She scrolls through her phone to the photo she took before she started digging.
Kim studies it in fascination. ‘The cardboard,’ she says. ‘It looks new. It doesn’t look like it’s been sitting there for long.’
‘I know,’ says Sophie. ‘That’s what I thought when I saw it. At first I thought maybe it was something left over from a treasure hunt, maybe from one of the residential courses that were held at the Maypole over the summer. I sort of ignored it. But now, I don’t know. I can’t help thinking that someone might have left it there deliberately, for me to find.’
Kim throws her a look. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Just that it was our first day, for me and my partner, Shaun, he’s the new head teacher at the school, and it was attached to our garden fence and I thought …’ Sophie realises she needs to backpedal a bit to avoid sounding like she knows too much. ‘Well, I don’t know what I thought.’
‘I’ll have to take this to the police,’ Kim says, somewhat absently. ‘They’ll need to come back. They’ll need to search again. And the sign,’ she says, pointing at Sophie’s phone. ‘The cardboard sign. Is it still there? Did you leave it?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie nods. ‘Yes, I left it there. I didn’t even touch it.’
‘Good. That’s good. That’s …’ And then Kim starts to cry and Sophie unthinkingly throws an arm around her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t mean to throw you such a curveball. I had no idea …’
‘No.’ Kim sniffs loudly. ‘It’s not your fault. Please don’t worry. And this. This is great. Honestly. The police. They’ve done nothing for months. Ran out of avenues. Ran out of resources. Basically gave up. So this is amazing.’ She sniffs again. ‘Thank you somuch,’ she says. ‘Thank you for taking the time to find this, to find us. To give it back.’
From indoors a child’s voice calls out, urgently, ‘Nana! Nana! Now!’
Kim rolls her eyes again. ‘My grandson,’ she says, getting to her feet. ‘Noah. Well into the thick of the terrible twos. Honestly, I love him to death but I’m looking forward to him going back to nursery school next week.’
She goes to the front door, the ring held in her fist. She looks back at Sophie and says, ‘I feel like I know you. Have we met?’
‘You served me a cappuccino in the pub the other day.’
‘Oh,’ she says, ‘yes, that’s right.’ She waves the ring box at her and smiles. ‘Thanks so much. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you, truly.’
Kim lets herself back into her house and from the open window, Sophie hears her talking to her grandson. ‘Look,’ she’s saying, ‘look what a kind lady found. It’s a ring that your daddy bought to give your mummy, but he never had the chance. What do you think? Isn’t it pretty?’
20
February 2017
Each day that term, Tallulah arrives at college, scanning every corner of campus for Scarlett’s furry coat, listening out for the lackadaisical drawl of her voice, feeling for the energy that always spins in hoops round her. But there’s nothing; the intense buzz of Scarlett is gone, taking everything else with it in its wake. Days that had once felt piquant with possibility now feel flat and muffled and Tallulah becomes once again the studious teen mum with a weight on her shoulders.
But the weight on her shoulders isn’t Noah.
The weight on her shoulders is Zach.
He is good, he isso good, with Noah. He doesn’t resent night-time wake-ups, sharing a bed with a wriggling baby, changing nappies, endless walks around the common with the buggy. He’shappy to sit and peel through the same fabric books time after time after time, repeating the same words again and again. He bathes Noah, towel-dries Noah, buttons Noah into Babygros, mashes up food for him, spoons it into his mouth, cleans up after him, carries him when he doesn’t want to be put down, sits for ages at the side of his cot when he goes down for his daytime naps, sings to him, tickles him, loves him, loves him, loves him.
But the same intensity of love he uses to coddle his baby boy, he also shows to Tallulah. And Tallulah doesn’t want it. She loves Zach, but she loves him more as the father of her child than as a man in his own right. She wants him for help with the baby, to slowly circle supermarkets with her, push the trolley, put his debit card to the contactless machine as the total goes through. But she doesn’t want him for cuddles or companionship or emotional intimacy. She doesn’t want him to always bethere. And he is always sothere. If she goes to the kitchen, he goes to the kitchen. If she decides to have a lie-down when Noah’s napping, he’ll lie down with her. If she’s at the desk in her room doing college work, he’ll be lying on the bed texting his mates. Sometimes she hides in the garden, just to escape him, just for a few minutes, and she’ll hear his plaintive voice coming from indoors: ‘Lules. Lules! Where are ya?’
And she’ll roll her eyes and say, ‘I’m just out here.’
And he’ll appear and he’ll say, ‘What you doing out here then? Aren’t you cold?’ And then hustle her back indoors and make her a mug of tea and sit with her to drink it and ask her about things she doesn’t want to talk about, or say, ‘Come here,’ and bring her into an embrace she doesn’t want, and she tries not to let him feel it in the sinews of her body, the need she has just to push himaway, just to sayplease please can you not just leave me alone for five minutes.
On Sundays though, Zach plays football with his friends on the common and Tallulah has the house to herself. She and her mum eat toast and play with Noah and it just feels nice and easy.
On the first Sunday of February, Tallulah waits until Zach has left the house and then she heads down to the kitchen.
‘Morning, beautiful,’ says her mum, taking her head in her hands and kissing her on the crown.
‘Morning,’ she says, hugging her mum briefly and then leaning down to kiss Noah, who sits in his high chair. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, sweetie. How are you?’