Joanne Sefton Book 2

*

The streets outside the taxi became more spacious, more suburban, and eventually turned into ones she knew well. It was not quite ten, so not a late evening. Callie should be in bed, although she’d probably be trailing her feet, unless Tash had decided that she was in the mood for playing the grown-up and nagging her sister along. It had always been Evie who had been left in charge before this year. Tash was still deciding how she felt about the responsibility. Karen smiled at the thought of it.

Remembering her own days at university naturally made her wonder how Evie’s were comparing. She hoped that her oldest daughter was a little more streetwise, a bit more self-confident than she’d been as a wide-eyed grammar school girl desperate to fit in. She’d certainly seemed to be enthusiastic when she came home at Christmas, but then Karen felt sure she would have given the same impression to her own parents.

The driver pulled up across the driveway, following her directions. She fumbled for her keys and some cash to tip him with. She pulled out a tenner then pushed it back into her purse; she really did need to start trying to budget more carefully.

Once inside she called a soft ‘hello’, not wanting to wake Callie if, by some miracle, she had actually decided to go to sleep. Getting no response, she pulled off her heels and went to the kitchen to flick the kettle on before she investigated further. Upstairs, her younger daughter was reading in bed, her hair still slightly damp and smelling like fruity sweets.

‘Mmm. You had a bath?’

‘Yeah. Just a quiet night really. Tash was being grumpy so I thought I’d have a bath. I used that facemask I got for Christmas. Can you tell?’

‘You look radiant!’ She kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘Tash sorted some food for you, though? I left some tagine out.’

‘Yeah. We had that and I made some couscous but she didn’t want it. You only have to pour the water on, though; it’s not hard. I put in a bit of olive oil and raisins like you do.’

‘That’s right, well done, sweetheart. You should be putting your light out now, though.’

‘I just …’ She started flicking forward in the novel.

‘No, not at the end of the chapter. Now. I know what you’re like. And you should be asleep already.’

‘All right. Night, night. Oh, did you have a nice time?’

Karen found herself laughing. ‘I’m not responding to the delaying tactics. You can ask me tomorrow. Night, night.’

Tash was in her bedroom too, still dressed and sitting cross-legged against the headboard. She had her phone in one hand and the other was raised to her chin, so she could chew the cuff of her sweatshirt, a childhood habit she’d never broken despite plenty of nagging. Karen’s heart softened at the sight of her.

‘Tash?’

‘Hmm.’ She looked up, slightly startled. ‘Mum, hi, you’re back.’

‘Yep. Everything go okay here?’

Tash nodded. ‘Yep, nothing to report. I suppose I should be getting to bed now. Time ran away with me a bit.’

‘What are you up to on there?’

‘Oh, nothing, internet rubbish.’ She yawned. ‘Was it nice to see Andrew?’

‘Yes, he’s doing well. I asked him to the party.’

Tash gave a mischievous grin. ‘Maybe he’ll bring someone.’

‘Maybe, who knows? But I’m going to have a cuppa and stick the news on, then I’ll be heading to bed. You should stop staring at that phone. Come down and tell me about your day?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got to get my orchestra stuff together at the moment. I’ll go over the fingering or Mrs Wilson will totally call me out – don’t worry, I won’t actually play. I know Callie should be sleeping. But could you do me a tea and I’ll be down in ten minutes or so?’

‘Course. Just a builder’s?’

‘Actually, could I have one of your jasmine-y ones? I like them.’

‘Cheeky!’

‘Cheers, Mum.’

While the tea brewed, she noticed the message light was flashing on the landline. An unease washed over her at the sight of it. Her mother used to use it, before a stroke immobilised her six months after Jonathan’s death and then another finished her off six months later. After that, the only calls were from PPI and insurance claim scam merchants. Karen had thought about getting rid of it but never got around to it. The solicitor she was using to try to sort this financial mess had asked for a landline number and seemed determined to continue using it no matter many times she politely suggested her mobile might be more convenient.

Sure enough, there was a terse message saying they had an update and asking her to get in touch as a matter of urgency.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Tash, who had appeared silently, her flute still clutched in her hand.

‘Oh, just a solicitor. I need to sort out some financial stuff. It’s not a biggie but I suppose solicitors are the sort of people who like to sound important.’

Tash nodded, uninterested, then brightened.

‘The post came late. There was a parcel from Auntie Manda,’ she said. ‘Callie and I opened it because we knew it was her writing, and it had the American stamps and everything.’

‘And did she send you both something nice?’ Karen handed her daughter the green tea, smiling indulgently.

‘Yes. Some beauty stuff that you can’t get over here. Primer and moisturiser and a few lip colours too. It’s a new brand, I think. She sent enough for Evie but she’s just going to have to have the last choice of colours for a change.’ Her gleeful look fell away. ‘She sent some random tablets for you, Mum. Don’t know what that’s about. Is Auntie Manda a drug pusher now, or something?’

Karen forced a tight smile. ‘Well, possibly, you never know with Manda, do you? Look, I think I’m going to take that tea to bed after all. I’ll bring yours up too and we’ll have more of a chat in the morning, okay? I must be getting old when a trip up to town feels this tiring!’

‘You’re not old, Mum, you just need to do it more often.’

‘Well, perhaps you’re right. Don’t stay up too late, okay?’

‘I won’t, love you.’

‘Love you, darling. Night-night.’

Chapter 8 (#ulink_2f71b0cb-5db2-5f50-ba65-ae34fed961ad)

Tasha

2019

‘Full fathom five thy father lies.’

Tash thought she could probably have got some sort of compassionate exemption from having The Tempest as a set text, but nobody had thought to ask if she was bothered by it. Least of all her mum, who just giggled when she told her, and then went on about how she’d seen it in Stratford on a school trip in the early 1980s when Ariel’s tights had caused collective hysteria amongst the Sevenoaks Grammar School girls.

Instead of studying, Tash was wedged in her window seat looking down over the back garden where Karen stood, like a suburban Prospero, waving her mobile phone around at a couple of bewildered Eastern Europeans trying to erect the marquee. It was obvious that she loved this house. She couldn’t resist taking every opportunity to show it off, like she was the chatelaine of fucking Chatsworth or something. They used to live in a little Victorian terrace close to the station until they got this with Jonathan’s life insurance money and the inheritance from Tasha’s gran. Tash knew in her heart that her mother had been devastated when her dad died, but his careful investments had undoubtedly provided a silver lining. When she was feeling uncharitable, Tash occasionally wondered if, given the choice, Karen would have picked the house and the money over having her husband back.

That was what the party was about – Karen’s chance to show off her gorgeous house, her charming daughters, her wonderful charity work. Tash wasn’t sure quite what it was that her mother felt she had to prove, but it was bloody exhausting watching her doing it. Callie said she wanted a party – what twelve-year-old wouldn’t? But this was Karen’s own vanity project, make no mistake.

Still, at least Stanno was coming.