What Lies Between Us(23)

As a result of my expanded hours, Nina and I have been passing like ships in the night. She’s been returning home from school each day to an empty house, and by the time I arrive, she has already eaten her tea and is upstairs behind closed doors doing her homework. I dislike living this way, but I have little choice.

Making my way towards the post office, I realise it’s been about a year since Nina miscarried and I still find myself treading on eggshells around her. Young people grow up much quicker than they did in my day, so I’m trying to move with the times and be a more modern parent. I’ve placed fewer restrictions on where she goes and I’ve given her generous curfews for when she goes out with her friends. I’ve asked her to limit her alcohol intake and made her promise that if she’s going to be intimate with a boy, then it’s not while she’s drunk and to make sure he wears protection. I don’t think she’s ready for this adult world but short of locking her in the attic, what else can I do? I only hope that if I offer her a long enough lead, she’ll always have the means to find her way home.

Maybe I’m placing too much emphasis on trying to be her friend and not enough effort into being her mum. But I want her to like me and to stop seeing me as the enemy who drove her dad away or told her she’d never have a family of her own. Of all my regrets, telling her that when she was at her most vulnerable is up there with the biggest of them.

I hope we are over the worst of Alistair’s aftermath, but I’m a realist. Perhaps I’m being hyper-vigilant but I’m constantly on the lookout for signs that she’s up to something I wouldn’t approve of or is lying to me.

Last night, she passed me in the corridor as she left the bathroom, clad in an oversized white dressing gown. She hadn’t worn it for months, but suddenly, it’s fallen back into favour. When she spotted me, she pulled her sleeves down and wrapped it up tight and for a second, it crossed my mind that she might be hiding her arms for signs of needle marks. Then I told myself she couldn’t be that stupid to be a drug abuser. It would explain her mood swings. But still, I can’t shake the feeling that something is happening under my own roof that I don’t know about.

Nina weighs so heavily on my mind that I don’t hear or see the car when I step out into the road until it blasts its horn at me. I step back and catch the driver giving me the finger. Motherhood will be the death of me.

‘Are you all right, Maggie love?’ a voice from behind me asks. I turn to see Saffron’s mum, Erica.

‘Oh hello.’ I smile.

‘That was a close call.’

‘I was away with the fairies.’ I note that she’s dressed in her Tesco’s uniform. ‘Are you finishing or about to start?’

‘Just finished,’ Erica replies and rolls her eyes. ‘I was there for seven a.m. so now I’m done for the day. How are you?’

I want to answer, ‘I’m broke, I can barely afford the mortgage, my daughter hates me and the life I loved has turned to crap.’ But I don’t. ‘Oh, you know,’ I reply vaguely.

‘How’s Nina?’

‘She’s staying over at yours tonight, isn’t she?’

‘Mine?’ She appears puzzled.

‘Yes, it’s Tuesday, isn’t it? She usually stays over at yours tonight?’

Twice a week, on a Tuesday and a Friday, I’ve given Nina permission to sleep at Saffron’s house. While I’m not keen on her friend – she is far too opinionated for my liking – I decide it’s best if I pick my battles. This isn’t one of them. At least if Nina is under Erica’s roof then I know she is safe.

‘Is that what she’s been telling you?’ says Erica. ‘I’m sorry, love, but she’s not slept over at ours in weeks. She and Saffy had a right old ding-dong over some lad and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since.’

I hesitate, unable to recover fast enough to pretend I’m aware of this already and had simply forgotten. I feel my face flush. Neither of us knows what to say next. So I give Erica an awkward half-smile and leave the conversation at that.



Nina times finishing her dinner with the closing credits of Neighbours, then she hurries upstairs to grab an overnight bag and her schoolbag. She mumbles ‘See you tomorrow’ before closing the front door behind her.

I hover in the lounge, peering at her from behind the curtains and allowing her a head start before I grab my coat and handbag and follow her. Ignoring my advice not to wear headphones when she’s outside is working in my favour, because she has no clue her mother is on her trail. She cuts through the Racecourse Park before skirting around the perimeter of the town centre, then reaching Greyfriars bus station. I follow her inside the cavernous red-brick building and hang back by a vending machine as she enters the public toilets. She leaves ten minutes later with a full face of make-up and a different set of clothes. Nina is favouring the baggy look at the moment, which does little for her figure. Her jeans are ripped at the knee and I can see her bra straps on her shoulders. She stores both bags in a locker and continues her journey without hesitation. These movements are too choreographed for her not to have done them many times before. How stupid of me to have trusted her.

Nina makes her way into the town centre and enters the Prince William pub. It’s been here for as long as I can remember but I have never been inside. There are at least a dozen motorbikes parked parallel to one another on the street outside. Nina smiles and chats to the doorman as if they are familiar with one another. He doesn’t ask her for proof of age and points her towards the back of the rock music venue.