The door to the house opened before she reached it. Mrs Huntley, whom she had never met, stood in the doorway and regarded her without smiling.
‘We wondered when you’d be coming.’
Becky swallowed. She put a hand, with its chipped blue-painted nails, up to her hair and pushed it off her face.
‘I’ve been looking after Mum.’
Mrs Huntley surveyed her. She looked at her un-brushed hair and her jeans jacket and her long, grubby skirt and her unpolished boots. She said, as if making a concession, ‘You’d better come in.’ Becky followed her. The kitchen was low and small and shabby and clean. On a plastic-covered table by the window were several egg boxes holding weirdly sprouting seed potatoes, and, to one side of them, sat Tim Huntley, in his stockinged feet, eating something from a steaming plate. He gave Becky the merest glance and indicated the chair opposite him.
‘Sit down.’
Becky sat. She folded her blue nails out of sight and put her fists in her lap. Mrs Huntley poured a cup of tea from a pot on the range and put it on the table within Becky’s reach. Becky didn’t drink tea, hadn’t ever, really, had recently made a point of not drinking it, out of defiance.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘Well,’ Tim said. ‘What have you got to tell us?’
Becky looked at her tea. She would have liked something to hold, but she wasn’t sure her hand was steady enough to expose to the Huntleys’ gaze, lifting a cup. She said, ‘I – I don’t know what happened.’
Mrs Huntley said, ‘What did your mother say?’
Becky hesitated. Nadine had been unable to tell her exactly but had done a good deal of hinting. She’d been wildly upset, she said, at hearing of Becky’s running away and then outraged at Matthew’s refusal to let her come …
‘He didn’t,’ Becky said wearily.
‘He did, he did, he forbade me!’
… and then Tim had brought her a lamb and she thought she could cope and then she heard about Becky and panicked and rang Tim and he came and she was hysterical and then he slapped her and lugged her upstairs to bed and then …
‘What?’ Becky said.
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Did he try anything? Did he start mucking you about?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nadine said, ‘I can’t remember, I just know he scared me, he was rough, I didn’t know what was going to happen.’
Becky looked away now from both Tim’s and Mrs Huntley’s gaze.
‘She – she’s not very clear.’
Tim snorted.
‘We don’t want any nonsense,’ Mrs Huntley said. ‘We don’t mind looking after her, a bit of food and that, but we don’t want any trouble.’
‘I came,’ Becky said, loudly before her courage went, ‘to thank you for that, to thank you for getting the doctor.’
Tim shrugged.
‘She was hysterical.’
Becky said nothing.
He put a mouthful in, chewed a while and then said, ‘She was on the floor when I got there and when I tried to get her up, she went for me. So I slapped her. Slapped her to shut her up.’ He took a swallow of tea. ‘Then I took her upstairs. She was screaming all the way.’ He gave Becky a level look. ‘I put her on the bed. Then I went down and rang the doctor.’
Becky looked at her cup of tea. It was thick, milky brown. She said, ‘She’s better now.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
Mrs Huntley said, ‘Did she ring you?’
‘Yes—’
‘Who brought you? We saw a car, a red car—’
Becky hesitated.
‘My – stepmother.’
‘That was good of her,’ Mrs Huntley said.
Becky nodded. It had been good of her. It had also been deeply disconcerting, not so much the journey itself with the disquieting forced intimacy of being alone in a car together, but more when they got there and Josie had offered to come into the cottage with her.
‘No,’ she’d said. ‘No, it’s OK.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll come out,’ Becky said. ‘I’ll come out if there’s anything—’
Josie had looked up at her, out of the car window.
‘I’ll wait here.’
Becky had nodded. She’d put her hand on the cottage’s lopsided, rickety garden gate, and for a moment, had felt she could go no further. She stood there, head bent, looking at her hand on the gate and fighting, with every ounce of strength she possessed, the urge to turn round and say to Josie, ‘Come with me, please come.’ She’d won. It had taken her some time, but she’d won. She’d gone up the path to the cottage’s back door and in through the kitchen and up the stairs, step after step, to find Nadine lying in bed with her eyes closed. It was only then that she’d screamed, it was only then that she’d allowed herself to admit that she’d found what she dreaded to find, Nadine dead in bed because Becky hadn’t got to her quickly enough, because Becky was living somewhere else instead of here in the cottage, because Nadine now knew that somewhere deep in Becky a weary disbelief was beginning to stir about all the things Nadine said had happened, all the things Nadine accused other people of doing and saying, in order to hurt and undermine her.
After that, it was awful. Nadine opened her eyes and said something but Becky couldn’t stop screaming and her screaming brought Josie running in from the car and at the sight of Josie, Nadine just went ballistic and there was a horrible brawling scuffle that made Becky so sickened, so ashamed that she’d gone from screaming to utter silence in a second. Josie had managed, at last, to free herself, and Becky had followed her, despite Nadine’s demands and pleadings to her not to. They’d stood, shaking, by the car.
‘You’d better come back with me,’ Josie said.
Becky shook her head. She mumbled something.
‘What?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Look,’ Josie said. She was leaning against the car as if she couldn’t quite stand up without its help. ‘I know any remark I make will sound to you like a criticism of your mother, but will you be safe?’
‘Oh yes,’ Becky said. She turned her face away. ‘She’s – she’s never done anything like that before.’ She put a hand up and tugged at a strand of hair.
‘I can’t leave you here like this, alone with her. I must get a doctor or something.’
‘OK,’ Becky said. Her shoulders slumped a little.
‘It’s Saturday tomorrow. Maybe Dad could come—’ She stopped.
‘I’ll ring,’ Becky said. ‘I’ll ring and tell you.’
‘I’ll go and get you some food—’
‘No.’
‘Why not.’
‘She wouldn’t eat it,’ Becky said. ‘Not if—’ She paused and then she said, ‘We’ve got good neighbours.’
Josie stood upright, slowly.
‘But you’ll let me get a doctor?’
‘Yes,’ Becky said.
She’d stood in the road, watching Josie drive away. She drove very slowly as if shock and anxiety made it almost impossible for her to let the car go forward. When she was at last out of sight, round a bend in the lane, Becky turned and went back into the cottage. Nadine was standing by the kitchen table, her hands folded in front of her.
She said, very clearly, as if she’d been planning it, ‘I’m very sorry.’
Becky said nothing. She went past Nadine to the sink and leaned over it to open the window.
‘About everything,’ Nadine said.
Becky breathed in the air coming in from outside.
‘There’s a doctor coming.’
‘I don’t need one,’ Nadine said. ‘I’ve seen the doctor. Tim got her for me. I’ve got anti-depressants and some sleeping pills. I’d taken some of them before you came.’
‘Typical—’
‘What is?’
Becky turned round. ‘To ring me and then take sleeping pills which are meant for the night anyway.’