The First Mistake(33)

A couple of nearby residents commissioned me to redesign a room or two, and a local playschool asked me to create a new library space for the children. There was no real money in it though, as by the time I finished hand-painting a life-size farmyard mural on the wall, I was out of pocket, but the look on their faces was reward enough for me in the beginning.

Once Sophia arrived, I spent every minute that she slept tiptoeing my way through the designs and ideas that were strewn on the floor of the back room of our flat. But there still wasn’t enough time to get everything done before she woke up again and I’d often find myself awake at two in the morning, playing catch up. One night when the hormones and tiredness had got the better of me, Tom had held me in his arms and promised to be around more than he already was.

‘But you can’t,’ I’d cried. ‘You’re busy enough with your own work. I can’t expect you to do any more than you’re already doing.’

‘I’ll quit,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t want to be a civil engineer for the rest of my life.’

‘Quit?’ I’d said, panicking. ‘But we need your money coming in. AT is barely making anything.’

‘So, we’ll use my inheritance,’ he’d said. ‘It’s what Mum and Dad would have wanted.’

‘All of it?’ I’d asked.

He’d grimaced. ‘I’ll put a little bit by, just in case Daniel ever manages to turn his life around.’

‘But if your parents had wanted to leave some for your brother they would’ve.’

‘Yes, but they based their decision on the life he’s leading now,’ he’d said. ‘If he comes out of prison at some point and sorts himself out, then I know they’d want me to help him.’

‘Do you think that’s likely to happen?’ I’d asked, careful to tread lightly, knowing that his brother’s life choices had brought shame and embarrassment on the family.

‘It might,’ he had said. ‘You’d have to know Daniel to see the potential. He’s just somehow got caught up in doing bad things.’

Tom was a good man and our achievements had been a source of great pride to him. I still feel an enormous sense of responsibility to him, and to his parents, to ensure that it always remains so.

I look at Beth. ‘Maybe if there wasn’t all this other stuff going on, I might have been convinced. But right now, I just can’t see the wood for the trees. Everything feels so complicated.’

‘With Nathan, you mean?’

‘It just all feels a bit too much to deal with.’

Beth opens her mouth to speak but appears to think better of it.

‘So, how’s things with you?’ I ask. ‘Did you think anything more about Millie’s dad?’

‘Mmm, she brought it up again at the weekend,’ she says. ‘I’ve had a chat with her, just to see how she feels about it all and whether she really wants to know more about him.’

‘And she does?’

‘That certainly seems to be the way it’s looking,’ she says. ‘And I suppose I want to know where he is and what he’s doing too.’

I hear my phone ringing in my bag and immediately feel my pulse quicken, wondering if it’s Nathan, the office or Olivia’s school. Since when did I want to avoid so many people?

It’s an unknown number and I force myself to answer it. ‘Hello,’ I say gingerly, alert to the potential bad news it could be bringing to my door.

‘Mrs Davies?’ asks a male voice.

I hesitate before answering. Only cold callers would refer to me so formally. ‘Yes,’ I say, through a resigned sigh.

‘It’s Mark Edwards at Range Rover. Just to let you know that your car’s all ready for you. I’m afraid we’ve had to replace all four tyres.’

I resist the temptation to say, I bet if it had been Mr Davies you’d been dealing with, it would only have been two.

‘Why? What was the problem?’ I ask instead.

‘Well, the two front tyres were already flat, as you could see, but by the time the car reached us, both rear tyres were on their way as well.’

‘That’s ridiculously unlucky,’ I say, a tad sarcastically.

‘Indeed,’ he says. ‘You might want to rethink where you park it in future.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because it appears that all four tyres were slashed with a knife.’

A chill runs through me as I imagine someone systematically working their way around the car, thrusting a blade into the rubber.

‘You’ve gone white,’ says Beth, as I numbly end the call. ‘What is it?’

I force a smile. ‘That’s probably because they told me how much the car was going to cost.’

‘That’ll teach you for buying one for the same money that you could buy a house,’ she says, laughing.

‘Indeed,’ I say, ashamed at the comparison.

I know she’s only joking, but the comment makes the divide between our lifestyles painfully obvious. Perhaps everything that’s been happening lately is my payback; a warning not to take anything for granted.

‘So, what’s the next step?’ I ask, in an attempt to bat my paranoia away. ‘How are you going to go about finding Millie’s father?’