There’s no easy way to say this. But when I was getting Lally’s clothes, I found some things in her backpack. Drugs.”
“What?” Juliet said, blankly. Then, “No, that’s not possible.”
But in spite of her protest, her oval face paled. “Did you say her backpack? Lally has her backpack with her.”
“This was an old one, in the wardrobe. The one I put her clothes in.”
Blowing out her lips in a little puff of relief, Juliet tried a smile.
“Lally hasn’t used that since last year. She must have loaned it to someone who left the things in it, by accident.”
Gemma reached out and laid her fingers lightly on Juliet’s wrist.
“Juliet, I really am sorry. But no one forgets they’ve left things like this lying about. The pills, maybe, but not the other. There was marijuana, too. And even if Lally was keeping the stuff for someone else, she’s involved in something dangerous. You had to know.”
“Pot?” whispered Juliet, her argument abandoned. “And what sort of pills?”
Gemma sighed. “I suspect some of the pills might be a ’pam drug, Valium or Xanax. Tranquilizers. Do you or Caspar have a prescription?” When Juliet shook her head, she went on. “The other tablets look homemade—I suspect they’re Ecstasy.”
“But that’s not all that bad, is it?” Juliet asked, her voice rising on a shred of hope. “I mean—I read about raves—” She brought her
hands together, twisting them in her lap as if one were seeking comfort from the other. They had begun to tremble. “Oh, Christ,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it, there must be some mistake.”
Gemma couldn’t bring herself to mention the condoms, not now.
Silence descended on their little table. Their unfinished bowls of soup had cooled; the scattered crumbs of bread lay drying on the cheerful tablecloth. Closing her eyes, Juliet sat so still she might have fallen asleep. The woman sitting alone finished her conversation and snapped her mobile phone closed, glancing curiously at Gemma and Juliet as she made her way to the register.
The own er emerged from the kitchen, engaging the woman in friendly banter as he rang up her bill—she was obviously a regular customer.
Opening her eyes, Juliet fixed Gemma with a burning stare, and under cover of the voices of the owner and customer, said quietly,
“I’ll kill her.” Spots of color flared high on her pale cheeks.
“No.” Gemma had been thinking furiously, ever since she’d found Lally’s stash. “Juliet, wait. I’m not suggesting you ignore this—God forbid—but I think you should hold off for a few days before you talk to her about it.” It seemed to Gemma that both mother and daughter were stretched to the breaking point, and that a confrontation might have disastrous consequences.
“Things are so unsettled just now—I’m afraid you may both say things you’ll regret. Wait at least until you’ve worked out a plan for you and the children, and until you’ve told her what you mean to do.
Looking round, Gemma saw that the café’s own er had disappeared into the kitchen. She reached into her pocket and passed the bags surreptitiously across the small table. “Deal with this when you’re calmer.”
Juliet gazed wide-eyed at what she held. Then she stuffed the bags into her handbag. Her shoulders slumping, she said, “Promise me this time. Promise me you won’t tell Duncan.”
“So what did she look like?” Lally sat back on her heels and looked at Kit across the opened case of the latest Harry Potter. They’d spent most of the morning, and the last hour since lunch, unpacking and shelving the boxes of books in the small back room of the bookshop.
“Was there blood?”
“Just bugger off, okay?” said Kit. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Dropping her gaze, Lally ran a fingertip over the slightly dusty spines of the books left in the box. He thought he’d discouraged her, but after a moment she said more quietly, “Did she—did she look like she was asleep?”
The change in her tone made Kit look up. “No. Why?”
“I just wondered, that’s all.” She gave an elaborate shrug and stretched, showing a sliver of midriff. “God, I’m dying for a ciggie.”
“Don’t be daft,” Kit said crossly, although he was glad enough of the change of subject. “You shouldn’t smoke, and I don’t think we’re supposed to go out.” Lally had been complaining since Rosemary had ignored Lally’s plea for hamburgers and brought in sandwiches instead, and the constant harping was giving Kit a pounding headache.
“Why shouldn’t we?” Lally protested. “They’re treating us like prisoners.” She pulled out another half dozen books and stacked them carelessly on the edge of the table. “Shouldn’t we get a trial first?”
Both Rosemary and Hugh had been tactful enough—none of the children had actually been forbidden to go out of the shop, but tasks had been found to keep them busy from the minute they arrived. And although nothing had been said, Kit suspected it was because the adults didn’t want Lally or Sam to see their dad. He also knew that Lally’s mum had taken away her mobile phone—that had been the other subject of Lally’s ongoing complaint—and he guessed that Rosemary and Hugh were worried that Casper might come into the shop and demand to take the children, as he had yesterday in the pub.
Rosemary had given a little start every time the bell on the shop door rang, and Hugh had come down often from his small office on the first floor, making some excuse to check on them, once stopping to give Kit an awkward pat on the shoulder. Kit had caught Rosemary watching him as well, with a mixture of kindness and concern in her eyes that made him feel slightly uncomfortable and funnily warm at the same time.
Unlike his cousin, Kit was happy enough to stay in the shop. He liked the slightly musty smell emanating from the used- book section; he liked the higgledy- piggledy unevenness of the floors and the walls; he liked the weight of the books in his hands and the lure of the bright covers, the promise of adventures that would take him out of himself. He didn’t mind being kept busy, either—that held the recurring visions of what he had seen that morning at bay.
“Watch the books,” he said sharply as the stack behind Lally’s head teetered.
“I don’t care about the bloody books,” she retorted, but pushed the volumes back from the edge of the table and straightened them a little. She gave Kit a sly glance from under the wing of dark hair that had fallen across her face. “We could just slip out the back door.”
“No.” Kit collapsed the box he’d emptied with a little more force than necessary. “And even if we did, where are you going to get cigarettes? You can’t buy them.”
Lally grinned. “Oh, there are always places where you can get things. You know the pub round the back of the shop? This bloke that works behind the bar, he’ll buy them for me if I give him the money.”
“But that’s—” The bell on the shop door jangled, startling them both, then Kit saw Lally relax as a distinctly female voice answered Rosemary’s greeting. So she was nervous about her dad after all.
“It’s Mrs. Armbruster,” Lally whispered. “She’ll talk Nana’s ear off for an hour. Come on. If we go now, we can be back before anyone notices we’re gone.”
“What about Sam and Toby?”
“Granddad took them upstairs to play draughts. They won’t be looking for us. Come on.” She stood and moved lightly towards the door, her trainer-shod feet soundless on the wooden floorboards.
“Lally, no, wait.” Kit pushed himself up, but his feet seemed to have tangled themselves together and he stumbled awkwardly. “We shouldn’t—they’d worry—”