. Do you have money?’

‘I have my card in my handbag. I don’t have a coat, though. I’m freezing.’

An idea pops in my head.

‘Go to the station. Jade’s coming back from Brighton. I’ll call her, tell her what’s happened. The station’ll be busy and it’ll look like you’re getting a train somewhere. Jade’ll meet you and you can come back here together. You’ll be better with people round you. Ring me as soon as you’re at Lime Street.’

‘Okay.’ Her voice trembles and then she’s gone.

My hands shake as I ring Jade. It takes her a while to pick up and at first she’s irritated with my babble, but I take a deep breath and explain.

She says, ‘Oh my God, Mum,’ and is silent.

‘Keep in touch, will you, Jade? And get back here as soon as possible.’

‘Right, Mum. I’ll be back soon with Aunty Bonnie.’

I breathe out. ‘I’ll get the kettle on.’

There’s a pause then Jade says, ‘That’d be nice. I could do with a chat before we go to bed.’ I can hear her thinking. I wait and then she says, ‘I have some news for you too, Mum. I think it’s going to be one of those nights.’

Chapter Seven

It’s past one o’clock. Bonnie’s hunched over a glass of brandy in the lounge. She’s in my favourite armchair, staring out of the French windows at the patch of lawn outside, wrapped in a thick dressing gown, my striped pyjamas and a pair of my old fluffy slippers. The bracelet still encircles her wrist, the little charms winking in the light. Jade’s in her cream coat, standing by the windows, frowning with her arms tightly folded. She reminds me so much of Terry.

‘Go on then, Mum. Tell me I’m being stupid.’

Bonnie’s face is anxious and tired, stripped of make-up. She bites her lip.

‘You have to follow your heart, love. It’s the only thing.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘But look where that’s got me. Well, maybe you’ll have more luck, Jade. Of course you will. I mean, Demi’s happy. She and Kyle are in Phuket. She sent me some pictures. I’m so glad she’s away from all this …’ Her face freezes. She’s thinking of Adie, of her escape in the taxi.

I stare from Bonnie to Jade and realise I haven’t spoken. I don’t know what to say to my daughter, which is unusual, so I just mutter, ‘I’ll support whatever you want to do, Jade.’

Her face clouds. I’ve said the wrong thing. ‘Can’t you just be happy for me, Mum?’

I slide from the chair and go over to her, wrap my arms round her. Her shoulders stiffen.

‘I’m happy for you, love. It’s only …’

‘You think it’s too soon?’ She pulls back and her eyes blaze.

I start to yawn and wish I hadn’t. She’ll think I’m bored. I’m so tired my bones ache.

‘Jade, you and Luis love each other. I can see why you want to move to Brighton to be with him. Of course. You’re smart, talented, sophisticated, beautiful.’ She rolls her violet eyes. ‘You’ll have a great life there. Of course I’m happy for you.’

Bonnie gives a dry laugh, but her face is sad. ‘You’ll be fine. You won’t mess up like your mum did. Like I’ve done.’

Tears start and she sucks the dregs from the brandy glass. I fill it halfway and she brings it to her lips. I offer a small glass to Jade and pour one for myself.

Jade sidles over to her. ‘You’ll be okay, Aunty Bonnie.’

Bonnie takes a breath and forces a smile. ‘I hope you’ll be lucky in love, Jade.’ She breathes out. ‘You’re off to start a new chapter of your life with your lovely young man. And I …’ A tear tipples from her eye and she dabs it away. ‘I’m about to end a chapter with my wicked old man.’ A laugh bubbles in her throat. ‘So, cheers to you and to me. In fact, cheers to all three of us.’

‘Bring it on,’ I grin and our glasses chime together.

Suddenly, there’s a rap at the door, loud and insistent. It can only be one person. Bonnie leaps up and runs off like a wild-eyed rabbit to hide upstairs, swiping her handbag from the table and, as an afterthought, taking her glass of brandy with her.

I tweak the door open. His face is grey in shadow.

‘Let me in, Georgie.’

I keep the door slightly ajar.

‘I’m in my pyjamas, Adie. For God’s sake.’

‘Where’s Bonnie?’ Then he’s in, looking round the reception area for signs of her. ‘Is she here?’

He charges up to the kitchen. Jade and I are behind him. I check that Bonnie hasn’t left anything and breathe out.

‘No, Adie, she’s not here. Do you never talk to her? Wherever would she be at this time of night?’

Jade stands behind me.

Adie stares round the room. ‘She must be here …’ He rushes from the kitchen to the lounge, stares out of the French windows at the raised garden.

I follow him.

‘She’s not.’ I make my voice low. ‘What the hell’s going on, Adie?’

He shakes his head: I think he’s going to cry. I hope not.

‘She’s gone.’

‘Where?’ I put my hands on my hips in a Haka stance and think about thrusting my tongue out but decide against it. ‘Where’s my sister?’

He says nothing so I grab his arm.

‘Adie, I’m going to call the police.’

He snatches at my wrist and holds it too hard.

‘No. Don’t do that.’

Jade says, ‘Get off my mum.’

I pull my arm away. ‘Where is she, then?’

His face blanches even more.

‘She’s not at home. I’m worried about her. Something’s happened.’

‘To Bonnie? What have you done, Adie?’ I raise my phone, a sign of intent.

‘Georgie, I’m in a bit of trouble. I owe a man some money. I think he came to the house …’

I gasp. Jade does the same behind me. I’m suddenly relieved that Bonnie’s upstairs. I breathe out.

‘You should phone the police.’

‘I can’t. I have to find Bonnie.’

‘Do you have any idea where she might be?’

He’s miserable. ‘I hoped she might be here. I got home an hour ago. Someone had broken in, been through the things in my office, and Bonnie was missing.’

I fold my arms. ‘I’m worried now, Adie.’

He nods, licks thin lips. ‘She hasn’t taken her coat but her handbag’s gone. I’m just worried. I’m having a few problems with a business deal and now she’s missing.’

‘Adie, what on earth have you done?’

‘Nothing I can’t sort out.’

His elbows move out from his body, he stands taller. He’s recovering his poise.

I wonder what to do, how to get him out of the house. Then his phone buzzes and he grabs it from his pocket.

‘It’s a text. From Bonnie.’

Jade puts a steady hand on my shoulder.

I frown. ‘Where is she, Adie?’ My mind’s accelerating. She’s probably under the bed.

‘At the airport. She’s telling me to meet her there. We can catch a plane somewhere – get away together.’ He gapes at me for a moment. ‘She’s okay. Thank goodness. She said she heard someone downstairs and knew instinctively we’d need to get away for a bit. My clever little Bonnie. I’ll go back to the house quickly, pack a bag and we’ll be gone.’

He turns away. He’s not interested in me any more. He’s off, through the kitchen and reception, towards the door.

‘I’ll be in touch, Georgie.’

He flips the bolt and is outside, letting chilly air whoosh into the house. He slips into the darkness and he’s a shadow. I hear the clip of his car door, the growl of an engine. Then he’s gone. I close the door and lock it.

‘And good riddance to Adie. Well done, Bonnie. She played a genius card there.’

Jade’s face contorts. ‘But when he gets to the airport, she won’t be there. What then?’

‘It buys us time.’ I shrug. ‘But we’ll have to think of something.’

I go back to the lounge and Bonnie’s standing in the doorway, holding her phone in her fist.

‘In an hour or two, I’ll message him again. I’ll tell him I was nervous, I imagined someone was following me and I took a cab to Edinburgh Airport. I’ll send him on a goose chase.’

‘You heard it all, Bon?’

Her brows are knit in a frown. She’s clearly furious.

‘I snuck down and listened. Adie’s messed up one of his deals. I tiptoed back upstairs and texted him. I’m not being frightened out of my own house by his dodgy friends. I want out.’

Jade links her arm through Bonnie’s. ‘What are you going to do?’

Bonnie’s new resolve and determination fills me with optimism. She’ll be better away from Adie. I plaster a smile on my face and launch in.

‘We have to avoid Adie until he’s out of trouble. We need to think carefully and come up with a plan.’

I gaze from my daughter to my sister. Jade’s face is calm, her skin luminous. She’s off to Brighton to start a new life with her Spanish beau. Bonnie’s pale, anxious. I have to get her away from Adie. I think of what might have happened to Bonnie if she hadn’t left the house in Frodsham and my mind shuffles thoughts about what to do next.

Jade leans back in her seat and stretches her arms out, flexing the muscles. I’ll miss her when she’s in Brighton. The feeling of loss is already starting to squat on my shoulders and clutch at my heart. Then an idea flashes in my mind, perfectly formed. It’s an opportunity, exploding in front of me like a firework. In one move, I can persuade my sister to leave her philandering husband and stay close to my daughter at the same time. Adie and his criminal capers are the perfect excuse.

My mind moves to Nanny, all alone in her cold home. At once, I know how to resolve all of our problems in a single checkmate move. And we can have some fun at the same time. It’s the perfect opportunity to be together, to bond, three generations of women celebrating independence. A wide grin stretches across my face and, quick as lightning, I change it to a serious frown.

‘Bonnie, Jade – I know what we have to do. It’s as clear as daylight. We can’t stay here and wait for Adie to find out we’ve sent him on a goose chase. We’ll take things into our own hands, be in charge of the situation. Until this problem with Adie blows over, we have to put ourselves first. So, we’ll all go away together, tonight. And I know the perfect place.’

Chapter Eight

The sky is full of stars, little diamonds set in metres of black velvet. It’s almost three in the morning and the cold has started to bite at the exposed bits of my flesh. Bonnie’s helped herself to items from my wardrobe; she’s wearing a long faux-fur coat and matching hat and she looks like a movie star. Jade’s on the phone to Luis, multitasking at the same time, packing cases and boxes into the back of my BMW. Her movements are smooth and athletic.

I raid the till for the unbanked day’s takings, text Amanda that I’ll be away for a few days and promise to ring her soon with the details, but please could she hold the fort. Then we lock the front door, leave a light on in the hallway and drive through empty roads to a terraced street on the other side of the park. There are no lights on anywhere: the row of little houses is all in spongy darkness, behind scratchy hedges as straight as sentries.

I slip the key in and open the front door. The three of us are in blackout, walking on our toes, hunched over in a line like the kids in Scooby Doo. I flick the kitchen light on and suggest Bonnie and Jade wait downstairs. Nanny’s not going to like being disturbed. I’m scared about waking her. What if she has a heart attack?

I creep upstairs, stand on the top step and a floorboard creaks. I hold my breath for ages, thinking what to say.

Then an old lady’s voice rasps, ‘I have a shotgun in here. And if you don’t believe me, you burgling bastard, try me. Come in here and I’ll blow your bloody head off.’

‘Nan?’ I whisper as loudly as I can. ‘Nanny, it’s me, Georgie.’

I hear the expletive under her breath. Then she calls, ‘I haven’t got my teeth in. Don’t come in yet.’ I wait, staring in the dark, then she says, ‘All right. You can come in.’

I tiptoe into her bedroom and she switches the bedside lamp on. The room floods with orange light. She sits up in bed in a duck-egg blue winceyette nightie with ruffles at the neck and blinks. Her hair’s dishevelled, tufty and tucked under the green woolly hat. I glance round the room. The old wardrobe with the silver mirror reflects our shapes back to us: a ghostlike sliver of a woman sitting up in a bed with rumpled blankets and another woman in a bulky coat, shivering. The room’s bare except for the wardrobe, a pile of old books and newspapers in the corner, and several cardboard boxes full of junk. There’s a pervasive smell of dusty old clothes and stale piss.

I take a breath. ‘You haven’t really got a shotgun, have you, Nan?’

‘Don’t be daft. You think I’m mad? What do you want here at this time of night? Your house burned down, has it?’

I move to the edge of the bed and sit down next to her, taking her hand. Her fingers are stone cold.

‘Nan, I have some news for you. I don’t want you to worry.’

She leans forwards and her lip trembles. ‘Bonnie, is it? Is she all right?’

‘She’s downstairs. With Jade. We’ve got the car outside. We have to go away.’

It takes her a while to take this in. She frowns, her face a creased map of the tropics, and her eyes glitter.

‘What about me?’

This is it, I think. Here we go. ‘You’re coming with us. To Brighton.’

‘Over my dead body, Georgina. I’m not going anywhere.’

‘I can’t take care of you here, Nan. Not now. Please, trust me on this. It’s not good for Bonnie to stay here. Adie’s done something stupid; he owes money and he’s made some enemies.’ I take a deep breath, finding the right words to coax her to leave the house she’s lived in for over sixty years. ‘We have to go, Nan. All of us. Jade’s going to Brighton to live with Luis. Bonnie needs to get away, just for a short while. We’ll all go with Jade.’ I stop there: I’m about to say ‘to keep an eye on her’, but it’s best to say nothing.

Nanny stares, her mouth a straight line, and I wonder how I’m going to persuade her. Then she eases her legs out of bed, feet encased in hairy socks, and turns to me.

‘We’d better get packing then, Georgina. I can’t do it myself, can I? I’m in my eighties. You make sure I have plenty of warm clothes. My own towel. Plenty of Guinness. And I’ll need to take my heart tablets and my arthritis tablets. And some photos – Wilf and the one of us and our Josie and Kenny at the caravan site in Wales.’

I must have my mouth open, because she says, ‘Stop staring, Georgina. Come on. You can tell me about it as we go. I hope you’ve brought some sandwiches and a flask for the journey. I like my tea sweet. And I’m not sitting in the front seat. I don’t like all those blinding headlights. They give me a headache.’ She struggles to her feet. ‘Well, I suppose it’ll be an adventure. I don’t get out much.’ She pushes me away with her hand. ‘Go on with you, then. I’m going to get dressed. I don’t want you staring at my bits and bobs. Get packing. I’m going to Brighton.’

It takes us two hours to pack to Nanny’s satisfaction. I do most of it. Nanny spends the time patting my faux-fur coat with Bonnie in it and asking Jade what Spanish men are like between the sheets and whether sex is banned the night before a football match. Jade replies with deliberately outrageous comments.

‘We have this game, Nanny, where I wave a red sheet at Luis and he puts his fingers on his head like bulls’ horns and chases me naked round the bedroom.’

Nanny believes her. Her eyebrows shoot up under her woolly hat like circumflexes.

By five o’clock, we have her strapped in the back of the car next to Bonnie. She’s still stroking the arm of the faux-fur coat like it was Blofeld’s white cat. Jade’s next to me, chatting to me to keep me alert. Bonnie looks miserable.

‘What’s the plan, Georgie?’

The idea came to me straight away, before we collected Nanny, and it seems like a good strategy for escape.

‘We’ll make sure Adie doesn’t know where we’re going. The plan is to drive north for a bit, to take money from a bank and a cashpoint in Edinburgh, so that we put him off the scent. You text him you’re going to the airport there, Bonnie. He’ll believe you because we’ll leave a trail of evidence. Adie’ll follow you north. We’ll have a rest in Edinburgh for a few hours, then join the M1, find a bed and breakfast or a hotel off the motorway, where we can sleep properly and recharge our batteries.’

‘Edinburgh? I thought we were going to Brighton?’ Jade’s eyes blaze.

‘We are going to Brighton. Via Edinburgh.’

‘That’s mad, Mum. This whole thing is ridiculous.’

I hope my daughter doesn’t wake Nanny, who’s snoring.

‘It’s just a few hours, Jade. Bonnie can’t risk Adie following us.’

‘Then what?’ Jade’s voice is sulky: she’s tired and, just as she did when she was a child, she becomes moody.

‘Then we’ll go on to Brighton. You can meet up with Luis and we’ll lose ourselves somewhere, find a place to stay for a bit until we can sort all this mess out with Adie.’

Jade tuts loudly. ‘You’re not staying with Luis and me. Couldn’t you just drop me off and go somewhere else? East Anglia? Or Cornwall. That’s a long way away.’

I decide to say nothing. She must already feel that I’m trying to be a gooseberry. And it’s true: it’s a case of two birds with one stone. Bonnie’ll be safe from Adie and I’ll check my daughter isn’t moving in with a rampant Lothario. She turns a shoulder away from me, sulking.

It’s half past five, but the traffic’s starting to build. I turn onto the motorway and glance at other cars, to see if Adie’s following us. Several heavy lorries lumber past. I blink to keep alert. The sky is tinged with pink and the light gradually lifts the darkness away.

Nanny and Bonnie nod off on each other’s shoulder and Jade keeps me awake by talking non-stop about Luis and his footballing history.

After an hour and a half we’re on the outskirts of Leeds, and I know the age and background of every member of Luis’ family, his team and all the details and permutations of the offside rule. She plies me with coffee from the flask and I drive into a dappled crimson dawn. The wheels thrum on the tarmac and the dancing red brake lamps swirl in front of me, blurring away into the distance. I yawn. Jade puts rock music on the radio and the powerful sounds of The Disturbed fizz through my brain and my focus improves. My limbs feel heavy and my ankle on the accelerator aches with stiffness.

It’s well past past eleven o’clock as we drive through the Old Town part of Edinburgh. It’s a beautiful city and I wish I was awake enough to enjoy it. I concentrate on the shuffling traffic. Jade’s in a bad mood; she’s turned away from me and she’s texting with a passion. I pull up outside an ATM, lean over to the back seat and shake Bonnie awake.

‘We’re here.’

She sighs and opens one eye. ‘Brighton?’

‘Edinburgh. Bonnie, have you got your bank card, the one from your joint account with Adie?’

She looks puzzled. ‘Yes …’

‘Right. The maximum you can take out is £300. When the bank opens, you can take another £500 over the counter.’

‘I thought you had money from the till, Georgie?’ She’s still half asleep.

‘I do. It’ll keep us going for a while. But if Adie traces the transaction, which he will, and he thinks we’re heading north, then we’ll send him the wrong way if he decides to follow us. And the £800 will be useful when we’re in Brighton.’

‘So why aren’t we going further into Scotland then?’ Bonnie frowns. ‘I’ve never been to the north of Scotland. It’s supposed to be really nice there.’

‘It’s not a holiday. We’re going to Brighton. I’ve arranged to be with Luis. I’m moving in with him. I’m not going to the north of bloody Scotland.’

Jade folds her arms and I instantly worry that I’ll lose her. We’ve been so close and I wonder what Luis must be like, to be able to lure her away, and if it’s only a glamour thing, a passing fancy. I clamp my lips together to stay silent.

‘I need breakfast. I’m hungry.’ Nan’s awake, her voice sharp and insistent.

‘Okay,’ I sigh.

I feel like a frazzled mum, trying to cope with a badly behaved group of youngsters. But this crazy situation was my idea and I focus sharply on the purpose of it, keeping my mind on the prize. I’ll be with Jade, making sure my daughter isn’t throwing her life away on some frivolous relationship, and, in the same smart move, my sister’ll be miles away from her devious, cheating husband.

I wave my hands, all smiles. ‘I’ll find us a café after Bonnie’s been to the ATM, then we’ll come back when the bank’s open. Are you all fine with that?’

By half past twelve, Nan’s finished a hearty breakfast and everyone else has pushed away food they’ve hardly touched. Jade’s in a foul mood.

We drive ten miles out of Edinburgh and I find a quiet car park and pull in. Nanny’s slurping the dregs of a chocolate milkshake through a straw. Bonnie immediately takes out her mirror and checks her make-up. Jade turns an angry face to me.

‘What are we doing?’

‘I need to sleep, Jade. I’m really tired.’

She blows air through her mouth. ‘Oh, for God’s sake. Why don’t I drive for a bit?’

‘I’m not keen on you driving, Jade. It’s a long journey and you’re not used to this car. I’d rather drive.’ The excuse sounds weak in my mouth. ‘I’ll just sleep for a few hours. I’ll be fine.’

I keep my thoughts to myself. I wish we could go north, have a fun time in Scotland, the four of us. It’d be lovely to have a break together. I consider suggesting it, but she’s already impatient to go south. Once Jade’s in Brighton, in Luis’ flat, I won’t see so much of her.

She breathes out a loud sigh and goes back to her phone. I snuggle down in the seat and close my eyes. The radio rattles and I think about switching it off. The midday news comes on and I listen, half expecting a story about Adie. It’s the usual politics and sport.

As I start to drift off, I hear Bonnie saying, ‘I wonder what Adie’s doing now.’

Nan says, ‘Good riddance.’

There’s a pause, then Bonnie sniffs. ‘Demi’ll be in Thailand. I’d like to go to Thailand.’

Jade huffs. ‘I’d like to go to Brighton.’

There’s a sniff at the back. Bonnie’s tearful. ‘Do you think I’ll ever see Adie again?’

Nanny’s voice is firm. ‘He needs sorting out, that Adrian Carrick. No man should cheat on his wife. Wilf and I were married for fifty years and some. He never looked at another woman.’ She giggles. ‘Except once.’

Bonnie cheers up. ‘What happened, Nan?’

Nan’s laughing; I can sense her rocking backwards and forwards and I know her eyes hold an evil expression.

‘We were in The Bluebell with your mam and dad. It was New Year’s Eve and I’d had a couple of port and lemons. This drunken woman kept waving mistletoe in Wilfie’s face, pursing her big red lips, trying to get him to kiss her. I was livid.’

Jade’s suddenly interested. ‘What did you do?’

‘I followed her to the toilets, got her by the scruff of her neck and told her to keep her hands off my Wilf or I’d poke her eyes out.’

Bonnie laughs. Her voice is too high.

‘Then I got Wilf home and I asked him if he fancied her. He’d been on the whisky and he said he thought she had nice legs, so without thinking, I slapped him in the face with a smelly dishcloth.’

Jade’s mouth must be hanging wide open. ‘Nanny …!’

‘He was so drunk, I thought he was going to keel over. The next day he couldn’t remember anything. He never touched the Jameson again.’

It’s quiet inside the car and warm. I breathe out and sleep for what seems like an age. Then Jade’s shaking me.

‘Mum, can we go now?’

I sit up. I’d slumped right down in the seat.

‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly six. Everybody’s been asleep.’ Jade’s face looms in front of mine. ‘We won’t make Brighton today, will we?’

Nanny wakes up and grumbles, ‘I’m hungry. And tired. What’s going on?’

I blink my eyes and realise that everyone’s staring at me. I examine the satnav.

‘Okay, how does this sound? We’ll drive to Kendal. That’s in the Lakes. We’ll find a B & B and stay overnight.’ I look at Jade and smile hopefully. ‘I’ll have us all in Brighton tomorrow.’

Bonnie murmurs, ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Is that where the mint cake comes from, Kendal? I like mint cake but it sticks to my teeth. What sort of bed and breakfast will we stay in? I can’t abide those places with nylon sheets.’

‘No one has nylon sheets nowadays, Nan.’

‘And I want proper home-cooked food, Georgina. I can’t stand food if it’s not cooked properly. I don’t like burned meat. Or soggy vegetables that taste like sponge.’

‘All right, Nan.’

Jade’s voice is low. ‘Can we just get going? I’ll have to text Luis and tell him I’ll be even later. I’ll tell him I’m a prisoner in a car with my mad mother who’s doing her best to keep me from getting to Brighton and I might not make it at all if my uncle Adie has anything to do with it.’

Bonnie interrupts, her voice defensive. ‘Adie’s got a heart of gold, Jade. If your Luis loves you as much as my Adie—’

Nanny cackles out loud. ‘Adie Carrick’s nothing more than a criminal. You’re too good for him, Bonnie, love.’

Jade nods. ‘You’re right, Nan. Everyone knows about Uncle Adie.’

Bonnie’s aghast. ‘What do they know?’

‘He’s always up to something. Sorry, Aunty Bonnie. My friends in town all laugh about it.’ Jade shrugs. ‘I’ve always stayed well away from him. He keeps bad company. I’ve heard he’s into all sorts: flipping houses, dodgy deals. I’m sure even Demi knows.’

Through the mirror I see Bonnie’s little face start to crumple. I turn on the ignition and the engine rumbles.

‘Right, let’s get us all to Kendal. We’ll stop somewhere nice. We have money.’ I smile at Jade. ‘By tomorrow, we’ll all be in Brighton. Let’s make the most of this little jaunt, shall we? A nice soft bed, early start after breakfast. It could even be fun.’

‘Not my idea of fun,’ Jade mumbles and stares out of the window.

I think about patting her arm, but I know she’d shrug me away. My heart aches with the thought that my daughter’ll be glad to move on, that we’ll part company and she’ll forget how close we were, like sisters. I drive into the darkness, my thoughts and the radio and the swerving beams of headlights buzzing in my head.

We travel in silence for two, almost three hours. It’s almost nine o’clock. The petrol gauge is running low. It occurs to me that we should hang on to Bonnie’s money and my cash and use my card to fill up the tank. If Adie is somehow able to check on me, which wouldn’t surprise me at all with some of his dodgy contacts, I’d need to be somewhere obscure, and we’re still north of Liverpool so he won’t suspect we’re going to Brighton.

I swerve off the motorway and follow a sign for Orton and Ravenstonedale, down a narrow country road. It won’t be too far. The satnav tells me I’m going the wrong way, but I ignore it. It’s only a short drive to a service station and I’ll soon be back on the motorway. My brain’s fizzing with tiredness and my arms and legs are numb from being in one position for so long. I glance through the rear-view mirror. Nan’s fallen asleep already, her head on Bonnie’s shoulder.

Jade is texting, her thumbs moving furiously. ‘What’s happening now?’

‘I’m getting petrol, Jade.’

‘What’s wrong with the motorway services?’

‘I want my card to register the name of somewhere Adie won’t have heard of.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake …’

I sigh. ‘We’ll all be in bed in an hour.’

‘Not if we spend all this time bumbling down back roads in the middle of nowhere.’

‘Jade …’

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry we couldn’t take you straight to Brighton to be with Luis. I know you must be unhappy.’

‘Unhappy?’ She puts on the tone I remember so well from when she was a teenager: sarcasm, outrage and injustice. ‘Too right I’m unhappy. And frustrated. And bored. And annoyed.’

There’s a shriek from the back of the car. It’s Bonnie’s terrified voice. My heart speeds up and so do my reactions. A car’s coming straight towards us, its lights on main beam. I’m dazzled. I swerve to the left and slam my foot on the brake. The car lurches; we bump something. When I open my eyes, the X5 is in a hedge. I turn to look at Jade, then back at Bonnie: they’re wide-eyed, shocked. Nanny’s indignant.

‘Can’t you drive more carefully, Georgina? We’re stuck in the shrubs now.’

‘It’s nothing much, just a knock. Let’s get going.’

Jade is furious. ‘What a nutter to drive so fast.’

Bonnie’s voice is a whisper. ‘Do you think it was Adie’s Boxster?’

Jade shakes her head. ‘No, it wasn’t. You couldn’t see what sort of car it was. It was just some ignorant motorist; these lanes are so narrow. They’ll be miles away by now.’

The X5 is leaning over to one side. I sit still for a moment and consider what to do, then I decide to inspect the car for any damage before I start the engine. I switch on the emergency hazard lights, grab a torch from the glovebox and ease myself out through the door, moving softly to the other side and into the darkness to check the car. The ground is soft under my feet, and damp. It’s been raining. The sky is as dark as a woollen blanket overhead; no glimmering stars.

I shine the torch on the left-hand side of the bonnet. There are scratches on the side from the branches. The front end of the car is in the hedge. If I just reverse, I’ll be able to drive out. I go round the back and squeeze forwards as far as I can. I can see the twist of the wheel, the shadow of the tyre. I crouch down, direct the beam at the huge wheel, illuminating the front tyre on the left, and follow the beam to the gravel. The tyre’s flat at the bottom, completely deflated. I stare at it for a few moments and scratch my head. The X5 has the biggest puncture I’ve ever seen.

Chapter Nine

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mum. It’s only a puncture. I can fix that.’

‘Jade …?’

‘Remember Lee Kassiri, the bloke I went out with three years ago who had half a dozen cars? The petrolhead? I learned all sorts …’

‘Jade …’

She can’t open her door because it’s embedded in the hedge, so she swings her body across my seat and follows me out of the driver’s door. Although it’s dark, I know she’s frowning.

‘Where’s the spare in this one, Mum?’

‘That’s the point. There isn’t one.’

‘So how do you fix a puncture without a spare tyre?’

‘There’s a tube of squirty glue to inflate a tyre in the glovebox.’

‘Well, pass it over.’

‘It’s for nail holes, little punctures. We must have hit a pothole. The tyre’s completely flat.’

‘So call out breakdown.’

‘I don’t have any breakdown cover, Jade. It lapsed. I didn’t think I’d need it. I only use the car in town.’

Jade clambers back in and collapses in her seat with a huff. ‘What are we going to do now, then?’

Nanny’s voice comes from the back seat. ‘Are we stuck here? What about something to eat?’

Bonnie sniffs. ‘I want to go home.’

I climb into the car. ‘Don’t be daft, Bonnie.’ I’m not proud of the irritation in my voice.

‘Come on, then, Mum. What are we going to do?’

I breathe out. ‘Get on your phone and research local garages, Jade. Find someone who’ll come out and fix it.’

‘At this time of night?’

I shrug. ‘Best I can suggest.’

Jade grunts. ‘We could get out and walk to the nearest pub.’

‘With my hip? Don’t even think about it, Georgina,’ Nan says.

I check the satnav. We’re in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales National Park, up a hill.

Jade explores something on her phone for several minutes. It’s quiet inside the car, except for her tutting. Finally, she turns to me.

‘Right. There’s Nateby Motors. They open at nine o’clock tomorrow, Thursday morning. There’s another, Thomas Blake and Son, near Tebay. Open at nine. And one more. ABC Tyres at Orton – eight thirty tomorrow. That’s it.’

Bonnie taps my shoulder. ‘What shall we do, Georgie?’

‘Georgina, I’m thirsty. My backside’s stiff from all this sitting. And I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.’ Nan pokes me in the back. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘We’ll just have to sleep here until morning, Nan.’

Bonnie sounds tearful. ‘I need the wipes from my bag to cleanse my face. And I need my special night cream.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘What if Adie finds out where we are?’

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