The Stepmother(91)

 

‘Who cares what they like?’ Her bottom lip juts out. ‘I don’t.’

 

‘You have to go back.’ I feel exhausted already, and the day hasn’t even begun. ‘You know that, Scarlett. It’s not up to me.’

 

She stares into her bowl.

 

‘Why don’t you want to go back?’ I ask gently.

 

‘Forget it,’ she mutters, and I realise I’ve blown it. No amount of pleading will make her tell me now, though I do try.

 

Something is troubling me badly.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Having promised to let her know what train I put Scarlett on, I ignore Kaye’s increasingly hysterical texts. When she begins to demand that Scarlett call her, knowing Scarlett will refuse, I switch my phone off altogether – though the reception out here is rubbish at the best of times.

 

Trying to cheer Scarlett up, hoping to maybe eke out a bit of what’s making her so low, I suggest a quick walk round Ilam Park on the way to catch the train. It’s in the wrong direction, but it’s still early.

 

‘I’ll buy you a cream tea at the café.’ I give her a big smile – but she just jams on huge sunglasses and glowers out of the windscreen without answering.

 

Ilam is in the dip of breathtakingly beautiful hills, and it’s a clear morning, the sky a forget-me-not blue – apart from one ominous cloud over the mountain of Thorpe Cloud. It may or may not be headed for us – it’s hard to tell.

 

We drive into the National Trust car park for Ilam Hall. It’s only eight thirty, and the place is quiet, almost deserted. A few staff bustle around the main courtyard, setting up for the day, but really we have the place almost to ourselves.

 

We make our way down through the terraced gardens and towards the River Manifold. Scarlett makes a point of staying at least five feet behind me most of the way, swiping at the trees with a bamboo stick she’s picked up.

 

As we walk I debate how best to broach the subject.

 

‘I do see how hard it is for you,’ I start eventually, as we near St Bertram’s bridge. ‘You probably don’t want to hear this, but I came from a broken home myself…’

 

‘No, I don’t want to hear,’ she says rudely, and I feel the heat in my face as we pass it, walking on to the next bridge.

 

‘Look, you’re not the first kid in the world who’s had to put up with a stepmother.’ I’m unable to control my sudden irritation.

 

‘Really?’ she says, even more rudely than before. ‘It’s not the stepmother I have a problem with,’ she continues.

 

‘Well good.’ I open the small gate to the bridge that leads to the fields, talking over my shoulder. ‘Because I do have your best interests at heart, whatever you may think. I’m concerned about you, Scarlett.’

 

‘Why don’t you just get lost, Jeanie?’ she snaps.

 

I stride over the bridge, biting back another retort. About to swing my leg over the stile at the end, the black cloud over Thorpe Cloud bursts.

 

The sudden deluge is so hard it stings my face.

 

Blinded by the rain, I concentrate on clambering over the slippery stile. On the other side, I turn to offer Scarlett a hand.

 

She’s not there. ‘Scarlett?’

 

She must have gone off in a strop – a ‘mard’, as they’d say locally.

 

Quickly I scan my surroundings.

 

A couple of ramblers cower beneath an oak on the other side of the river, brandishing a now soggy map. A woman in a red anorak with a black Labrador is walking up the far hill.

 

No Scarlett that I can see.

 

Cursing quietly, I make my way back over the stile, rain driving into my face and dripping horribly down my neck.

 

The most blood-curdling scream shatters the still air.

 

‘Scarlett?’

 

I rush over the bridge, slipping in my haste so that I go down hard on one knee. It’s agony, but I am up again immediately, dashing water from my face. ‘Scarlett?’ I’m yelling now at the top of my voice. ‘Where are you?’

 

Still no answer; no more screams.

 

I run along the riverbank for a few seconds. ‘Did you see her?’ I cry at the ramblers, but they just look stunned.

 

And then movement above me attracts my eye.

 

A dark, hooded male figure bolts, like a creature from Hades, out of the trees on the steep incline above the river, away and over the top of the hill.

 

‘Scarlett!’ I bellow, panicking, panicking—

 

And then a sodden figure launches itself into my arms, nearly knocking me down again. A sobbing Scarlett.