Page 38 of The Temp

‘Your debit card. It fell out of your robe pocket. Well, my dressing gown. Here.’ Tom pours half a tumbler with water from the jug next to my bed and feeds me a few sips. The tepid liquid soothes the razorblade sensation in my throat. ‘They gave you a bag of saline.’ My eyes dart to my right hand. It has plastic tube poking out of a white plaster. The needle is still in my skin, stinging. ‘You were very dehydrated.’

‘Debit card?’ I repeat. That can’t be right. I ran out of our house like a greyhound when Zelda called, grabbing my phone in my haste. In fact, I had nothing else on me apart from…. Dread rockets through my body as I feel the pockets of my dressing gown. The letter knife. It’s gone.

‘Yes. Daisy recovered it for you. Don’t look so worried. It’s in her handbag, safe and sound.’

‘Did you take anything from my pocket?’ I demand.

‘What?’ Tom screws his face up. ‘No, I…’

There’s a kerfuffle of voices, footsteps, the swish of fabric, and then a woman’s voice says, ‘Ah, Mrs Harris. Nice to have you back with us. I’m Mrs Michaels, one of the consultants, and this is Dr Loizia – Valentina. You had quite a nasty fall, I hear. How’re you feeling now?’

Chapter 35

‘Mum,’ Georgia cries. She drops her half-eaten toast onto her plate and launches herself at me. Closing my eyes, I wrap my arms around her and she melts into me.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, turning my forehead away, to make sure she doesn’t brush away the ointment Dr Loizia gently applied to a graze on my head before discharging me half an hour ago. ‘It’s just a scratch.’ I breathe my daughter in as the seriousness of what happened finally bulldozes into my brain. Zelda may have killed Frank, and I have managed to lose the weapon she used to slay him with. I wonder if perverting the course of justice carries a prison sentence. What if I go to jail for twenty years? I will miss out on so much of Georgia’s life – her graduation, passing her driving test, relationships, maybe even grandchildren.

‘Gosh, Mum, you’re shaking. Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Can I get you anything, Bella?’ Daisy half stands, chewing a mouthful of cereal.

‘No, I’m fine. Sit down and finish your breakfast.’

‘Dad woke me up before he left, said you fell over and fainted and were carted off to A&E in an ambulance! I couldn’t sleep after that. Why did auntie Zelda call you out in the middle of the night, anyway, just cos they had a fight?’ I tell her she was upset. They’d split up and she needed my support, which is partly true.

Daisy gets to her feet, coffee in hand, and saunters towards me. Pulling me into a hug, coffee arm outstretched, she says, ‘Glad you’re okay.’ Then presses her lips against my hair. ‘I’ve got the letter knife in my drawer upstairs.’ Every hair on my body stands on end. My temp has criminal evidence nestled inside her knicker drawer. She’s an accessory to the crime now. I swallow what feels like a pebble stone.

Daisy backs away from me slowly, giving me a knowing look, then quickly spins on her heel and rushes back to her seat. I look at Tom in a daze as he necks a carton of semi-skimmed. ‘What? I was parched.’ I stay silent, trying to process what Daisy has just revealed, even though I hate him drinking anything straight from the carton and spreading germs, especially now that Daisy is living with us. ‘I’m going up for a shower and a kip. You coming?’

I shake my head, tell him I’m starving. ‘Aren’t you due at the practice?’ I ask, throwing a glance at the clock on the wall as I pull half a loaf of bread out of the fridge. The sooner Tom is out of the house, the sooner I can question Daisy about the letter knife and get her to hand it over. ‘It’s almost nine-thirty.’

‘Bella, it’s Sunday,’ Tom says, scratching his head.

‘Oh, yes, sorry.’ I faff about with the loaf. I can’t concentrate. I pop two slices into the toaster with tremulous hands.

‘Dad,’ Georgia calls out as he reaches the door. ‘You can’t go to bed.’

Tom pauses, one hand on the doorframe. Why not?’ he says tiredly.

‘You’re meant to be giving me a lift to Parliament Hill? Football practice? I’ve got to be there in, like, an hour.’ Tom’s face is deadpan. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re not taking me now cos of Mum’s fainting drama.’ The sympathy didn’t last long. She’s lucky I love the bones of her.

‘Can’t you jump on a bus, sweetheart? I’ve been up half the night. I’m shattered.’

Georgia eyes flit from me to her dad, face like thunder. ‘I’m not getting three buses dressed in my football kit. I mean it, Mum. Oh, Dadddddah.’

‘I’m sorry, Georgie,’ he mutters. ‘Can’t one of the mum’s give you a lift?’

‘You always ruin everything for me. Why can’t you be like normal parents? They’re always taking their kids, like, everywhere, even to Central. You’re always working or sleeping. Or having shitting seizures in the middle of the street. Jeez!!!’ Then she turns to me. ‘Mum, can you take me?’

‘Georgia I….’

‘Oh, I hate you both! Grrr.’

‘Calm down, Georgia. I’ll drive you,’ Daisy offers. ‘Your folks had a difficult night. Go up and get ready.’

Georgia races to Daisy. ‘You.’ Georgia cups Daisy’s face with both hands. ‘Are.’ She gives her a hard kiss on the cheek. ‘An absolute.’ She kisses her other cheek. Harder. ‘Lifesaver.’ I couldn’t agree with her more.

Daisy laughs as she recovers from Georgia’s endearing assault. Daisy and I watch, shoulder to shoulder, as Georgia ambles out of the kitchen, knocking into her father in the doorway, complaining all the while – she can’t believe he let her down at the last moment, typical, it’s a good job we hired Daisy, at least we got one thing right. I raise my eyebrows at my husband to the backdrop of Georgia thundering up the stairs.

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