Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

‘That’s down to her genes?’

‘In large part, yes, I think so.’

‘Nature versus nurture?’

‘Obviously nurture plays a part, obviously she’s having a much easier time of it than her biological family…’

‘You’re saying the lovely but disadvantaged Johnsons have produced a child whose nice middle-class environment is revealing the true genetic Johnson saintliness?’

He smiled. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s –’

‘Have you forgotten that she’s been bullying a disabled child?’

Okay, the disabled bit was maybe an exaggeration.

He gaped at her.

‘Your little paragon is a bully !’

He was looking at her as if at a stranger. ‘So just because she’s had some issues at school, you’re suddenly saying Beckie isn’t a nice kid? You’re looking at her now and thinking that’s her Johnson genes coming out, that’s the real Beckie –’

‘No, of course not!’

‘Is it any wonder Beckie’s playing up at school, after being uprooted from her home and all her friends and not able to even contact them?’

‘That’s no excuse for cruelty.’

‘Ruth. Every kid gets into arguments, scraps – Christ. I can’t believe you’re looking on this as evidence of Beckie’s… what? Genetic original sin? Is that why you’ve been watching her like a hawk – not because of the Johnsons being a supposed threat but because you think she’s some sort of danger herself ?’

‘You’re the scientist. You know mental illnesses can have their onset around puberty or before… Of course I’m worried she might have inherited a predisposition… But no, that’s not why I’m watching her like a hawk . The supposed threat from the Johnsons is actually the reason for that, believe it or not.’ She set the glass down on the worktop, so abruptly that water sloshed over its rim, and pushed past him, making for the open doors to the garden.

This time, he didn’t come after her.

She had to call Saskia. She had to get the Johnsons’ address from Saskia, and go and speak to their neighbours. He wanted evidence? She’d get it. From the neighbours, and anyone else Saskia could point her towards, maybe other victims of the Johnsons, if they were willing to speak to her.

And then maybe she could persuade Alec that they needed to disappear again.

Where was her bloody mobile?

Not on the table or the loungers.

She returned to the family room, scanning the sofas, the coffee table… Neil had disappeared, thank God. She walked round the room, trying to think of where she could last remember looking at her phone.

Maybe she’d left it in the car.

She felt tears pricking at the back of her nose as she searched the car, the study, the front room, the bedroom – where the hell was her phone? All her numbers were in it, including Saskia’s. She needed her fucking phone .

In the bedroom, she lay down on the carpet and flailed her hand around under the bed.

Nothing but dust and hair.

Sweat was trickling from her armpits down her sides.

She sat back against the bed and closed her eyes against the tears.

‘Flora? Hey, Flora?’ It was Caroline’s voice, Caroline’s steps on the stairs.

Flora took a big breath, opened her eyes and got to her feet, like an old woman, supporting herself on the bed. What now?

‘In here.’

Caroline grinned at her from the door. Her hair was up in a jaunty ponytail and her face was flushed from the exercise. ‘I’m just off… Hey, are you okay?’

‘Still can’t find my bloody phone.’

Caroline made a sympathetic face. ‘Where were you when you last used it?’

‘I’ve been trying to remember.’ Flora sank down on the bed. ‘I thought I had it in the garden. I thought I checked it and put it down on the table…’

‘Have you tried ringing it?’

I’m not stupid! Flora wanted to snap. ‘It’s turned off.’

‘Well, it’ll turn up, eh? Gimme paper and I’ll write my number down for you.’

Flora reached for a Post-it pad on her bedside table and opened the drawer for a pen. As Caroline wrote down her number, Flora said, ‘Thanks for spending so much time with Beckie. It’s – I know it really means a lot to her to be able to have fun with you. You’re so good with her.’

Caroline smiled. ‘Yeah, I’m just a big kid, let’s face it.’

The great thing about Caroline was that she was so easy to have around. And somehow Flora knew she could trust her with Beckie. It seemed that Neil could have been right, and Caroline may well be the friend Flora needed. The difference in their ages didn’t seem to matter at all.

‘You don’t need to thank me, Flora. I love hanging out with Beckie. She’s a little sweetheart.’

Flora smiled and puffed out a laugh, feeling hysteria rushing up behind it. She clamped her lips together and turned away from Caroline to replace the pen and the pad, shoving the yellow Post-it with Caroline’s number on it into the pocket of her jeans.

‘Ahhhhhhh!’

The door behind Caroline was flung back against the wall and Jed-Bag burst into the room, legs flying out in front of him, sinister grinning Mr Blobby face wobbling. All she could see of Beckie was her trainers and some of her jeans behind Jed-Bag’s. At his crotch, bits of flaky onion skin were poking out of the mesh bag, and the carrot was in bits.

‘She’s my fucking granddaughter , you bloody buggering bitch !’ Jed-Bag jiggled across the room towards her.

‘Beckie!’ Flora said weakly.

‘You have to hit him, Mum.’

Flora looked at Caroline, who grinned and shrugged.

She had always found Mr Blobby disturbing. She aimed a feeble punch at his shoulder.

‘Go for his face!’ came Beckie’s muffled voice.

Flora whacked at the lipstick grin, sending the head on its thin neck bouncing around satisfyingly.

‘Go for his balls!’

‘Beckie,’ she said again.

‘Sorry,’ Caroline muttered through her grin.

‘The willy’s broken but the balls are still good. Kick him in the balls! That’s the best place to go for. Look Mum, he’s attacking you!’

Jed-Bag flew through the air.

‘That’s my fucking buggery granddaughter !’

And as he sailed through the air towards her, all the rage that had been building seemed to whoosh through her and she was conscious only of her limbs flailing, of someone shouting, of jumping, of herself screaming, and ‘Fucking old bastard ’ coming out of her mouth, and when she came back to herself she was letting go of Jed-Bag’s ankles and he was flying in a centrifugal arc through the wide-open window.

Gasping, she stood in the rectangle of sun on the carpet and looked around her.

What had just happened?

Beckie was grabbing the windowsill to haul herself up and look down at the patio, shrieking, ‘You’ve killed him!’ in delight.

‘Who?’ came faintly back. Thomas.

‘Jed-Bag!’ yelled Beckie. ‘My biological grandad! Mum smashed up his balls and his willy then she threw him out of the window! He’s definitely dead now!’

Flora staggered to the window. Jed-Bag was sprawled on his back on the patio, legs and arms spreadeagled, the sorry collection of objects at his crotch pulverised beyond recognition. On the other side of the high wall, in next door’s garden, Ailish, Iain and Thomas were standing staring up at them.

She waved weakly, shut the window, and sank down on the bed.

Beckie flung herself down full-length beside her and started to laugh, uninhibitedly, delightedly, and Caroline was peeking out of the window and saying, ‘Her mouth is literally hanging open,’ and then Flora was laughing too, and Caroline flung back her head and joined them, the three of them howling like a pack of wolves.