the only sensible option.
Fleur scrolled down to find Suzie’s mobile number and pressed ‘call’. The phone began to ring just as she pulled open the door to the lavatory.
The service station toilet smelt like a monkey cage. It was the kind of place where you’d feel dirtier after washing your hands, if you could bring yourself to use the hand basin. Liquid soap had formed a slimy grey stalagmite on the splashback and damp paper towels and crumpled tissue littered the scuffed, dirt-caked floor. The toilet seat was up, but there was no way Fleur was going close enough to even think about lowering it. Above a pitted and stained mirror a chipped yellowing sign read: ‘These facilities are inspected regularly.’ Fleur wondered by whom – trolls?
She let the door swing shut. On her mobile someone had answered.
‘Suzie?’ she said in a hoarse whisper, ‘Are you there? I just wanted to let you know that we’re on our way back, we’re—’
‘Who are you ringing?’ said Rose from behind her.
Fleur almost jumped out of her skin. ‘You frightened the life out of me,’ Fleur stammered.
‘I was worried about you. I thought you said you wanted to go to the loo?’
‘I did, I mean, I do. There’s a queue,’ said Fleur lamely.
‘No, there’s not; look the thing’s on green,’ said Rose, pulling open the door. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’
‘Oh, I’m just tickety-boo,’ said Fleur, phone still clamped to her ear as she stepped inside.
*
‘That was Fleur again, she said she couldn’t talk for long – they’re now on their way home,’ said Sam, handing Suzie her phone. ‘They’ve just stopped at the service station at Hunter’s Cross. What on earth are you doing in Hannah’s room?’
‘Looking for these.’ Suzie, on her knees and still wrapped in a towel, triumphantly held up her new shoes. The family cats, Sid and Harry, had padded in behind her to watch the rest of the show. ‘They were under Hannah’s bed, although I’ve got no idea what she’s done with the box. She must have been trying them on. I just can’t believe her sometimes,’ Suzie sighed. ‘She knows they’re mine and they’re new and that I bought them especially for the party. I don’t take her clothes. She would be furious if she thought I was going through her things.’
‘You should take it as a compliment.’
Suzie pulled a face. ‘Well, excuse me if I don’t. I wouldn’t mind if she asked but she just helps herself – my shoes, my perfume, my make-up. Last week I caught her sloping off in my boots and the jacket Mum and Dad got me for Christmas. I’m going to have to say something.’
She looked around the bedroom. Vampire posters and right-on, edgy, slightly grungy slogans had taken the place of Hannah’s pony posters. Her teddies and toys were stuffed into a box on top of the wardrobe. The room was a tip, despite Suzie’s constant efforts and pleas for Hannah to clear it up. You couldn’t see the bedroom floor for clothes and crumbs and books and magazines, and every flat surface was covered in mugs, empty packets, make-up and hair paraphernalia.
In one corner a pile of freshly ironed clothes lay alongside a black plastic sack spilling out crumpled papers and rubbish, abandoned half way through an enforced clear up.
Suzie sighed; she longed for the old Hannah to come home: the one who used to giggle with her in the kitchen; the one who couldn’t wait to get home from school to tell her how the day had gone; the one who enjoyed helping her cook; the one who didn’t sulk and who would have loved tonight’s party. The old Hannah would have joined in and had fun with everyone, not crept off somewhere to moan and feel all grumpy and hard-done-by.
‘We really need to be getting going,’ Sam was saying.
‘I can hardly go anywhere like this, can I?’ said Suzie pointing to her towel. ‘And I need to put a face on.’
Sam rolled his eyes. ‘No, you don’t, you know you look gorgeous just the way you are. Come on, just put your frock on – it’ll be fine. I’ll go downstairs and let the dogs back in.’
‘Can you leave the dogs in the kitchen, I don’t want muddy pawprints all over my dress,’ said Suzie, hurrying into the bedroom. ‘Just give me ten minutes.’
‘You’re the one who was worrying about it all going wrong if we weren’t there,’ called Sam, shucking his jacket off the hanger and pulling it on. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Suzie didn’t reply. At least she had found her shoes. She took a quick look at the clock beside the bed and made a start – towel off, underwear on. Then she slipped the dress off the hanger and slithered into it, tugging it on over damp shoulders, before pulling on the jacket. She sat down at the dressing table, dragged a brush through her hair, added a slick of kohl pencil around her eyes, a little lipstick and a dab of perfume – and was all done and ready to go with time to spare.
Checking her reflection, Suzie grinned. Matt had been right – despite getting ready in a rush, her new outfit was absolutely perfect, fitting her like a dream and making her both look and feel wonderful.
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