her close while she cried, then reached into his pocket and pressed something into her hand.
‘It’s beautiful.’ She ran a finger over the delicate edges of the silver daisy pendant. It was the loveliest present anyone had ever given her.
‘It is. And so are you. Those boys are idiots. When they grow up, they’ll kick themselves for not realising how stunning you are.’
She’d shivered as he fastened the necklace around her neck, his fingers brushing her skin. Then, embarrassed by her reaction, she’d pulled away. If Mike noticed her reaction he didn’t mention it. Instead he looked from her face to the pendant, nestling above the top button of her work polo shirt and smiled.
‘It suits you.’
Chloe presses a hand against the cold chain at her neck as she spots a small group of boys hanging around the school gates. They’re the ones who started the stupid list. Five weeks she’s had the necklace and her parents haven’t said a word. There was a time when her mum would notice every little thing about her – a scrape on her knee after a fall at primary school, a new hairstyle after they took turns to braid each other’s hair at break, a spot on her chin, a rash on her chest – but it’s been a long time since her mum did more than give her a passing glance. Sometimes, when it’s just her, Mum and Jamie at home, she feels like a ghost.
‘Chloe?’
She turns sharply as someone says her name. A tall, thin woman with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail is hurrying along the pavement towards her. It’s the woman who knocked on her front door the night before.
‘Chloe, have you got a second?’
‘No.’ She continues to walk. Two girls she doesn’t recognise laugh as they overtake her and her stomach clenches with anxiety. Great, another reason for people to laugh at her.
‘Please, Chloe, just five minutes. It’s important.’
The hand on her arm makes her stop just long enough to shake it off. ‘I’ve got to get to school.’
‘I know. I won’t take up much of your time. Please, just hear me out.’
It’s the woman’s suit that makes her pause. She looks smart, like a lawyer or something.
‘What do you want?’
‘I need to talk to you about Mike Hughes.’
‘Oh god.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘Not that again. I already talked to the police.’ She lowers her voice as a boy from her year swerves around them. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong.’
‘He has,’ the woman says. ‘I saw him kiss you.’
Chloe stares at her, her throat dry, her mind empty. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m not. I was in the garden centre. I saw him kiss you in the summer house.’
‘No you didn’t.’
‘Chloe,’ the woman touches her on the shoulder again. ‘I know what you’re going through. I know what he’s like. He makes you feel special, doesn’t he? Beautiful? You feel understood and cared for, like he’s the only person in the world who really gets you.’ The woman is speaking softly and quickly, like she’s running out of breath, and she’s leaning in far closer than Chloe is comfortable with. ‘Has he told you that he loves you yet?’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes you do. I can see it in your eyes. You need to tell the police what’s going on. He’s a dangerous man. You think he’s kind and generous and caring but he’s manipulating you. He’s a paedophile, Chloe. This is all about control and nothing to do with love. Have you slept with him yet?’
‘What? No!’ The horror in Chloe’s voice is real and the other woman seems to sense it because she raises her eyebrows.
‘Good. Don’t. Whatever’s going on between you and Mike Hughes, you need to end it now. No good can come of it. You need to trust me on this.’
‘Trust you? I don’t even know who you are.’
‘I’m—’
‘Chloeeee!’ A red-haired girl with thick black eyebrows barges between them. ‘Sorry, Miss, I need to talk to Chloe. Chlo, did you do last night’s biology homework because I, like, well, didn’t. I need to borrow yours. Is this it?’ She yanks at one of the books Chloe is clutching to her chest. Normally there’s no way in hell she’d let Misty Engles anywhere near her but right now she’d take an atomic bomb over spending one more minute talking about Mike Hughes with this weirdo.
‘Course you can borrow it,’ she says, then she threads her arm through Misty’s and heads for the gates.
‘Chloe,’ the woman calls from behind her. ‘Let me give you my phone number. You can call me if—’
‘Fuck off!’ Chloe shouts without looking back. ‘Just fuck off.’
Misty Engles giggles. ‘Who was that?’
‘Just some freak. I think she fancies me.’
Chloe’s laughter lasts all of thirty seconds, then her phone bleeps with a text from her dad. She’s been sacked from the garden centre. They know about the thefts. And so does he.
It’s six minutes past nine. Wendy’s irritation at being late is reflected back at her in the bathroom mirror, along with a face of carefully, if heavily, applied make-up.
‘Warpaint,’ Wendy says to her reflection, then sighs heavily. Monty, the springer spaniel at her feet, nudges her leg with his nose and she reaches down to rub him behind the ears.
She’s being ridiculous, she knows she is. Wearing a faceful of make-up isn’t going to impress Lou Wandsworth. Nor will it give her the upper hand. In fact the only message it’ll give Lou is that Wendy needs to get down to Boots for a new mascara because the clumpy eyelash look isn’t fetching on catwalk models, never mind on fifty-nine-year-old women. She reaches for a make-up wipe and roughly scrubs at her cheeks, lips and eyes. She doesn’t need make-up for what she’s about to do.
She walks into the office with her shoulders back, her chin tipped up and an uncomfortable prickling sensation under her arms. After she dropped Monty off at her sister’s house she had to put her foot down to compensate for the ridiculous amount of time she’d spent applying, and then removing, her make-up, but she parked up outside Consol eLearning right on time. And with a minute to spare too.
‘Good morning,’ she says merrily to the matronly- looking receptionist. ‘My name is Wendy Harrison. I’m here to see Louise Wandsworth.’
‘She’s expecting you. I’ll just ring through. Would you
