the Inglenook, just up Pillory Street from the bookshop. It was a bit late for a cooked lunch, but the proprietor had suggested his wife’s prizewinning soup, and the steam rising from Gemma’s bowl smelled heavenly.
And it was just as well, she thought, that they’d missed the height of the lunch crowd, as only one other table was occupied, providing the opportunity for a fairly private conversation, if only she could fi gure out what to say.
It had taken her only a moment’s contemplation to realize that she couldn’t, in good conscience, ignore what she’d found in Lally’s room. She put herself in Juliet’s place—what if someone discovered evidence that Kit had been using drugs, and didn’t tell her or Duncan? She would want to know, and would be slow to forgive anyone who kept it from her.
That decision made, her first instinct had been to tell Duncan and let him deal with it. She’d realized quickly, however, that that was merely cowardice on her part.
Gemma took a tiny sip of the soup, which was as good as it smelled, then made another stab at finding an opening. “It’s difficult, isn’t it, knowing what to do with teenagers, even under the best of circumstances?”
Juliet looked up from her soup, one dark eyebrow arched in surprise, and Gemma was struck by her sudden but fleeting resemblance to Duncan. More often, she’d seen Rosemary in Juliet, and occasionally a smile or a tilt of the head that made her think of Hugh. “I suppose so,” Juliet said slowly, rotating her spoon. “Lally was such a sweet child, always eager to please. And now—sometimes I wonder what happened to that little girl, if she’s even still there.”
Hearing the pain in Juliet’s voice, Gemma knew she’d struck a nerve. “I doubt Lally knows herself.” She ate a little more of her soup,
then broke off a piece of crusty brown bread and peeled the foil cover from a packet of butter. “When I was Lally’s age, I remember my mum telling me I must have been abducted by aliens.” Juliet smiled, and encouraged, Gemma went on. “Was Lally having a difficult time even before things got so rough with Caspar?”
Frowning, Juliet said, “I don’t know, really. It seems as if this entire year’s been hard for her, but now I wonder if there were signs earlier and I simply missed them.”
Gemma thought of how blind they had been to the problems Kit was having at school, and swallowed a little too hastily. She coughed until her eyes watered, but waved off Juliet’s concern.
Then she thought about Kit’s association with Lally, and felt a clutch of dread. Surely they could trust him not to get involved with drugs, whatever he might feel about Lally—he’d always seemed such a sensible boy. But a sliver of doubt wedged in her heart like an ice fragment, and she found she’d lost her appetite.
“Of course, it’s been worse since Peter died,” said Juliet, and Gemma looked up in surprise.
“Peter?”
“A friend of Lally’s at school. Peter Llewellyn. He drowned in the canal. There was . . .” Juliet pushed her plate away, as if she, too, suddenly found it difficult to force food down, no matter how good.
“There was alcohol involved. It was such a shock—Peter was the last boy anyone would have expected . . . And Lally, Lally seemed to take it very hard, but she wouldn’t talk to me about it.”
Gemma saw her opening. “Was there anything else indicated in the boy’s death?”
“Anything
else? What do you mean?” The baffled tone told Gemma that Juliet wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
“Drugs. Did they find drugs in Peter’s system?”
“No.” Juliet shook her head. “No. Not that I heard. And I can’t imagine that they did. These kids, they’re just babies, really. I mean, experimenting with alcohol is one thing, but—”
“Jules.” Gemma found herself using Duncan’s nickname for his sister, an intimacy she wouldn’t have contemplated an hour ago.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
Juliet looked at her, her dark gray eyes dilating with apprehension, but she didn’t speak.
Glancing round the room, Gemma saw that the only other customer, a woman in the back corner, had taken out her mobile phone and was murmuring into it. The proprietor had disappeared into the kitchen. Still, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry.
There’s no easy way to say this. But when I was getting Lally’s clothes, I found some things in her backpack. Drugs.”
“What?” Juliet said, blankly. Then, “No, that’s not possible.”
But in spite of her protest, her oval face paled. “Did you say her backpack? Lally has her backpack with her.”
“This was an old one, in the wardrobe. The one I put her clothes in.”
Blowing out her lips in a little puff of relief, Juliet tried a smile.
“Lally hasn’t used that since last year. She must have loaned it to someone who left the things in it, by accident.”
Gemma reached out and laid her fingers lightly on Juliet’s wrist.
“Juliet, I really am sorry. But no one forgets they’ve left things like this lying about. The pills, maybe, but not the other. There was marijuana, too. And even if Lally was keeping the stuff for someone else, she’s involved in something dangerous. You had to know.”
“Pot?” whispered Juliet, her argument abandoned. “And what sort of pills?”
Gemma sighed. “I suspect some of the pills might be a ’pam drug, Valium or Xanax. Tranquilizers. Do you or Caspar have a prescription?” When Juliet shook her head, she went on. “The other tablets look homemade—I suspect they’re Ecstasy.”
“But that’s not all that bad, is it?” Juliet asked, her voice rising on a shred of hope. “I mean—I read about raves—” She brought her
hands together, twisting them in her lap as if one were seeking comfort from the other. They had begun to tremble. “Oh, Christ,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it, there must be some mistake.”
Gemma couldn’t bring herself to mention the condoms, not now.
Silence descended on their little table. Their unfinished bowls of soup had cooled; the scattered crumbs of bread lay drying on the cheerful tablecloth. Closing her eyes, Juliet sat so still she might have fallen asleep. The woman sitting alone finished her conversation and snapped her mobile phone closed, glancing curiously at Gemma and Juliet as she made her way to the register.
The own er emerged from the kitchen, engaging the woman in friendly banter as he rang up her bill—she was obviously a regular customer.
Opening her eyes, Juliet fixed Gemma with a burning stare, and under cover of the voices of the owner and customer, said quietly,
“I’ll kill her.” Spots of color flared high on her pale cheeks.
“No.” Gemma had been thinking furiously, ever since she’d found Lally’s stash. “Juliet, wait. I’m not suggesting you ignore this—God forbid—but I think you should hold off for a few days before you talk to her about it.” It seemed to Gemma that both mother and daughter were stretched to the breaking point, and that a confrontation might have disastrous consequences.
“Things are so unsettled just now—I’m afraid you may both say things you’ll regret. Wait at least until you’ve worked out a plan for you and the children, and until you’ve told her what you mean to do.
Looking round, Gemma saw that the cafe’s own er had disappeared into the kitchen. She reached into her pocket and passed the bags surreptitiously across the small table. “Deal with this when you’re calmer.”
Juliet gazed wide-eyed at what she held. Then she stuffed the bags into her handbag. Her shoulders slumping, she said, “Promise me this time. Promise me you won’t tell Duncan.”
“So what did she look like?” Lally sat back on her heels and looked at Kit across the opened case of the latest Harry Potter. They’d spent most of the morning, and the last hour since lunch, unpacking and shelving the boxes of books in the small back room of the bookshop.
“Was there blood?”
“Just bugger off, okay?” said Kit. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Dropping her gaze, Lally ran a fingertip over the slightly dusty spines of the books left in the box. He thought he’d discouraged her, but after a moment she said more quietly, “Did she—did she look like she was asleep?”
