Chapter 43
She wasn’t prepared to let the same thing happen on Friday morning.
Unlocking the shop at half past five, she stepped into the deserted street and stood sentry outside her door.
The occasional car idled past, a woman jogging with her dog in the pale early-morning sun on the opposite side of the road.
Maybe they wouldn’t come today, she thought, crossing her fingers, jiggling her foot against the wooden frame of the door.
Turning her options over in bed last night, she’d concluded that she needed to be more Liv in this situation.
Her sister wouldn’t passively wait for it to happen again.
God, what she wouldn’t give to have Liv standing beside her now, although in reality she was grateful, of course, that she’d be snoozing in bed in Portugal, oblivious.
In the distance she could see a pushbike approaching, someone dressed in dark clothing, and as they came nearer, her stomach clenched with fear when she saw the balaclava too.
Was this it? The bike slowed and, sure enough, the rider paused a few feet away and reached down inside their jacket, too preoccupied to notice her standing in the shadows to the side of the door.
He—definitely a he, by the build of him—ripped the lid from the large trifle and raised his arm, and in that same moment Kate stepped forward to challenge him.
He wavered, already committed to the act, and she raised her phone to record him, hoping her unexpected presence would be enough to throw him off guard.
Adrenaline surged through Kate’s body as she moved toward him, but then the trifle smacked her full in the face, making her splutter and gasp as it went inside her mouth and her eyes, splattering the window behind her with the force he’d thrown it.
She heard rather than saw the click of photos being taken, wiping cream from her eyes just in time to see the rider give her the middle finger before disappearing down the street.
She stood alone on the pavement, trifle dripping down her face and T-shirt.
It hadn’t hurt her, physically, but the force of it slapping her in the face, the shock of it going into her mouth…
she sat down on the shallow windowsill outside the shop and lowered her head between her knees, winded, full of fury and fear.
Had she escalated things rather than put a stop to them?
She’d expected kids, not a fully grown man in a balaclava.
It felt sinister and unsettling. Was it time to call the police now?
Even after this, the idea sat badly with her.
She should be able to handle this herself.
Involving the police would mean involving Liv, and that was the last thing she was going to let happen.
Right. Okay. She straightened her shoulders and checked her watch.
Not much after seven a.m . She’d wash the window, go upstairs and shower, and be back down in time to open the shop bang on nine o’clock.
No way was some pathetic guy with a BMX and a grudge going to get the better of her.
—
It wasn’t easy to stay resolute as she cleaned the scene with trifle crusting on her skin, and she might have cried a little in the shower as she shampooed clumps of cream from her matted hair, but nonetheless, nine a.m .
found her flipping the Closed sign to Open and stepping out onto the street to check the coast was clear.
Just the usual morning hubbub. People headed to work, parents grabbing coffee after dropping their kids at school, a couple of college girls carrying huge cups of Barbie-pink bubble tea from the new place farther down the street.
They made her think of Alice, a sharp twist of longing in her gut to hold her daughter close.
Everyone she’d normally turn to was somewhere else: Alice, Liv…
Charlie. He’d have made that list in the past too.
He messaged most days to ask if she needed anything from him.
It was difficult to discern if the texts were personal to her or bcc’d to all of his client list. Some days she replied with a polite no, other times she left them unanswered.
She hadn’t breathed a word to him or anyone else about what had been happening every morning.
Perhaps she’d tell him when he was home again, if she hadn’t miraculously found a way to resolve it before then.
Pulling out a notepad, she made coffee and tried to brainstorm solutions.
Report it to the police. She wrote it down then put a line straight through it because she didn’t want to do anything that risked involving Liv.
Talk to Prue and the team. But what could they do, really? She drew a line through that one too, because how could they practically help her at six in the morning?
Talk to Fiona. She didn’t even know why she’d written the option down in truth, because the only thing she’d get was an earful.
Kate had concluded that Fiona had no recollection of her from twenty years ago and little respect for the woman she was now.
She seemed to expect trouble to follow Kate around, and to take pleasure in her downfalls.
Buy every trifle within a five-mile radius. So that would be time-consuming and costly, and what the hell would she do with them all, and anyway, the shops would just keep restocking. It’d be a never-ending cycle. Line through.
Throw something back at balaclava man. But what?
Should she stick to the pudding theme and pelt him with a lemon drizzle cake?
Knowing her luck, she’d probably injure him and he’d sue her for every penny she didn’t have.
Liv would probably go big on this strategy, Death by Chocolate, but it just wasn’t in Kate’s nature to start hurling things at strangers in the street.
Which left her with a cold cup of coffee and a big old list of crossed-out nothings.