Nicole
tiptoes from her son’s bedroom, closes the door with a barely audible click.
For a moment, she listens, ear pressed against wood, waiting to see if he will stir.
It is years since she has done this. At fifteen, Jack does not need her – want her – tucking him into bed at night. But this evening was different.
From behind the door, she hears the sound of deep breaths, allows herself a sliver of relief.
Creeping down the stairs, she exhales silently, tries to block images of the evening’s events flashing behind her eyes.
Jack is asleep. That is enough for now.
Walking into the kitchen, she startles to find Nathaniel leaning against the butler sink, gulping a glass of water.
‘When did you get home?’
Nathaniel drains the glass, wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, and resists the urge to tell him not to do that. In ten months’ time, Nathaniel will officially become an adult – he already resembles an almost-adult with his tall, gangly frame, his limbs slightly too long as though they have grown unilaterally and failed to alert the rest of his body – and knows that her licence to chastise him dwindles with each passing day.
‘A few minutes ago.’
walks past the kitchen island, reaches into the cupboard above the wine fridge for a glass. She watches – as if in slow motion – as the glass slips through her fingers and shatters onto the slate-grey tiled floor.
‘Are you okay?’
nods, though the effort feels gargantuan. ‘Sorry. Be careful where you tread.’
Reaching past Nathaniel, she opens the cupboard beneath the sink, grabs the dustpan and brush, begins sweeping the floor with wide, jolting movements.
‘Are you alright? You’re being a bit... weird.’
stops, sucks in a deep breath. She does not know how it is possible to feel both exhausted and adrenalised in the same moment. ‘I’m fine. It’s Jack. He’s been really unwell this evening.’
‘In what way?’
hesitates, unsure how much detail to offer. ‘He just couldn’t stop vomiting. It was awful. I almost took him to A&E.’
‘Shit, I hope I don’t get it.’
hurries to reassure him. ‘He seems a bit better now. He’s asleep. Hopefully he’ll have improved in the morning. But I suspect he’ll be a bit off-colour for a few days.’
She stands up, tips the broken glass into the bin before remembering that she should have wrapped it in newspaper, knows Andrew will comment on it later, whenever he finally gets home from work.
Pulling her mobile from the back pocket of her jeans to see if Andrew has messaged, she sees a WhatsApp from Abby sent a few minutes earlier.
Any word from Nathaniel this evening? Isla’s not back from the party yet and I haven’t heard from her. x
glances across the kitchen to where Nathaniel’s face is buried in his phone.
‘How was the party?’
Nathaniel shrugs. ‘Fine.’
‘Was Isla still there when you left?’
He looks down at the floor, and thinks she sees an almost imperceptible trace of something – embarrassment? self-consciousness? – flit across his face.
‘I dunno. I left early. Went to Elliot’s. Why?’
‘Abby messaged, asking if I’d heard from you. Isla’s not home yet.’ She studies her son’s face, searches for a flicker of the emotion she saw a moment before but finds a blank canvas. ‘What time did you leave?’
Nathaniel shrugs. ‘Not sure. Nine, maybe? What’s the big deal? It’s not exactly late.’
picks up a cloth, cleans some stray crumbs from the worktop. ‘Abby was just a bit worried, that’s all.’ Rinsing the cloth, she wrings it out, hangs it over the tap. She dries her hands in preparation to respond to Abby’s message.
‘By the way, where’s your car?’ Nathaniel barely glances up from his phone as he asks the question.
feels herself frown. ‘What do you mean? It’s in the driveway.’
Nathaniel looks up, shakes his head. ‘It’s not. I thought you must be out when I got home.’
There is a moment’s hesitation, the cogs whirring in ’s brain: thinking about Jack upstairs, rewinding her memory, recalling the events of the evening. ‘It must be. I parked it there earlier when I brought Jack home from football.’
‘Well, it’s not there now.’
heads out of the kitchen, into the hallway, across the black-and-white tiled floor. Opening the front door and stepping onto the driveway, she sees the empty space where her car should be. Thoughts scramble in her brain, trying to form a coherent narrative.
‘I bet you it’s been stolen.’ Nathaniel’s voice appears over her shoulder, full of prurient interest. ‘Dad said there’s been loads of car thefts round here lately.’
For a few seconds, does not reply, her thoughts like a smudged canvas.
‘Are you going to call the police?’
turns, finds Nathaniel staring at her. Something clicks inside her head – a need to act, to deal with the situation – and she nods, opens her phone.
‘I think I’ll have to.’