says Adam, sheepish, as if he’d named her himself.
‘Brooke Waters!’ howls Maisie. ‘Damn, girl! Headline for the week: Adam’s Waters broke.’
‘Hey, Maisie,’ says Adam. ‘Can you go into my bag and grab the blueberries I bought?’
‘Yep, I’ll be a minute OK? Got to get sorted for tonight first.’ She takes a few steps toward Becky and pecks her on the cheek. ‘You’re amazing, my hero, I totally love you.’ Then she wanders out, answering her phone on the way.
‘Thanks for keeping an eye on her tonight. I appreciate it.’ Becky stifles a yawn and looks round the kitchen trying to remember where she put her travel-sized sun cream. ‘What stuff is she getting sorted? Are you guys doing something fun tonight? Bowling …’
‘Well no,’ Adam looks up, perplexed. ‘The sleepover?’
‘At Jules’ house? I told her she couldn’t go to that until we’d discussed it.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you’d … the way it …’
Becky’s chest tightens. ‘I said no to her.’ Her whole body is tense now. ‘She’s playing us off against each other, Adam, she—’
‘Hold on a minute,’ he says. ‘When she said there was a sleepover I asked her questions like who’s there, what time are you going. I suppose I assumed she was already going … we were talking about other things at the same time: hash-browns and climbing walls.’ The two of them do go off on tangents. ‘I can’t quite remember how the conversation went but it’s possible she thought we’d already spoken.’
Becky is a combination of anxious and irritated. ‘Why did you assume anything? Didn’t you think I might have some concerns about her staying at a stranger’s house?’
‘It’s not that, the last thing I wanted to do was … I just thought you’d made a call on it already because, well, honestly? It all sounds fine to me.’
‘But I’ve never met this guy … Jules, or whatever. What if …’
‘I have.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes, he’s nice. He’s sweet. Totally unthreatening. I’d be more worried about him. He looks malnourished: Maisie could take him down in five seconds flat.’
There is a silence as Adam watches Becky’s fingers flick over her cuticles in quick and silent clicks then dart to the silk skin on her wrist and back again. He knows what she’s thinking.
‘She’s a sensible kid, Becky,’ he says eventually.
‘I know that. But I was a sensible kid before that night in the Hampstead house.’
‘That was different. You were … no one could have predicted … This is so different. Sober school night, parents down the corridor, the girls sharing a room. It’s not a party, they won’t even be drinking. It’s all good, I honestly think it’s all good.’
But he sees from her expression that she’s not convinced and so he continues, ‘She’s growing up quickly. If we box her away from what everyone else is doing she’ll do it anyway and then won’t tell us about it.’ Becky bows her head. Knows he’s right. ‘We have to trust her.’ He’s sweet to put it that way when what he means is that Becky is the one that must trust.
‘It’s not Maisie I don’t trust. It’s other people.’
‘So let’s make Jules wear a monitoring device?’ says Adam brightly, hauling them both back into the present. ‘With the capacity to shock him remotely?’
‘You really think he’s OK?’
‘He’s passionate about the polar ice caps and Dinosaur Junior. That makes him more than fine. Come on.’ He reaches out for her hand and then lets his arm fall by his side.
‘OK, OK, fine.’
He smiles. ‘I think it’s a good decision. For all of us.’
By us he means Becky. Good for her to let go, is what he means. Becky feels her stomach unknot with the feeling that Adam is the net under her tight-rope.
‘Right,’ she says. ‘I think the spare room is all made up …’
‘That’s OK, I won’t need it,’ says Adam casually, ‘I’ll go to poker if Maisie’s going to be out.’
Becky turns to face him, her stomach knotting all over again. ‘Where?’
‘Pete’s new place in Ladbroke Grove?’
She wouldn’t dream of travelling to the opposite side of London in the same situation. She’d get on with stuff at home to quell the anxiety that her daughter was staying in a house she had never before visited, as if knowing the colour of the wallpaper would somehow make Maisie safer. Becky would potter about, phone in her back pocket, just in case Maisie needed to speak to her.
As it is, Becky will be in France and Adam will be in West London. Her jaw tightens. Did he tell Maisie she could go to the sleepover so he’d be free to play poker with his mates? She banishes the thought. It’s not useful. He’s doing her a favour by being on call; what do they call it, in loco parentis?
‘But what if something happens?’ she says. ‘And she needs to come home and you’re not here? It’ll take you ages to get to her.’
Adam turns to her, smiling. ‘Lily’s mum is at the house and Zee can always call me.’
Part of her is scalded with panic: by that time, it will be too late to save Maisie from whatever has happened. And yet another part of her knows that what he’s saying is entirely reasonable. If only she were able to feel the same reasoning in her bones, just a fraction of his confidence, an iota of his assurance. She wishes she was more like him.
‘OK,’ she says quietly. ‘OK then.’
‘I’ll fix that shelf in the hall before I go,’ he says, ‘then the shelf gets to have a good night too.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, trying a smile. ‘And please, keep your phone on and close to you?’
‘Of course I will. And I’ll be here when she comes home from school tomorrow. Come on,’ he winks. ‘This really is fine. Go and have some fun in Cannes.’
Maisie lopes back into the kitchen holding a box of blueberries in one hand and an over-stuffed rucksack in the other.
Too late for Becky to change her mind now, she holds onto her daughter tightly and silently prays for her safety.
‘Be asleep by midnight,’ she says. ‘You’ve got school. And you can call your dad if there are any problems. Or me. I’ll have my phone with me in Cannes. WhatsApp, text, a call, it will all work …’
‘Yes, yes,’ she says quickly, and turns to face Adam. ‘You guys are the best.’
She catches the intense concentration and joy in Adam’s
