Nicole
Nicole
‘What’s for dinner?’
Nicole looks up from her laptop, pauses writing the email she is drafting to Jack’s Head of Year about the management of his ADHD at school.
‘I’m doing a Thai curry.’ She waits for the inevitable eye roll, which Nathaniel duly delivers. Thai curry is Jack’s favourite, and cooking it always seems to provoke some latent sibling rivalry in Nathaniel.
Looking at Nathaniel now – at his tall, angular frame that may never fill out – she wishes there was a way to get inside his head, read his thoughts. Not the thoughts he chooses to share with her – so often full of bravado and bluster that seventeen-year-old boys seem to think is a sign of their masculinity – but his real thoughts, real feelings. His real fears.
‘How was your driving lesson?’ It is over twelve weeks since Nathaniel failed his first driving test. The backlog is so great that he has had to wait over three months for the re-test he is taking next week.
‘Fine.’
‘Are you feeling okay about it?’
Nathaniel shrugs, and Nicole does not push him any further, knows how desperate he is to pass, how humiliated he was when he failed the first time around.
The kitchen door opens and Jack walks in – shoulders hunched, head down – the lack of childhood inhibitions long since replaced by adolescent awkwardness; he is not yet fully grown, still four inches shorter than his brother, chest not yet expanded. He is not, she has always thought, like other boys: more sensitive, less full of bravura. He spends his weekends go-karting with his friend, Luke, and Nicole has always been pleased that he is doing something outdoors, not glued to computer games like so many boys his age. But lately Jack has been spending more time at home alone, and Nicole does not know how to draw him out of his shell.
Jack slouches towards the bread bin, breaks off a chunk of French stick, while Nathaniel scrolls through his phone. She suspects neither of her sons believe the story she has concocted about the sudden onset of insomnia that has driven Andrew to sleep in the spare room. She is aware that the friction between her and Andrew is palpable; she can no longer look her husband in the eye, bristles the moment he walks into a room. Not that she and Andrew inhabit the same room very often these days; Andrew prefers to work late every night, goes to the office at weekends as a means of avoiding her, a tactic Nicole is more than happy to encourage. Just a few weeks ago, she believed her family was happy. Now it seems like a tired, worn blanket: one loose thread and the whole thing has unravelled.
‘You’ll never guess what happened with Callum this afternoon?’
Nicole feels the muscles tighten across her shoulders. ‘What?’
‘Zach said he didn’t want to be diversity and inclusion officer any more so Callum offered to do it instead. Can you believe it? He was practically arrested yesterday and today he wants to be part of the Head of School team. Everyone knows he probably had something to do with Isla’s death.’
‘Nathaniel, that’s enough.’ Nicole’s voice is sharper than she intended.
‘What? It’s true—’
‘I mean it, Nathaniel. You can’t go around spreading baseless rumours about people. You know better than that.’
Nathaniel rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever.’ Turning around, he walks out of the kitchen, traipses up the stairs.
‘You okay?’ She looks at Jack – eyes rimmed with tiredness – and wishes she could fast-forward the next few years, catapult him to a time and place where he is more sure of himself, when things have settled down.
Jack nods. ‘Fine. Going to my room.’
Nicole watches him slope out of the kitchen. All she wants is for her boys to be happy. For them to be safe and contented and at peace with themselves. It is the most difficult aspect of parenting, she has found: the powerlessness to fashion the world as you would like it to be for your children. Her inability to shield her boys from adversity feels like one of the most inevitable failures of motherhood.
Ever since Abby showed her the anonymous messages eight days ago, Nicole has been waiting for the truth to come to light. She feels as though she is living in a feverish state of anticipation, for the thin thread on which her family’s security hangs to finally snap. For the person who sent all those anonymous emails to reveal the name of the man who was sleeping with Isla. Or for the police to tell Abby they have uncovered the identity of both the anonymous emailer and the man who preyed on her daughter. Every time Abby phones or messages her, Nicole is convinced this is the moment her family’s lives will implode.
The chiming of the doorbell interrupts the silence. Nicole glances at the time – a quarter to six – suspects it will be one of the Amazon delivery drivers who visit daily with items Andrew has ordered.
Instead, when she opens the door, Nicole is greeted by a pair of male police officers. Fear thrums beneath her ribs, and she is certain this will be the scene she has been dreading.
‘Mrs Forrester? Have you got five minutes? We’ve got an update on your stolen vehicle.’
Nicole does not know whether to feel relieved or anxious. Standing back, she gestures for the two officers to come in, directs them towards the kitchen. Glancing up the stairs, she hopes neither Nathaniel nor Jack emerge from their bedrooms until the officers have left.
Following them into the kitchen, she waits patiently while they introduce themselves. They sit down at the kitchen table, decline her offer of tea or coffee.
‘We wanted to let you know that we’ve found your car.’
‘Really? Where?’ Nicole cannot hide her surprise. A part of her had wondered if she might never see it again.
‘On the Springfield Industrial Estate. Do you know it? It’s only about a mile and a half away.’
Nicole shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so. Is the car okay? Will I be able to have it back?’
The two officers share a loaded glance. ‘Actually, it appears to have been involved in a collision. There’s a sizeable dent to the front of the vehicle. Some tests are being carried out, but in the meantime, we’ll need you and anyone else who regularly uses the car to come down to the station as soon as possible for fingerprinting.’
‘Why?’
‘We just need to eliminate anyone who regularly uses the car so we can check for unknown fingerprints – prints belonging to whoever stole it. It’s routine procedure, nothing to worry about.’
Nicole nods as the police officers give her details about where to go, whom to speak to, impress on her the necessity of getting everyone in the family to be fingerprinted as soon as possible to allow the investigation to proceed. The officers apologise that they do not know when her vehicle will be returned, inform her that she should update her insurance company in the meantime.
Nicole listens, half an ear on the hallway in case the boys should appear. She would rather they hear this news from her than from two anonymous policemen. Because the officers may not be saying it – perhaps they have not even made the link yet – but the circumstantial evidence seems obvious to her. Nicole’s car went missing the night Isla Richardson was killed. And now her car has been found on an industrial estate, sporting a dent commensurate with a collision. She would love for it to be nothing more than a coincidence, but the possibility of a connection is undeniable.
She lets the police officers out, bids them goodbye, closes the door behind them. Her mind races and she cannot imagine how she is going to impart this latest update to Nathaniel, to Jack, to Andrew. And, worst of all, to Abby.