Part 38 (1/2)

'We've got a lamb,' he mumbled, his pride m.u.f.fled by blanket and thumb.

'You have.'

He snuggled a little closer, gossamer hair tickling my neck. Once they'd dropped off, I eased myself out and transferred Finn to his own bed. He muttered something as I covered him up, and flung out a small arm.

Sacha too seemed to be asleep, swaddled in her duvet; but as I was turning off the bedside lamp, I heard her voice. 'Shut up.'

I looked round. She was sitting up. 'What? I never said anything.'

'Shut up. You're doing my head in.' She was staring fixedly over my shoulder. Spooked, I glanced behind me. A draught stirred the open curtains. The next moment she was screaming in terror, backing away up the bed.

'What is it?' I gasped. Her mouth was wide open, like a skull's. 'Sacha- what's happened?'

'D'you see it? D'you see it?' She pointed at the window. 'Oh my G.o.d, there's something looking in! Oh my G.o.d, see the face?'

I looked, but could see only our two reflections in the black gla.s.s. It took all my courage to walk across and open the door. I searched up and down the balcony. There was no sign of life, though leaves rustled in the magnolia tree.

'Nothing there,' I said shakily, shutting and bolting the door behind me.

The next moment she was beside me, digging her fingers into my arm. 'We've got to get out,' she hissed. 'They're here.'

I'll admit it: I sank half a bottle of pinot while I waited for Kit.

I phoned the Vargas. They were my staunch allies, a teenage girl and a dying woman. I needed allies. The father answered. Anita and Bianka were out for a walk, he said chattily. Seemed a funny thing to do on a winter's night, but they'd rugged up warm. Was I Sacha's mum? What a lovely girl. Shame they hadn't seen much of her lately.

Then I wandered around the house, closing curtains and feeling lost. I decided to put off telling Kit about Sacha's relapse. I wouldn't talk about going back to England, either. Not tonight, when he was coming home so happy.

At five past ten, a car crossed the cattle grid.

Now, here's a tip: reunions never live up to one's expectations; it's just a sad fact of life. This one was disastrous. I blame jetlag. I blame the awful secrets I was keeping. I blame stress and lack of sleep. I blame my half bottle of wine, and Kit's temper. Whatever the culprit, the effect was catastrophic.

Kit was climbing stiffly out of the car when I hurled myself across the yard. He held out his arms and I pressed my face to his, luxuriating in his closeness.

'Hey hey,' he said, nudging my ear. 'You're not blubbing, are you?'

Bleater Brown spotted us, and began to bawl as we walked inside, arms around one another.

'Tea, coffee, food?' I asked. 'Or just sleep?'

Kit was s.p.a.ced out. His eyes looked bloodshot, his hair tousled. He dropped his car keys by the phone, yawning. 'Um . . . how about one of your special frothy coffees? I'll just nip upstairs, take a pee and kiss the children. Promise I won't wake them.'

'I wouldn't go into Sacha's room. She's . . . best not to disturb her.'

While he padded upstairs I switched on the espresso machine. Bleater was still making her feelings plain, so I made up a bottle. I heard the phone as I was climbing into her pen, but it was cut off after four rings so I knew Kit had answered it. Probably his mother. Bleater gulped down her milk in record time, but I lingered to put more straw in her bed.

Kit's call was over by the time I returned. He'd changed into a clean sweater.

'I'll froth your milk,' I chirruped. 'This is going to be the best Martha frothy-coffee special in the universe. Who was on the phone?'

'Bianka.'

'Oh?'

'Oh.' Kit looked immensely sad, his eyes turned down at the corners. 'Bianka. Wanting news. She and Anita have been out looking all evening. They were wondering whether we'd heard from Sacha yet.'

'Kit . . .'

'She was very relieved when I told her I'd just seen Sacha upstairs, asleep. Says she and her mum were really scared. I asked why scared? She said well, you hear of people being murdered for supplying P on some other dealer's patch. Those were her actual words, Martha. Supplying P on some other dealer's patch. What the f.u.c.k's going on?'

'It's a long story.'

'I'll bet it is. You thought I didn't need to know my stepdaughter's a drug dealer?'

'Courier.'

He exploded, kicking a chair across the room. 'Jesus Christ! Are you going to quibble about the job t.i.tle?'

'No, but-'

'A dealer under my roof, living with my sons! Finn and Charlie could find that s.h.i.+t lying around and wonder what it tastes like.'

'Shh, Kit! Keep your voice down. The children-'

He didn't keep his voice down. 'Drug squad might smash the doors in any moment. A gang could come out here and torch our house. And you didn't feel like telling me?'

'You weren't here to tell.'

He turned away, shaking his head. 'This can't go on, Martha.'

I felt cold. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean it can't go on. I'll never trust Sacha again. Now I find I can't trust you either. One way or another, this must stop.'

One way or another . . . It was fear inside me, undulating sinuously like an eel. But I hid it with a good old-fas.h.i.+oned cavalry charge. 'You can p.i.s.s off, if you're going to be so sodding sanctimonious.'

'Maybe I should p.i.s.s off then.'

I poked my knuckles into his chest. 'You've been home five minutes and already you're throwing your weight around. I've carried this family single-handed through a horrific crisis. I think I deserve a medal, but no, apparently I deserve to be yelled at. You've had your head so far up your own backside this past year-you know nothing about how this whole immigration thing has been for the rest of us.'

'This whole immigration thing was dandy until that girl-'

I screamed over him, 'We came out here for you! We lost our home and our family and our country, for you! All because your career blew up and you couldn't handle it.' I punched him in the shoulder. 'How dare you come in here and start preaching to me?'