Page 78 of Don't Say A Word
‘Oh, okay,’ she says, seemingly perfectly happy with my explanation.
I take a breath. ‘And how are you, Scarlett? You’re okay after…? You know…’
She nods, pulling a strand of hair between her lips. She looks forlorn and sad. Her mascara is smudged and her pink lipstick looks garish.
‘Why aren’t you in school?’
She shrugs. ‘I didn’t feel like it.’
‘Right. And your parents are all right with that?’ I ask, head tilted. Then I think,what am I doing?I need Scarlett on my side. The last thing on earth I need is for her to tell her parents about the accident. She opens her mouth to speak, but I raise a hand. ‘Never mind. Honestly I don’t care. Where are you off to?’
‘Nowhere. Can I drop by later?’
‘What for?’
‘To see if Holly’s home? She said she wanted to hang out.’
‘No, Scarlett. You can’t. It’s not a good idea.’
She lets go of the strand of hair, her lips parting in shock.
‘No, no, it’s not that I don’t want you to come and hang out with Holly. It’s not that.’
But she thinks it’s exactly that. I can tell from the look of shame and dismay on her face as her eyes fill with tears. She turns on her heels without a word.
‘No! Scarlett, it’s not that! It’s just not a good time, that’s all!’ But Scarlett is already gone.
I turn away and walk home.
As I wait for Holly to return from school, I start to compose a text to Mrs Ashford-Wells:How dare you? Who do you think you are? My husband is in Zurich.No, delete.My husband is very ill.Delete that, too.You know nothing. How dare you even mention my stepdaughter’s name?I throw in legal threats, demands and expletives. I delete it, draft another, delete that one and drop my head in my hands. I want to shut this down. I can’t have her tell anyone else, post it somewhere else, orwhatever. I don’t even know why she thinks that email came from me – although it’s not too hard to guess. Teri would have made it look that way.
I can’t make a decision. I am paralysed by the fear that anything I do will make things worse.
I open my laptop and send Mike an email. I tell him that I need to discuss something concerning Mrs Ashford-Wells and that it’s urgent.
He replies immediately:I’ll see you at 8:15 tomorrow morning.
Holly comes home from school in a mood. She doesn’t say hello. Just throws her schoolbag on the floor, opens the fridge and pulls out a juice carton.
I am shocked by how she looks. ‘Oh, God. Holly.’
She turns to me. ‘What?’
She looks about twenty-five years old with her mascara, gold eyeshadow and blusher on her cheeks. It’s not as much as yesterday, but it’s still way, way too much.
I point to her face. ‘When did you do that?’
‘At lunchtime. Why?’
‘You know you can’t wear makeup to school.’
She looks at me like I’ve grown another head. ‘Are you kidding me right now? With everything that’s going on, you’re worried about me wearing makeup?’
‘I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Holly. Not under the circumstances.’
She grabs the TV remote and plonks herself on the couch. ‘What do you care?’
‘I don’t even know what that means. Of course I care.’
