“I didn’t swan in. I just wanted to check everything was okay.”
“Why?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Why wouldn’t everything be okay? It’s as if you’re expecting her to fail and it’s not on. We’ve analysed all the risks and given her the chance to prove herself. Your spouting off accusations isn’t helping anyone. Least of all Allegra.”
Tears prick at my eyes, and my hands clench with frustration. It’s not the fact she doesn’t believe me which grates, it’s the knowledge that Allegra could get hurt and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. “You’re not going to do anything?”
“Daisy assured me he isn’t back. That jacket was something he’d left behind; she wore it to pop out to the shops.”
Am I going crazy? I feel like I might be. It’s as if I’m seeing the world through a different lens, insisting the sky is blue when everybody else sees green. “You believe her?”
“Would Allegra still be there if I didn’t?” Grace’s reply is terse. “There’s no sign that he’s back. Daisy looks healthy and clean; I don’t think she’s using. The flat was tidy and full of Daisy and Allegra’s things. Not Darren’s.” She almost glares at me. I must look like a flake to her. The girl who cries wolf. “I think your going round there did more harm than good.”
I instantly recoil as if I’ve been slapped in the face. “How do you mean?”
“Daisy thinks you’ve had it in for her ever since you heard our suspicions about Darren. She’s got this idea in her head that you’re going to take Allegra away.” She pauses. Long enough for me to take it in. A moment later, she drops the bombshell. “For both their sakes I think you should stay away from them.”
“Stay away?” I echo. “How long for?”
Grace shrugs. “Until Daisy feels comfortable with you being around. She isn’t your biggest fan right now.”
“But I’ll still see Allegra here, right?”
Grace shifts awkwardly on her seat. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
“I won’t get to see her at all?” The last word comes out as a sob. I have to cover my mouth to stop it from developing into anything more.
“It’s for the best.” Grace’s expression softens when she sees how horrified I am. Leaning forward, she reaches out to pat my free hand. Her gesture does nothing to ease the knot in my chest.
I remove my hand from my mouth. “It’s not fair,” I whisper. “I love that kid.”
“You’ve broken the first rule,” Grace tells me. “You’ve got too involved. You haven’t got the distance you need.”
Her words make me want to scream. I don’t need distance or judgement or anything else she thinks I’m lacking. There’s a little girl who can’t protect herself against an evil bastard, and I’m not even allowed to help. The thought of him getting close enough to hurt her makes me want to throw up.
“What if I see her anyway?” I ask, grasping for straws where there’s only air.
“Then Daisy has every right to call the police. She’s Allegra’s mum after all.”
26
I spend the next week trying not to be a stalker, despite my urge to drive over to the Whitegate Estate and accost every muscled, weasel-faced guy I can find. Instead I spend the evenings at Niall’s flat. We eat dinner together, watch whatever happens to be showing on the telly, and then somehow end up tangled in each other’s arms, kissing the hell out of each other while our programme is forgotten.
On Wednesday night we kiss and grind for so long that I feel him freeze above me, his spine arched and his mouth tight as he makes a mess of his jeans. I laugh so hard I give myself a stomach ache. He vows revenge when I don’t let him forget it.
Niall’s plan to get me back comes good on Friday night, when we are on his bed, kissing hard and fast as I’m straddling his waist. He moves his lips down, dragging them softly against my neck, and presses his leg against me. His muscled thigh creates friction in an unbelievably sexy way. When I start to moan he flips me over and holds me in his arms. I shudder, gasp and melt inside. He kisses me hard and I can feel him smile against me, pleased with his victory.
We’ve regressed to being teenagers, and I love every moment of it. Our evenings are the only thing getting me through the day. When I see Allegra’s empty table where she should be at art class it’s all I can do to make it through without the rest of the kids seeing me cry.
By Saturday I’m such a mess of emotion—both good and bad—that Niall drags me to his studio and tells me to sit by the window that overlooks the Thames. He sketches my profile as I try not to think too hard. Staring out at the grey, choppy water, I follow the progress of a flotilla of boats that make their way upstream. Smaller rowboats bob in the wake of the pleasure cruisers. I wonder if they feel as lost as I am, unable to do anything but wait for the waves to stop crashing.
“What are you thinking about?” Niall asks softly. When I turn my head he’s staring at me over his sketchpad. I get a sense of déjà vu; any minute now Digby could walk through that door and tell us to hurry up.
“I was watching the boats. You have an amazing view.”
“I know.”