The Secret Mother(27)

I run the gauntlet once again. Bulbs flash and questions are hurled. Same as yesterday. Thankfully, I only have to endure it for a few seconds, limping down the path and elbowing my way across the pavement until I enter the blissful calm of the taxi.



* * *



Work is my sanctuary. A haven. Even with the occasional gawping customer, I feel safe here, I have a purpose. The morning passes at a steady pace. I begin by sweeping the pathways, then continue with my veg planting in the greenhouse. I haven’t caught sight of Ben yet. He must still be at the bank. I hope his meeting goes well. I realise that I’m coming round to his proposal more and more. Maybe this extra responsibility is what I need to pull me out of my half-life and into something more real. But I can’t decide anything while I have all this stuff going on. If only the police would solve the mystery of who Harry is and where he belongs. When they clear my name once and for all, maybe things can start getting back to normal.

‘Tessa.’ I glance up from my seed packets to see Carolyn standing at the greenhouse door, fluffing out her short mousy hair with her fingertips. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’

No. Go away. I don’t want a visitor. ‘Hi, Carolyn.’ I manage a smile. ‘A visitor?’

‘She says she’s a friend.’

‘Who is it? Do you know?’ I put down my trowel and wipe my hands on my apron. ‘It might be one of the press pretending to be a friend.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t ask.’

In my head, I curse her for being so dumb, although I guess that’s unfair of me. It’s not her fault.

‘She’s in the café,’ Carolyn adds. ‘I’d better get back to the shop.’

‘Okay, thanks. I’ll be there in a mo.’

Carolyn turns and walks briskly back the way she came. I sigh and leave the greenhouse, limping behind her. I don’t have a good feeling about whoever is out there waiting for me.





Chapter Twelve





The café is already half full, even though it’s only 11.30. I wave to Janet, who’s serving behind the counter, and she smiles and points to a table in the corner where a woman sits with her back to me. The woman in question has shiny brown hair with sunglasses pushed up onto the top of her head. I haven’t witnessed the sun in north London since September, so I’m guessing it’s a fashion thing. I walk around the table, nervous to see who it is and what she wants.

Carly. My whole body tenses at the sight of her.

‘Tessa!’ she gushes, standing up and leaning in for a kiss on each cheek. Awkward doesn’t cover it.

I step away from her, my mind whirring.

‘Hope you don’t mind me coming to meet you at work like this,’ she says, her gravelly voice irritating me already. ‘This place is gorgeous, isn’t it? I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.’ She sits back down and takes a sip of her coffee.

‘Was it you?’ I demand.

‘Me?’ She tilts her head.

‘Yes, you. Did you sell that story about me to the newspapers?’

She sighs. ‘You’re being quite aggressive, Tessa.’

‘You told my colleague you were a friend,’ I say, ‘but you’re not here as a friend, are you?’

‘Well,’ she shrugs, ‘whatever the reason I’m here, we are still friends, aren’t we?’ She gives me what I’m sure she hopes is a winning smile, but I’m not falling for it.

‘My boss has barred the press from coming in,’ I say, my hands resting on my hips. ‘So I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. You’ll have to leave.’

Her eyes harden for a split second, but she reattaches her smile straight away. ‘Yes, but I’m not here in my capacity as press. I’m here to have a chat as a friend and a neighbour. I saw the board across your upstairs window this morning. I was worried.’

‘That’s bollocks,’ I say, a little too loudly, drawing the attention of an elderly couple at the next table. They tut and angle their bodies away from me. I sit down opposite Carly and lower my voice. ‘This is my workplace. I’m here to work, not chat with my neighbours.’

‘So why don’t I come to yours after work?’ she pushes. ‘I can bring a bottle of something sparkling and we can have a natter. Be like old times.’

She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. ‘I’m busy after work,’ I say.

‘Okay, how about I take you out for something to eat? What time’s your lunch break?’

‘Listen, Carly, I’m not going to have lunch with you, or have a drink with you, and actually, I think you’ve got a nerve coming into my workplace and badgering me like this after what you did.’

‘Did you have a break-in last night?’ she asks. ‘An accident? I heard someone might have thrown something through your window. Were you hurt?’ She takes another sip of her coffee.

‘You know very well what happened. And right now, you need to leave,’ I say through clenched teeth. ‘I’m not talking to you any more.’

‘Fine,’ she says airily, rising to her feet. ‘I came here to be friendly, hoping you might want to give me your side of the story. Everything in the papers is speculation, because you refuse to confirm or deny what actually happened with that poor boy.’