After kissing Poppy goodbye and handing her over to the teaching assistant, I head towards the gossiping parents. Their faces freeze as I approach; they all look in different directions so as not to catch my gaze.
‘Morning,’ I say, in a quiet voice. I offer a sad smile then, without warning, I lose my control and throw my hands to my face as it crumples and the tears fall.
‘Oh, God, Beth.’ One woman, whose name I can’t recall, rushes up to me and places her hand on my shoulder. ‘Are you okay? We couldn’t help but hear …’
I feel other hands on me, rubbing my back and arms as I’m gently guided outside. Several reassuring voices compete to be heard.
‘It’s so terrible, I can’t …’ A sob prevents other words forming.
‘Are you going to Poppy’s Place now?’ It’s Julia, mum of the triplets, who asks. ‘We’ll walk with you. Come on.’ And I’m bundled away from nursery towards the café. I’m in the middle of a gang of local mothers: protected for the moment.
Once inside the café, the five mums sit at the larger circular table near the back and I busy myself preparing lattes. Lucy looks at me, her right eyebrow arched.
‘Have I missed something?’ she says.
‘If you’re asking that, then yes, you have.’
‘Are you all right? You look a bit peaky.’ Concern twists her delicate features. ‘Is Poppy okay?’
The hissing of the milk heating wand prevents more conversation for a few minutes. When we’ve made the drinks, I pop my hand on Lucy’s wrist and tell her I’ll fill her in properly after the mums have left, but that Tom has been taken to Banbury police station to help police with their enquiries. Her mouth falls into an ‘O’ shape, but she quickly recovers and gives me a curt nod and a sympathetic smile.
‘Here you go, ladies. On the house.’ I place the tray of lattes on the table and give a wavering smile as I sit down.
‘So, Beth, how are you doing?’ Ellie gushes. ‘Must be an awful shock. I mean … Tom? Do they really think he’s capable of harming that poor girl?’
‘The papers have it all wrong,’ I say, emphatically. ‘I have no idea how they think they can get away with it. Honestly, I didn’t even want to leave the cottage this morning.’ Tears cloud my vision. I feel sympathetic hands on me again as I bury my head in my arms on the table and allow a sob to escape.
‘Oh, my lovely – we’re all here for you; try not to worry. They’ve not charged him, have they?’ Julia asks.
‘No. And once they realise that he has nothing to do with her disappearance, they’ll release him, I’m sure. But everyone will always say there’s no smoke without fire. He’s in the newspaper. His name is tarnished and so is mine now. Low-life journalists. This could ruin our lives.’ Another sob wracks my body.
‘Look, whatever happens, everyone loves this café – you’ve done such a fabulous job and people will continue to come here. Of course there will be gossip, that’s inevitable. But the truth will prevail,’ Julia declares dramatically, as though she’s giving a speech in court. ‘It won’t stop customers coming through these doors, and you and Poppy will be supported, I promise.’
It’s the most interaction I’ve had with the yummy mummy club for the entire two years I’ve lived here. But it’s all well and good them being supportive and lovely while they think Tom’s innocent. They could turn on me just as quickly if the worst happens and he is charged.
He won’t be, the voice in my head tells me.
Thankfully, for now at least, it seems my fear of leaving the cottage this morning was unfounded. Poppy and me – we’re okay for the time being. And if Maxwell does his job, Tom will be released shortly, and this whole situation will diffuse into nothing more than village gossip. Village gossip that will soon be replaced with something else. And actually, I’m finally interesting enough to have been brought into the circle of friends I’ve wanted to infiltrate since moving to Lower Tew. Tom’s shock arrest has brought something positive after all.
The day drags, my mind replaying the chat with the nursery mums on a loop. I try to busy myself clearing tables, wiping down the counter and stacking cups, but I’m counting down the minutes until it’s time to leave and pick Poppy up. My mobile vibrates in my apron pocket. I reach in to get it, but pull my hand back. It’s irresponsible to ignore it, but the thought of what news the call might bring fills me with dread. I’m sure they’ll call back. I’ll face it later.
I fill Lucy in on what happened. Not in any great detail – the same as I didn’t with Julia and the others. The bare minimum to feed their curiosity, that was all.
Lucy goes very quiet afterwards and hardly speaks for the rest of the afternoon. Absolutely no singing – so unlike her. Initially, I thought it was politeness – she didn’t want to appear overly happy or jolly following my news. But I begin to sense there is more to it.
Just as I’m about to leave, I say, ‘You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, Lucy. You okay?’
She doesn’t look me in the eye when she answers with a brief, ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ I don’t want to push her. A niggling worm of worry burrows inside me. She seems concerned. Why?
I don’t have time to delve deeper into it now. I put on my coat and she gives me a weak smile and says she’ll see me in the morning. I’m uneasy when
