Chapter 9
The Present Day
The phone rings, and Rose is so shocked she physically jumps. The tub of Heroes jerks from her lap, and the shameful evidence of her binge eating spills out on to the carpet in a mass of shiny, multi-coloured foil wrappers. She kicks them under the sofa with her bed-socked feet.
It’s the landline. Nobody ever calls her on the landline any more. In fact, nobody ever calls her full stop. Apart from Joe, when he needs a lift or wants to check if he can stay out later.
Joe … she reminds herself that he is upstairs, safe, and that the landline call will not be from the police, telling her he’s had an accident, or been beaten up by chavs, or fallen down a well.
Which means it will probably be some nice man from India worrying about her levels of life assurance cover, or possibly her mother, calling to tell her Poldark is on.
Once she’s calmed down, she reaches over to the side table, and answers with a cautious hello. She doesn’t like to be rude to the nice men from India, they’re just trying to make a living after all, but she doesn’t want to encourage them either.
‘Good evening,’ says the voice, too posh and well modulated and elderly and English to be a nice young man from India. ‘Am I speaking to Mrs Rose Young?’
Rose mutters yes, and is suddenly, for no apparent reason, gripped by utter dread. Her entire body feels cold and shaky, and she has an almost irresistible urge to put the phone down. To end this conversation – this conversation she is convinced must not be allowed to happen.
‘Rose, my name is Lewis Clarke-Smith, and I’m afraid I’m calling with some bad news …’