8
8
Fiona stood in her steamy bathroom, the fan whirring and attempting to suck the moisture from the room. She reached out to the mirror and wrote the three names.
She circled the top one before rubbing them out with her palm, and she smiled.
All the plans she’d made in prison.
Finally, it was happening.
‘Where are we going?’
Fiona and Rose sat opposite each other in the packed train carriage, which had filled up after they’d boarded at Sanderstead: a noisy group of teenagers, parents taking their kids into London to seek school holiday entertainment, businesspeople heading to meetings. Fiona breathed in through her nose and out through pursed lips, practising the exercises she’d learned years ago, the ones that helped her maintain control when surrounded by too many people. Their noise, their inane conversations, worst of all their stink . It was hard to focus on her excitement – the beginning of her summer project – when she was surrounded by so many bleating sheep. Rose had to repeat her question several times before Fiona realised the girl was talking.
‘Sorry, Rose. Where are we going ? Well, I promised your dad this would be an educational summer and today is going to be about history. And architecture.’
‘ Architecture? ’
Fiona smiled. ‘It’ll be fun. Trust me.’ She found that, by concentrating on Rose’s face, her freckles, the gap between her teeth, she was able to block out the noise and smell of the herd, including the sweaty man beside her, who kept scratching his beard, flakes of skin – illuminated by the sunlight that streamed through the train’s windows – falling into his lap like pathetic snow.
‘We’ll go to the park too,’ she said as a sweetener. ‘Get an ice cream.’
Rose frowned with confusion, and Fiona sensed it was because she didn’t know how open to be with her. Fiona wanted to tell her it was fine for her to be completely herself. That she could reveal her inner thoughts and that Fiona wouldn’t judge her. But there were too many people around. That conversation would have to wait.
Scratch scratch , went the man beside her. He was in his thirties, staring at his phone, fingernails too long.
‘It’s great that your mum agreed to this,’ Fiona said.
Emma had been round to see her last night, after she got home from work. Apparently Rose had been texting her mum all afternoon, making the case for why hanging out with Fiona for the next few weeks would be better for her than going to the holiday club.
‘My issue is that I don’t really know you,’ Emma had said to Fiona. ‘It’s not that I want to appear like I don’t trust you, but ...’
Fiona, who had wiped off the lipstick and changed into a long skirt, put her hands up. ‘I totally get it. What do you want to know? Actually, before we start, do you want a cup of tea? Or a glass of wine? You look like you could do with one.’
‘Am I that transparent? I’m tempted, but I’d better stick with tea.’
Fiona knew that Emma worked selling pet food. A booming industry, apparently, though Fiona could hardly imagine doing something that tedious. Had the young Emma foreseen her future as one in which she flogged dog meat? Something must have gone wrong along the way.
Fiona made tea and said, ‘Come and meet Karma the kitten.’
They went into the living room, where Karma was asleep in her bed on the floor.
‘I’m getting cute rage,’ Emma said. ‘You know, where something is so adorable that you can hardly bear it and you just want to squeeze it?’
‘Oh, I do. So what do you want to know about me?’
The next hour played out like an interview; one in which Fiona got to practise telling her story. Her name was Fiona Smith – ‘I know, so boring’ – and she had lived in the UK for sixteen years. First part a half-lie, the second part true. Both her parents were dead and she had no reason to go back to Australia. Not true. Before coming to live here in South Croydon she’d worked in the City, going to an office in Canary Wharf every day, but she’d been made redundant during the pandemic. Absolute horseshit. Her new job, doing something in banking that she said was too dull to go into, was due to start in September. Also a lie. There was no job lined up. She had other plans to make money.
‘I know you’re not supposed to ask this question,’ Emma said, ‘but it feels relevant: have you never wanted kids of your own? I mean, I know you’re not too old, but ...’
She winced and Fiona arranged her face to show mild wistfulness. ‘I did once. But my partner never wanted them.’
‘He didn’t want to be a dad?’
‘She. And no, she said she never had that maternal urge.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Emma’s face flushed pink. ‘I shouldn’t have assumed.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ But she let it linger for a few moments. People like Emma had many fears, but one of the biggest was the horror that they might appear prejudiced in any way.
‘I always thought I might be able to persuade her, but then ... well, it was too late.’ Fiona squeezed her eyes shut, so they appeared moist when she reopened them. ‘She died.’
‘Oh my goodness. How awful.’
‘It’s okay. It was a few years ago. But yeah, I never got to be a mother – though I promise I’m not trying to fill some kind of weird hole in my life with Rose.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘To be honest, I don’t even like little kids that much. But eleven, twelve, it’s such an interesting age. Between childhood and growing up. I suppose I have this picture of myself as a kind of cool aunt, which I also never got to be because I’m an only child.’ She grimaced. ‘Listen to me. A full-on self-pity party. Emma, I would totally understand if you didn’t want your daughter hanging out with this sad Aussie who you hardly even know. I’m sure this holiday club will be fun. Rose thinks she’s going to hate it, but I’m sure it will be good for her.’
It was such a mix of lies and truths that Fiona herself was beginning to lose track, to believe it all herself.
Emma sighed. ‘If I make her go to that club she’ll hate me forever.’
Fiona didn’t say anything.
‘Sod it. If you’re absolutely sure you don’t mind, you would be doing us a massive favour. But I insist that we pay all your expenses, and if you get fed up or she’s difficult in any way, you need to let us know straight away.’
They shook hands and then Emma went back to tell Rose the good news.
Fiona sat there with Karma in her lap until it grew dark, making plans. Having a little helper was going to make things so much easier.
But it was only when they were out and about that Fiona realised there was a surprising advantage to being accompanied by a child. When she bought the tickets, the woman behind the desk asked, ‘Is your daughter under sixteen?’ It hadn’t even entered her head that people would think she was Rose’s mother, but on the train a man nudged his teenager and said, ‘Move over, make room for this woman and her daughter.’ He proceeded to smile at her as his son huffed. The man rolled his eyes at her, saying, ‘Kids, eh?’
‘Yes,’ Fiona responded. ‘Kids.’
‘The days are long and the years are short, am I right?’
That man had got off a few stops back, saying, ‘I hope you have a nice day out.’
Fiona also noticed a couple of older people smile at her, and something else too. Often, when she went out, she would catch young men giving her the eye. A blonde woman with a nice figure and a pretty face. Of course they did. But when she was with Rose she became invisible to these men. Some of them might be into MILFs in their fantasies, but in real life they just saw a mum. No longer a sexual object. She realised that, in the eyes of society, she appeared to have a new identity. A mother. A harmless mum out with her child.
Half the world wouldn’t even notice her. And the other half certainly wouldn’t suspect her of anything bad.
That included the grotesque man beside her now, who was still scratching when they pulled into Victoria. The moment the train juddered to a halt, Fiona stood up and trod on the scrofulous dickhead’s foot, stamping her Doc Marten down on his soft trainers.
He cried out.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
She wanted to tell him he was lucky they weren’t alone in the carriage – or on a dark platform, late at night, nobody around, a train heading into the station. All it would take was a nudge, followed by flailing limbs, a cry of alarm drowned out by the rush of the train. She could see it. Feel the heat in her bones as she pictured it; pulse accelerating, blood thickening, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
‘Come on, Rose,’ she said, studying the girl’s face for signs, but Rose’s face remained neutral. Watchful. ‘This is us.’
They changed on to a train to Herne Hill and turned right out of the station. Fiona took a baseball cap out of her bag and slipped it on, tucking her ponytail through the gap at the back and pulling the peak low. It might have been four years but there would still be people around here who knew her. Who remembered what she had done.
They passed the pub where she and Maisie had spent many hours at the pool table, beating anyone foolish enough to take them on, then turned on to a side street which was lined with tall trees. Beneath one of these trees was a bench. They sat down.
‘What are we doing?’ Rose asked, looking all around.
‘Before I tell you, let me ask you something. When you heard that Albie had been hurt in that accident, how did it make you feel?’
Rose blinked at her. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on. You can be honest with me. Do you want to know how I felt?’ Fiona glanced around, then put her face close to Rose’s. Conspiratorial. ‘I thought serves him right .’ Rose’s eyes widened. ‘Serves him right for being so mean to you, and for getting his dogs to scare poor Lola. He was rude to me too. Insulting. So no, I don’t feel sorry for him.’
She waited for Rose’s response. She appeared to be thinking hard. Eventually she said, ‘My dad says we shouldn’t wish harm on anyone. He says that kids who are bullies or mean probably have bad home lives and that we should feel sorry for them. Try to understand them.’
‘Hmm.’ The very definition of a bleeding-heart liberal. ‘And what do you think, Rose? I promise this isn’t a trap. I’m not going to snitch. I just want to understand how you feel. Does Rose Dove agree with her dad?’
‘It’s wrong to be glad that someone else is suffering.’
‘Is that another quote from your dad? It’s okay. I’m not going to argue with you. You probably think I’m a bad person for saying I think it served him right. But do you know what else I think, Rose? Something that’s even more important. I think you shouldn’t fight your feelings.’ She laid a hand on her own belly. ‘Right here, in your gut, that’s where the truth lies. I let that guide me. Put your hand on your belly, Rose.’
Rose obeyed.
‘What’s your gut telling you right now?’
‘That I’m hungry.’
Fiona laughed. ‘Okay. I promised you an ice cream, didn’t I? We can—’
She fell quiet because the front door of the house they were sitting diagonally opposite was opening. It was him. Max. Fiona immediately put her hand in front of her face to shield it, but he was too busy staring at his phone to look over. He began to shuffle up the street away from them, thumbing his phone as he went.
Hurriedly, Fiona said, ‘We can go to the café in the park in a little bit. But first, I’m going to tell you a little secret.’
Rose’s eyebrows went up. ‘A secret?’
‘We’re not really here to study architecture. That’s boring. Houses are houses, right? I’m actually going to teach you something far more useful. We’re going to study spycraft. Does that sound exciting?’
‘Spycraft? Like, what, pretend we’re spies?’ Rose was looking at her like her bullshit detector was flashing red and beeping. ‘Are you for real?’
‘One hundred per cent. And we’re going to start now. We’re going to follow that man.’
Max was already heading away from them down the street, still ambling along, not watching where he was going. Fiona noted that he was wearing a smart shirt and suit jacket on top, but scruffy jeans and trainers on his bottom half. What was that all about? And why was he at home on a Tuesday morning?
She got up from the bench and gestured for Rose to do likewise.
‘It’s important that he doesn’t see us,’ Fiona said. ‘But I don’t want to lose track of him. Okay? So we follow, but keep back. If he sees us, we fail. Got it?’
‘I guess.’
‘Don’t guess . This is important.’ She took hold of Rose’s forearm, momentarily forgetting herself and her own strength.
‘Ow! That hurts.’
Rose’s voice was shrill and Fiona glanced up quickly, afraid their quarry would turn and see her. But he was oblivious – and almost out of sight.
‘I’m sorry. I want you to take this seriously, though, okay? It’s part of your education. If this is going to work, if you don’t want to go to the holiday club, you need to do what I say.’
Still Rose didn’t move, and Fiona realised she’d upset her and that Rose wasn’t going to snap out of it immediately. Rose might be special, but she was still a child. Fiona thought back, quickly, to try to remember what she’d been like when she was twelve and upset, and what would have worked to bring her back quickly without too much drama.
‘Do this for me and I’ll answer any question you have. Anything at all. I promise to tell the truth.’
It worked almost straight away. ‘Anything?’
‘Yes. And I’m sorry if I hurt you. But we need to get moving before we lose him.’
Rose appeared to forgive her immediately, the promise soothing the pain where Fiona had grabbed her. They crossed the street. ‘I can see him,’ said Rose. ‘He just went round the corner.’
He was heading back towards the centre of Herne Hill. With Fiona keeping her head down, while also trying to look casual and relaxed – not easy – they followed Max past the pub and the entrance to the station, then round another corner. Finally, on Dulwich Road, he went into a café that Fiona had never seen before, one that appeared to specialise in waffles.
Catching sight of his paunch as he pushed through the door, and the way the staff greeted him, it looked like he came here a lot.
That was good. Routine would make everything easier.
Standing outside, diagonal to the window so he wouldn’t see her if he turned around, Fiona watched as he waited at the counter with his back to the window. How stupid and arrogant. If she were him, knowing what he’d done, and knowing the woman he’d wronged was out there, she would never stand with her back to anything.
Beside her, Rose was growing restless, shifting from foot to foot. ‘Can we go in?’
‘No. I told you, we’re practising spycraft. Tailing him. I don’t want him to see us.’
‘But I’m starving.’
‘Rose, we can get something after ... Hold on.’
Max was exiting the café. Fiona hurriedly stepped into a doorway, gesturing for Rose to stay back until he’d crossed the road and gone through the gates into Brockwell Park. Only then did they follow. She hung back as they entered the park, scanning the area then spotting him easily. They tailed him as he went past the lido and into a quiet, shady area, stopping at a bench where he sat to unwrap his lunch. As he ate, he took out his phone and held it to his ear, then produced a slim notebook and pen from his jacket’s inside pocket. He rested the notebook on his lap and wrote in it as he talked, his lunch beside him on the bench.
‘What are we doing now?’ Rose said, her voice very close to a whine. Fiona took a deep breath.
‘We’re done. For now. You still hungry?’
She led Rose deeper into the park. It was abuzz with life. Kids playing ball games on the grass. Amorous couples lazing on the lawn. Dog walkers, and parents pushing buggies. Someone whizzed past them on a scooter, too close for Fiona’s comfort, and she had to fight the urge to push them off. They passed a woman sleeping under a tree, her handbag beside her, unattended, unwatched. Her wallet would probably be in there, and maybe her phone too. People were moronic, always assuming they would be okay, that bad shit would happen to someone else. It was remarkable how many people kept their PIN numbers in their wallets too, or stored their passwords in the Notes app on their phone. People who carried around their house keys as well as something containing their address, like their driving licence. Asking for trouble. Asking to get robbed.
Like rabbits lying on the ground telling the foxes to come and get them.
The Brockwell Park café was in a converted house in the middle of the park. Rose wanted chips and a slushie. Fiona had a salad and a bottle of water. They took the food outside on to the benches. There were too many people, buzzing around like wasps, and Fiona’s shoulders knotted with tension.
‘Who was that man?’ Rose asked after she’d demolished half her chips.
‘Is that your one question?’
‘No! That’s not it. Is he an ex-boyfriend?’
‘Urgh, no. You think he would be my type?’
‘I don’t know. I’m twelve. I don’t know anything about that stuff. But I know you were lying about that spycraft stuff. I’m not stupid.’
‘I know you’re not. You’re a very clever girl.’ She stole a chip from Rose’s plate. ‘He’s an old friend. Someone I’m planning a surprise for.’
‘A nice surprise?’
‘Oh, it’s going to be very nice.’
‘Like a party?’
She stole another chip. ‘Oh no. Much better than a party.’