‘What are you doing?’ I say.
It comes out a little too forceful, but she has the gall to be so brazen in my house. I should throw her out, but she seems so young.
‘Thought you could do with a cup of tea,’ she says.
‘Did you?’
She shrugs. All this shrugging. Mother used to hate it. There are enough words in the English language to not rely on your shoulders to say it for you.
‘Were you over at Denise’s before?’ I say, suddenly.
‘What?’
‘I thought I saw you with Jason earlier.’
‘I don’t know anyone called Denise.’
‘Really? I must’ve been seeing things, then.’
I narrow my eyes, trying to read her expression, but there is nothing. Why can’t they just tell me the truth – it’s all so odd.
She pours the boiling water in a mug from the tree, then opens the fridge.
I put the carrier bag on to the counter.
‘The milk’s in here,’ I say.
She takes the bag. Why am I standing here observing while a stranger makes a cup of tea in my own kitchen? It must be the shock from at the shop, and her presence here is so unnerving.
I watch as she looks out of the window, waiting for the kettle to boil. There’s nothing much out there to look at, just the side of the yard fence, which needed repainting years ago. She tilts her head from side to side as though dancing to music in her head. I get a waft of her perfume or hairspray; it smells like White Musk. I remember it from years ago. Where do I recall that from?
She smiles at me as she catches me staring at her, but I don’t smile back. She opens the biscuit tin and peers in.
‘Oh, there’s only one left,’ she says.
‘I’m not hungry,’ I say.
‘You don’t have to be hungry for biscuits!’
She’s talking to me like we’ve known each other for years; it’s like we’re in a bizarre dream.
She tears off a bit of kitchen roll and places the malted milk on it.
This must be what it’s like to have a daughter. Pre-empting what you need before you know it yourself. Though I wasn’t that kind of daughter myself – I wasn’t allowed to be. Mother wouldn’t let me near the cooker, which I didn’t mind, really.
Craig and I have a different relationship to what my brother and I had with our mother. I never felt as though I was missing out not having a father around – she could play both roles perfectly. Stern when she needed to be, but mostly nurturing, kind, funny, although she did have her darker moments. It hurts to think about her sometimes.
Leanne carries the tea through and places it on a coaster on the coffee table.
‘You’ve a lovely house,’ she says, perching on the end of the settee, looking around.
‘Really?’
She jumps up to look at the books on my bookcase and I flush slightly. There are too many Mills & Boon, and only a few of the thrillers people like to read these days. She takes a thick book out.
‘Oh, The Thorn Birds! My mum loved this book. Can I borrow it?’
‘Wouldn’t you like something a bit more recent? I… well… I’ve no intention of reading it again, so you’re more than welcome, but I don’t think it’s appropriate really. How old are you, Leanne?’
‘I’m nineteen,’ she says, but the little red patches on her cheeks betray her. ‘She watched the series as well.’
‘What? Who?’
‘My mum. She had a bit of a thing for the priest guy… said she liked him when she was a kid, which was weird because she wasn’t religious.’ She laughs self-consciously, brushing a strand of her blonde hair away from her face. ‘She hated organised anything – politics, the police, social workers. From what I remember anyway. She’s dead now.’
My hand automatically goes to my mouth.
‘I’m so sorry, love.’
‘It’s all right. It was years ago… that’s why I’m in Sunningdales now,’ she says quietly. She clasps her hands together; a formal gesture that doesn’t suit her. She’s so young, vulnerable. ‘Dad tries, but, you know. He hates real life and that. My mum loved life, but then you would if you were off your face all the time, wouldn’t you?’
What a life she’s had. There’s something about her that makes me want to put my arms around her and tell her everything’s going to be all right.
She only looks about fourteen, but I’m out of touch with youngsters nowadays. The ones I’ve seen in the Co-op all have a face full of make-up and what looks like mascara lathered all over their eyebrows.
‘Where did you meet Jason, Leanne?’ I say.
‘Always known Jason, really. About a year ago, he started sitting in a beer garden near Sunningdales.’
‘What’s that?’
She laughs.
‘Yeah, it sounds like an old people’s home, doesn’t it?’ she says. ‘It’s great to meet you, by the way.’ She says it in a faux-posh voice and I’m not sure if she’s pulling my leg or not. ‘Craig talks about you all the time.’
‘Really?’ And then the penny, or rather the pocketful of rusty, dirty coins, drops. ‘Have you been visiting Craig?’
‘Oh no,’ she says, her voice wobbling for the first time. ‘We were talking yesterday.’
‘I see. From what you said, it was like you’d known each other for years.’
‘It feels like we have.’
It’s not far to the pub – where the heck is Jason? He needs to take this child home.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ I say, ‘but…’
Her eyes widen; she hugs the book, anxious suddenly.
‘That’s OK. Craig promised he’d meet me… an hour ago… but it was Jason instead of him. They all want something, don’t they?’
‘What do you mean?’
Her eyes dart around the room.
‘Guess it’s different these days…’ she says. ‘What with the internet and everything.’
‘I… I don’t know why that’s—’
A knock at the door.
It’s Jason here to collect her. If it were Craig, he would’ve used his key. I swallow.
‘Listen, love,’ I say to her. ‘If you’re in some kind of trouble, you can trust me, you know. You don’t have to go anywhere with Jason. I can ring Sunningdales… tell them to come and get you. You’re welcome to stay here. I can say to Jason that you’re going to help me with something. How does that sound?’
Five minutes ago, I wanted her out of my house and now I feel as though I need to protect her, make her sit down and tell me everything she knows about my son.
Because I don’t think I know him at all any more.
‘I’m fine,’ she says, standing. ‘Honestly. Don’t worry about me. I’ve had to learn to take care of myself.’
‘If you’re sure, love.’ I reach over and touch her slender arm. ‘If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. Don’t ever feel alone.’
She places a hand over mine. Briefly, her eyes glisten with tears before she blinks them away.
‘You’re kind,’ she says.
Another loud knock on the door makes us both jump. Leanne follows me into the hallway.
I open the door to Jason.
‘I found Craig at the pub,’ he says. ‘But he’s a bit merry.’ He glances at Leanne standing next to me in the doorway. ‘I can drop you off home instead, if you want? He can get a bit… maudlin after a few.’
‘That’s OK. I want to see him.’ Leanne almost leaps from the doorway. She turns to me. ‘Thanks, Erica. For the tea and everything.’
‘Any time,’ I say.
She looks up at Jason, smiling. She trusts him. Does she trust my son as much? Do I?