The Secret Mother(24)
‘But I can’t let you—’
‘It’s one thirty now,’ he interrupts. ‘I don’t want you coming back to work until at least half two.’ And with that, he leaves.
I glance around the inviting space, my heart still racing from the encounter with that acidic woman. I would love to have a nose around Ben’s house – it looks like an incredibly calm and inviting place to live – but I respect his privacy and remain in the kitchen. After eating a steaming bowl of home-made minestrone soup, I feel a little more refreshed, much less shaky, and ready to return to work.
* * *
That afternoon, the garden centre is quieter and I’m able to go back to my seeds and the blissful silence of the greenhouse. When Jez comes in to see how I’m getting on, he confirms that there are still a few journalists hanging around outside the gates. I wish I could stay in this peaceful place forever. At 4 p.m., dusk sweeps across the gardens and I have to switch on the halogen lamp to see what I’m doing. All too soon, it’s time for Moretti’s to close and for me to go home.
My pulse begins to race in anticipation of the walk home. Maybe I should call a cab, but I can’t afford to shell out for any more taxis – it defeats the object of going to work in the first place. I can’t ask Ben for a lift; he’s already done so much for me that I feel I’m becoming a burden. But I needn’t have worried. He’s leaning against his truck, and when he sees me, he waves me over.
‘Hop in, I’m taking you home.’
The polite part of me wants to decline, but the terrified part heaves a sigh of relief and gets in.
‘Thank you, Ben.’ I pull down my seat belt and clip it in place.
‘As if I’d let you walk out on your own and face that lot.’
‘They’re all still there, then? I haven’t dared look.’
‘I’m afraid so.’ He starts up the engine, turns on the headlamps and cruises towards the gates.
‘Which means they’ll probably be outside my house, too.’
‘I can come in with you,’ he offers.
‘No, no, I’ll be fine. If you could just drop me outside, that would be amazing.’
‘Let’s see when we get there. Just a thought, but you might want to undo your belt and scooch down again.’
‘Good point.’ I do as he suggests and brace myself for rapping on the window and shouted questions.
‘Get ready,’ Ben says.
The engine growls as he accelerates hard through the gates and out onto the road. I hear the screech of tyres and use the heels of my hands to steady myself against the front of the footwell. I hear shouts from outside, and bright camera flashes briefly illuminate the truck’s interior.
‘Well, that was fun,’ Ben says. ‘Haven’t driven like that since I was seventeen and trying to impress Marie Philips. You can come out now.’
I straighten up and sit back in the passenger seat. ‘Marie Philips?’
‘A girl from school.’
‘Did it work? Was she impressed?’
‘No. She fell for a twenty-two-year-old car mechanic from Finchley. I didn’t stand a chance.’
We drive the rest of the way in companionable silence. I peer in the wing mirror every so often to check if anyone is following us. The traffic is quite heavy now, so maybe we are being followed, maybe we aren’t. I can’t tell.
As we turn into my road, my body tenses. No surprises: the cluster of journalists is still there, gathered by my front gate. I don’t know what they’re expecting. I’m not going to talk to them, so they should just bugger off home.
Ben slows the truck. ‘You can kip at my place if you want. The spare bed is really comfy.’
‘I’ll be okay,’ I say. ‘Thanks, though.’
‘Thing is, I won’t be able to pick you up tomorrow. I’ve got a meeting with the bank first thing.’
‘It’s okay, Ben. I don’t expect lifts from you. You’ve been an absolute godsend today, but I’ve put up with them once, so I’m sure I’ll be able to handle them okay tomorrow.’ This is a blatant lie. The thought of walking to work with them following me scares me senseless.
‘Stay home if you can’t deal with them, we can cope.’ He catches my eye, letting me know he means what he says.
‘Thanks, but I want to work.’ We’re right outside my house now and the press are gathering around Ben’s truck like zombies hungry for flesh. ‘Here goes,’ I say, sounding braver than I feel. I take a breath to steel myself.
‘Good luck, Tess.’
‘Thanks, Ben. I mean it, you’ve been so kind. And good luck with your meeting tomorrow.’ I open the car door and barge my way through the throng.
‘Who was that in the car, Tessa? Was that your boss?’
‘Are you two together, Tessa?’
‘Is he your boyfriend?’
‘Did he help you abduct that boy?’
Finally, I’m through my front door. Home. I should probably eat something, but I still haven’t managed to do any food shopping. I climb the stairs, pull on my pyjamas and fall into bed, too tired to deal with any more crap. Too tired to think. My eyes close.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep immediately. But now I’m awake, staring wide-eyed at the curtains, an almighty smash of breaking glass ringing in my ears, a dull pain in my leg. What the hell? Loud footsteps running away. I turn on my bedside light without thinking about who might be able to see in.