Hannah managed to get through till the end of the day, busying herself with working in the shop. In the afternoon, she sat in the window, writing the reviews of the books she’d read and loved so far ready to go on the bookshelves. Now that she had a TV, she had worried that she’d just be glued to that. She hadn’t really watched it so far, other than the odd DVD with her daughter. She thought of Brody again, and his gift, and she looked once more up the street towards the police station.
She hadn’t wanted to ask John or Lola how bad it was, but she knew it was enough for him to go to hospital. In an ambulance. Hurt. The thought of him hurt didn’t sit right with her. She didn’t like the fact that she cared either, but she’d been in hospital before. Battered, bruised. Lying her arse off to get home for more of the same. She remembered pain, and she thought of Brody, big and hulking, hurt. It was hard to digest. She wondered what had happened to Bullet. She couldn’t imagine the dog would have wanted to be parted from his owner, or Brody him.
It was still light enough outside to see the near-deserted street, and she blinked her eyes a couple of times to wake herself up. She’d really gone to town on her distraction technique. She’d done everything from clean the toilets to dust the shelves and organise the till rolls. She was tired. Bone-tired.
‘You get off, Han – you should have knocked off ten minutes ago.’ John was standing there, his coat over his arm. ‘I can walk you.’ Lola had gone home earlier in the day, driven home by John to put her feet up. Hannah had near choked her out of the office with the smell of polish.
‘Thanks, I’m good,’ she muttered, distracted. She did need to get to Ava. She grabbed her things and, as they were walking out, she caught the look on John’s face. She pushed out the question.
‘Where are you going? Home?’
The jaw flex was just like Brody’s. Subtle but obvious when you knew how to interpret it.
‘No, I have to pick up a mate.’
He reached his car and she waved him off. As soon as she got round the corner, she halted and reached into her bag. It wasn’t till she didn’t find what she was looking for that she realised. She’d wanted to call Brody. Was he even awake? He might be really injured. She just wanted to hear his voice. She couldn’t deny that. If she could just hear from him that he was okay, hear in his voice that he was still in there, then she could stop thinking about him and go back to avoiding him. She hadn’t even stored his number. She’d got rid of the card. What would I have said anyway? Something’s off with John? I saw the cars, heard the call? Are you okay? How bad is it?
Not her concern. She walked to pick up Ava in record speed, and Ruby and Martine were their usual jovial, happy selves. Hannah was bundled off with cookies they’d made that day. The smell of chocolate and sugar made her realise how hungry she was.
Ava was grumpy on the way home, coming down from the highs of the childminders’ and getting to that ‘hour of the day’. The hour of the day when kids threw tired tantrums before bath and bed. She’d read about it online, and some parents called it ‘the witching hour’. Given that her daughter was growing, she had been waiting for her personality to come out in full force – now that the patterns of her new life were forming, and she was growing into her own person. And her attitude was starting to make itself known. Her little fireball. She was protesting loudly in the pram now, tired out.
‘Nearly home,’ she trilled soothingly. Please, Ava. Give me a break. She was about to walk past Brody’s house, not that she’d taken that way on purpose. Well, she totally had. Normally she avoided going down to the corner of the street that he lived on. She avoided the whole area and walked the other way home from the childminders’ or from the supermarket. She walked a lot too, through the park. Even after the incident with the mugger, she still felt pretty safe there. Out in the open.
She was on his street now, Ava still giving the occasional high-pitched screech to remind her that she wasn’t happy. She saw John’s car, right outside the house on the corner. Two men were halfway across the pavement between his car and the house. Brody was unmistakable even with his back to her, and she recognised John, who was helping him go inside. Brody’s gait was off, limping. Bullet was barking in the back of the car. She kept her head down as she walked past.
That dealt with the witching hour. Hannah’s brain went onto full autopilot. After a very loud bath time, a bottle of warm milk and a story, Ava was settled and drowsy on her lap. She’d leave the housework till tomorrow. She couldn’t stop thinking about Brody. He’d been hurt, and she was pretty sure he didn’t have anybody at home. A housemate would surely have picked him up. No girlfriend, she’d already assumed. He’d asked her out for lunch, for a start. Twice. Lola had said that John and Bullet were family. No mention of any real family, or a partner. Why would John need to take him home, if he had someone? She’d have been on the other side of him, propping him up. It was just the two of them. If she existed, she’d have been there, surely.
It was getting dark now, and she packed the changing bag, put it next to her handbag on the pram handles, and headed out. She’d got changed into a pair of jeans and a black top, Ava in the pram in her sleepsuit and bundled against the cold. Hannah’s first-aid kit was sitting underneath in the basket. After putting her phone in her bag, she locked up and headed out into the night.