Page 7 of Don't Let Him In

“Jobwise, you mean?”

“Yes. Did you hear back from the literary agency?”

She shakes her head, even though it’s not true. She did hear back from the literary agency. They said that though they were very impressed with her qualifications and found her to be a “very engaging and likeable candidate,” sadly there were others whose experience was more suited to the position and therefore they would not be pursuing her application any further.

“Ah,” says Nick. “I’m sure there’ll be another agency in touch before too long, biting your hand off.”

She smiles tightly. “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe.”

“But meanwhile you’ve still got the boutique?”

“Yes, still got that.”

Nina joins them, and Ash watches the sparkle appear, the sparkle that is only there when Nick is here, the sparkle that always used to be there and then died along with her father. Her mother is beautiful when she’s with Nick. Her neck is slender, the curve of her cheek is pronounced, her spine is straight, her shoulders back, everything where it should be. The light catches the lowlights in her hair, the loose strand next to her ear, the gold hoops. Nick has eyes only for her.

Ash tips the end of the champagne down her throat and stands up. She makes her face soft and smiles. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She glances once behind her as she walks through the door into the hallway. She sees Nick’s hand on her mother’s hand. She tries to make herself want this for her, but she can’t.

EIGHT

Alistair said he’d be home by five p.m. to help Martha empty the flower delivery van. Or at the very least to stay indoors with the kids and the dog while she emptied it. And now it’s gone six o’clock and the last thing she wants to do is go out and empty the van.

She types in two question marks under her last message to her husband:

When home?

She looks at the kids. Troy is on the sofa, his legs outstretched, staring at his phone with his AirPods in, the dog on his lap. Jonah is at the dining table, his iPad propped up in front of him, doing some kind of art on the painting app. Weird stuff he puts on there, anime-type stuff. Nala, the baby, is in her walker, staring at the TV screen. Something to do with dogs with superpowers. The sky outside is black now, the last of the winter sun petered out a few minutes ago.

She calls over to Troy, who turns awkwardly and removes an AirPod.

“Will you keep an eye on the baby? I have to go and sort out the van.”

He shrugs.

“And that means taking out your earphones, I’m afraid.”

He sighs and shrugs again and then takes the other one out. The dogsits up perkily at the suggestion that something is happening and his face appears over the back of the sofa.

“No, Baxter,” she says to the dog. “You need to stay here.”

She puts on her jacket, grabs her bag, and walks onto the driveway. The van is pink. A classy, faded pink named California Rose on the color sheet. On the side panels, in black cursive, it says: “Martha’s Garden. Fresh Flowers & Gift Baskets, Delivered to Your Door.” It’s an eye-catching van and it makes Martha something of a celebrity in the local area. Usually she’d be working tomorrow, but Alistair’s taking her away for the weekend, two nights in a hotel in Normandy, just the two of them, so she’s leaving Milly, her assistant, in charge of the shop, and her brother in charge of the kids.

She drives the van the three minutes to the shop on the high street and parks outside. She moves fast: Troy’s a good boy, but he’s likely to forget that he’s meant to be watching Nala. He’s a dreamer. Milly is still behind the counter, tidying up for the night. “Give me a hand, will you?”

Milly follows her out to the pavement and together they unload anything that Martha doesn’t want to die in the van over the weekend. Martha looks at the time on the vintage clock above the counter. Six twenty-six.

“You get off now,” says Martha. “I’ll do the rest.”

She sees Milly perk up. Milly is twenty and it’s Friday night. It’s been a long week, and she has a boyfriend she yearns for all the time.

“Are you excited?” asks Milly. “About the weekend?”

“I am,” says Martha. “Slightly worried about leaving the baby with my brother. But, yeah, I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

She and Al haven’t been away together since before Nala was born. They were meant to be going away last month too, but Al had got called away by work. His job is like that. Sometimes he’s at home all the time, other times they call him in at the last minute and he’s away for days. He’s a good man, but his job is a pain in the arse.

She looks at her phone. Still no reply. For God’s sake.

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