Page 34 of The Fall-Out

‘You seriously expect me to remember what I was looking at on my phone two hours ago?’

‘You seemed pretty engrossed in it. Typing away.’

‘Jesus, Naomi. Maybe I was answering work emails. I don’t know.’

‘It wasn’t your work phone.’

‘So maybe I was messaging the guys on the gym WhatsApp. Or checking the football scores. I can’t remember.’

Maybe he couldn’t. But I wasn’t sure I believed him. There’d been something about the way he’d gazed at his screen, ignoring the children as if they weren’t even there, that had seemed… different. Off.

‘Patch?’ I asked. ‘Has Zara been in touch with you at all?’

He gave me a long, cold stare. Then he said, ‘Actually, yes. She wants to see me.’

‘Why? What the hell for?’

‘She has something of mine, and she wants to give it back.’

I have something of hers, my mind echoed, and she wants to take it back.

I forced air into my lungs. ‘Patch, I’m not sure I’m comfortable you seeing her.’

He laughed shortly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. What do you think’s going to happen?’

‘I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It just feels – wrong, somehow.’

To my surprise, he said, ‘Okay. In that case I won’t. It’s only an old DSLR camera – I’ll never use it and it’d fetch pennies on eBay. I’ll tell her to take it to a charity shop.’

Relief and gratitude washed over me. He cared – he’d heard my concern and fear and taken it on board. Everything would be okay.

‘Look,’ I offered, ‘why don’t I pick it up? I can go when the kids are at nursery. And then you can decide if you want to keep it or not. I’ll message her now.’

In my eagerness to make amends, to be as selfless as he’d been, I grabbed my phone and started typing. When I looked up to ask Patch for Zara’s number, I thought I saw a look of something like panic on his face, but it vanished before I could be sure it was ever there.

FOURTEEN

OCTOBER 2010

‘Oh my God.’ Seeing Abbie and Matt approach me across the crowded concourse of St Pancras station, I abandoned my wheelie case and dashed to meet them, skidding to a stop and almost spilling my coffee. ‘How exciting is this?’

‘We’re going to Paris.’ She hugged me tightly, making my coffee slosh dangerously again. ‘We’re going en vacances.’

‘We’re going to chez Zara,’ I agreed.

‘Sur le Eurostar,’ offered Matt.

‘Et voilà – or is it voici? – Rowan,’ I said. ‘At least one of us can speak French properly.’

In her swishy taupe trench coat and high-heeled boots, Rowan looked the epitome of Parisian chic. She joined our huddle, grinning excitedly but apprehensively.

‘God, I hope I still have a daughter when I get back,’ she fretted, checking her phone. ‘Paul’s never looked after Clara on his own for this long before. What if he breaks her, or leaves her in Sainsbury’s or something?’

‘He won’t,’ Matt assured her. ‘Apart from anything else, he’ll be too shit-scared of what you’d do to him if he so much as dressed her in odd socks. Here’s Kate – but no Andy?’

Kate was approaching almost at a run, her case trundling behind her.

‘Sorry I’m late. Fucking nightmare of a morning. Andy’s not coming. He woke up this morning with a severe case of man flu.’

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