Tell Tale (47 page)

‘Typical Mr Palmer,’ I say, attempting a smile.
‘Non scholae sed . . .
or whatever it is.’

‘The show must go on.’ He puts on his jacket; jangles his keys.

I think of my show – of the films I was going to work on, taking Chameleon to the next level, of Josie’s musical. ‘Did you speak to Sylvia?’ I imagine her wrath at the hundreds of odd socks, the creased skirts, the muddy sports kits.

‘She sends her love,’ Adam assures me. Somehow his hand has settled on my shoulder. It’s drawing me close. A last embrace.

Suddenly I am in Adam’s arms, my face pressed to his chest, inhaling all that potential, everything that never was – not for a married woman – and all the common history between us.

Adam’s history
. . . I recall Sylvia’s words as we were introduced.

It’s true, I live in the past
. . . he’d replied.

We’re outside. He’s beside the car. ‘I hope it gets you back,’ I say, patting the roof, meaning the complete opposite. I pray it won’t even start. Laura stands in the light of the doorway, Josie and Nat beside her. They wave. Adam embraces me again.

‘We’ll speak soon. OK?’

That brings on the tears. I nod. Smile as best I can.

He gets in and starts the engine. A cloud of black fumes billows from the exhaust. He winds down the window, faking a cough. ‘Bye then.’

The car moves forward, but, before I know what I’m doing, I’ve hurled myself into its path. I land on the bonnet.

‘Stop!’

The sudden braking sends me sliding off the front and on to the road. Four faces stare down at me.

‘Mum, you could’ve killed yourself!’ Josie hugs me.

I stand up. ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Josie, get your things.’

‘What things?’

‘Anything. Your coat. Whatever you need for the rest of your life.’ I turn to Adam. He is shaken and pale. ‘We’re coming with you,’ I tell him.

‘What?’

‘Don’t trust anyone and don’t go back,’ I say. Josie is beside me wearing her coat, her shoes, hugging her arms round her body. She doesn’t want to risk being left behind again. ‘So I’m trusting
you,
Adam Kingsley, and we are
going
back
to Roecliffe.’ I bundle Josie into the car. ‘I have a job to do, and Josie needs a school to go to.’ I hug a speechless Laura, then Nat. ‘You can see her on Afterlife,’ I say to the shocked girl. ‘And come up in the holidays.’ It’s all so easy.

‘Josie?’ Nat circles the car and leans in at the window. ‘Are you really going?’

For a second, Josie looks pained. ‘I want to be with my mum. If she’s going, then I am too.’ She smiles weakly. ‘Everything’s horrid anyway.’ The girls hold hands and Josie allows Nat to open the car door and wrap her arms round her. The embrace is long and tender – the promise of lasting friendship, of holidays together, of chats online, of phone calls and letters.

‘Look after Griff for me.’ Josie wipes away a tear.

‘I’ll sit next to him at lunch every day and make sure no one else talks to him.’ The girls laugh. ‘Did you see that he’s changed his room on Afterlife again. He’s gone all pink. He told me last week that he’s getting in touch with his feminine side.’

Josie rolls her eyes and eases Nat out of the car. She blows her a kiss.

A moment later, I’m sitting beside Adam. ‘Go on then. Drive us home.’

He frowns, glancing sideways at me. ‘But the investigation? What about the police?’

‘I’m not under arrest. I’ll still help them. They can come and find me. Laura will tell them where I’ve gone. Just drive, Adam.’ Momentarily, I cover my face with my hands.
If what I’m doing is wrong, why does it feel so right? ‘Please.’

Adam stares, nods, then drives, coaxing the old car along the motorway as we head north to Yorkshire – sometimes sitting silently, watching as cities turn to countryside, and sometimes the three of us chattering excitedly, our words tumbling over each other until at last we pull down the long drive to the school.

From behind I feel the tentative fingers of my daughter creep along my shoulder. I reach back and hold her hand, feeling her grip tighten as she gets the first glimpse of Roecliffe Hall. Her eyes flick over the other girls in uniform as Adam parks the car. Her pupils widen. She licks her lips. ‘Don’t be scared,’ I tell her. Don’t be scared, I tell myself.