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Tim’s eyes itched. He took one hand off the wheel to rub an eye. He really needed to take a break. He needed to get to Niamh, but crashing the car en route wouldn’t help him. He ran the conversation with that Harriet woman over in his mind. She had sounded normal. Northern, obviously, but normal. Given that she was standing next to Niamh and he had been two hundred miles away, there wasn’t really much he could have done other than agree.
If only he’d paid more attention when Niamh asked him to take her to Yorkshire! It was a cry for help and he hadn’t even recognised it. Mel was going to kill him when she found out.
With a flash of panic he realised that he hadn’t called Wendy’s mother back. He’d better do that before she contacted Mel. Shit. He had to handle this without Mel finding out or he was toast.
A motorway service station sign loomed. Right. A break, some coffee and a bit of damage limitation. Ten minutes and he’d be off again.
A few minutes later, he slumped into a plastic seat with a double espresso and called Wendy’s mother to say he’d found Niamh. “Yes. She’s fine. I’ve got her,” he lied. “Thank you so much for your help earlier.”
He hung up and took a sip of the scalding coffee. He tried Niamh’s phone again. It went to answerphone. He felt another flutter of panic in his chest. The phone was his only live link to Niamh. Without that, he had no idea where she was. No, that wasn’t strictly true. He knew she was in Trewton Royd. Correction. He believed she was in Trewton Royd with that Harriet woman. He didn’t know anything.
Pulling out his phone, he put in the postcode that Harriet had given him ... he must stop thinking of her as “that Harriet woman”. That was what Mel called her. Harriet had taken Niamh in when the teenager turned up unexpectedly. She couldn’t be all that bad.
When Mel had first found out about Harriet, Tim was the first person she’d called. Hearing his sister sobbing down the phone had made him want to go and punch something – preferably Richard. Mel and Richard’s marriage had been rocky for a while before that, but while Mel was trying to patch things up, Richard had taken a mistress. On the pretence of working on a project in the Leeds, he had gone up there for days on end. It was the last nail in the coffin. Mel had thrown Richard out and filed for divorce soon after. Most people saw Mel as bossy and decisive. She was, but Tim also knew the other side of her. The side that needed to grab this life she had been given with both hands and make a success of it. The side that took failure as a personal affront.
After what seemed like ages, Google maps came up with Trewton Royd. There was hardly anything there. A long road, a few side streets. Zooming in, he found a marker for the pub.
It seemed like such a remote location. He felt another surge of anxiety. He tried Niamh’s phone again. Nothing. It was hours since he’d spoken to her. Looking back at his phone, he noticed that the pub had its contact details on the web. He pressed call.
“Trewton Arms,” said a female voice.
Now that someone had answered. He wasn’t sure what he had intended. He took a breath, not sure what to say.
“If this is another PPI call ...” said an annoyed voice at the other end.
“Hello,” he said, quickly. “I ... erm ... I’m phoning to ask about a lady called Harriet Brown.”
“Oh yes. She’s here. Shall I get her for you?”
“No. Don’t do that. I ... er ... has she got a young girl with her? Fourteen. Blonde. Green eyes.”
There was a pause. “Who is this?”
“My name’s Tim. I’m her uncle. I just wanted to check she was okay. If she’s with Harriet, then that’s fine.” That didn’t sound great, even to him.
The woman on the other line was quiet for a minute. There was rustling as though she’d put her hand over the phone. Tim panicked and hung up. He stared at the phone for a moment, feeling like an idiot. He ran the conversation through again in his head. How to come off sounding like a weirdo.
Should he phone back and explain? Or would that make things worse? Clearly Harriet was in the pub. With Niamh. The lady from the pub was going to tell them about the call. He really should call back. Okay. If he was going to phone back, he needed to work out what he was going to say first.
He took a glug of coffee and winced at how hot it was. In his other hand, his phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number.
He put down his coffee cup. “Hello?”
“Uncle Tim, did you just phone the Trewton Arms?” Niamh sounded just like Mel. The thought of having to explain things to Mel put icicles in Tim’s veins.
“Yes,” said Tim. “I just wanted ... uh ... to book a couple of rooms. For tonight. Because I’m not driving you back home in the middle of the night.” Niamh sounded more like her usual self now. That was good.
Niamh paused. “You didn’t though, did you?”
“No. I ... thought I should speak to Harriet first. Check everything is okay.” Thinking on his feet. This was what he should have done when he was speaking to the pub landlady.
“O-kay. Well, we’re going back to Harriet’s now. Just wanted to let you know. I’m fine.”
If she was able to give him this kind of attitude, then she probably was fine. She sounded a hell of a lot better now than she had a few hours ago. Thank goodness. It was worth embarrassing himself to find out that she was okay. “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah. I had a burger and chips.”
“Well, hang in there. I’m coming.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” she said. “Anyway, I’m going now. I’m on the pub phone. There’s no mobile reception in this place, but you can catch me on WhatsApp when I get into range of Harriet’s Wi-Fi. Okay? Bye.” She hung up.
Tim put his phone away and picked up his coffee again. Some of the tension lifted from his shoulders. It was a relief that Niamh was no longer distraught and alone. But he still needed to get her back home before Mel found out. Tim drained his still hot coffee and set off back to the car. The sooner he got there, the better.
****
Harriet unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and let Niamh into the flat. The teenager ambled in, stopped and looked around. “It looks different.”
“Different?” Harriet turned from hanging up her coat.
“I’ve been here before,” she said. “When I came up with Dad, remember?” She put her head to one side. “Maybe it was because it was summer last time. And in the daytime.”
Harriet scanned the room and suddenly saw it from someone else’s eyes. When Niamh had last been in the flat, it had been tidy. She had made an effort, tidied up, put throws over the sofa, even put a bunch of flowers in a vase, she remembered. It had looked homely.
Now it looked tired and neglected. Washing was draped over radiators. Post, magazines, dirty mugs and one of last night’s wine bottles was on the floor next to the sofa. Before, it had been the small, but quirky flat of a professional freelancer, now it looked like a nest. For the first time, she noticed that the place smelled of stale wine and toast.
“Daylight makes all the difference,” Harriet said. She scooped up the empty bottle and mugs and pushed the magazines under the coffee table with her foot. “Here. Take a seat.”
She dumped the mugs in the sink. She’d wash them later. “Can I get you anything? It’ll be a long wait for your uncle to get here.”
Niamh shook her head. She didn’t sit down, but walked over to a photo of Richard and Harriet in Blackpool. She picked it up. “He looks happy,” she said.
Harriet went across and stood next to her. “He was ... we were.”
“Do you miss him?” Niamh’s voice was a broken whisper.
“Every minute of every day.”
Niamh nodded and sniffed. Poor kid. Harriet couldn’t believe that Mel could be so insensitive towards her daughter. How could she not see how much Niamh missed her father? She put her arms around the girl and gently pulled her into a hug. Niamh was still for a moment, awkward, then her forehead rested on Harriet’s shoulder and her whole body shook in a huge sob. It was as though a dam had broken. These were not quiet tears like the ones in the pub. These were ugly, primal tears of a broken heart. Niamh clung to Harriet and wept. Harriet held her, rocking gently. She would have to have words with Mel.
She’d never spoken to Mel before, because Mel hadn’t been relevant to her and Richard. But Niamh had turned up on her doorstep, uninvited and in need of help. This changed things. If she’d had a child, she would have cared for them a hell of a lot better than this! And that uncle! What was his name? Tim? What kind of a feckless idiot allowed a teenager to travel halfway across the country without even noticing that they’d gone!
Standing in her living room, with her arms around Richard’s daughter, Harriet suddenly felt something shift inside her. The woman she used to be, before the crushing blackness of grief had buried her, looked out. And was horrified. The flat hadn’t been cleaned in months. There was no reason for her to live like this. Working in the corner shop, for heaven’s sake. Didn’t she have a business of her own to run?
All this wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to bring Richard back. She had to move on. But first, this child needed her. If Richard couldn’t be there for Niamh, Harriet would have to do her best to fill the breach.