until his mother called for him to come home for lunch. Then nothing. My legs shook with the awkward effort of crouching behind the hedge. Surely a cleaner sent back to catch Ryan would have more important things to do than hang out at my house in case I came home. I scanned the parked cars on the street. There were six of them. Four I could see clearly. Two were partly hidden from view.
I stood up and shook the cramp out of my legs. She wasn’t here. I made my way back through the field, across the stile and on to my street. Trying to seem like someone taking a casual stroll I walked up the road, flicking my eyes from left to right, making sure the parked cars were empty. They were.
For a moment I considered marching right up to my front door and unlocking it with my key. But a small part of me still felt uneasy. I kept on going right to the end of my street and then turned the corner, doubling back on myself along the rear alleyway. It was narrow. Both my street and the one behind it had back gardens that opened on to the alley. It was big enough for wheelie bins and not much else. There was no one there but me and the ginger cat who liked to come and visit us from time to time.
When I got to my back gate, I paused. The garden was small with nowhere to hide. Just a picnic table, a washing line and a few scraggly shrubs. I unlatched the gate and pushed it open with my toe. It swung inwards with a creak.
I would only need two minutes to get what I needed. One hundred and twenty seconds. In and out. Surely the odds were on my side.
I swallowed my fear and slowly put one foot in front of the other. There was no sound. I’d always enjoyed the quietness of Penpol Cove before; now, it just felt creepy. I pulled my house keys out of my jeans pocket and slipped the back door key into the lock. I turned it and pushed the door open.
I stepped inside. The kitchen looked just as it always did. The table still had a half-finished bottle of red wine next to the salt and pepper shakers. Miranda’s mug was sitting in the sink. The address and phone number of the house she was staying at in Bath were stuck to the side of the fridge with a magnet. The house was silent. All I could hear was the hum of the fridge and the all too familiar pounding of my heart.
I left the back door open and tiptoed into the hall. The door to the sitting room was ajar. I glanced inside. Nothing. Exhaling deeply, I climbed the stairs.
It was an old house. Every other stair squeaked or groaned and some of the floorboards on the landing were loose. I wished I could remember which stairs and boards were bad, but I’d never been the sort of girl who liked to sneak out of the house at night. Upstairs were three rooms: my room, Miranda’s and the bathroom. I was pretty sure that Lauren wouldn’t be hanging out in the bathroom, but I pushed open each door in turn to check. Nothing.
My cash savings were in a jam jar on the top of my bookshelf, hidden behind a copy of Great Expectations . I pulled out the jar and emptied the cash on to my bed. One hundred and four pounds. Not a lot, but enough for petrol to get us out of Cornwall. Enough to buy food for a few days.
My mother’s engagement ring was in my jewellery box. It was a slender band with a large diamond, which I had attached to a thin gold chain. Miranda had had it valued just a few months ago when renewing the house insurance. The jeweller had said it was worth three thousand pounds. The ring was all I had left of my mother, except for a handful of photographs. I put the necklace around my neck and picked up the framed photo of me and my parents which stood on the bedside table. It was the photo I said goodnight to every night before turning off the light. I was about to slide the photo out of the frame, when I remembered I couldn’t. Ryan had said we would make it look like we had drowned. So no one would look for us. If I took that photo, Miranda would know I’d run away. Instead, I rummaged
I stood up and shook the cramp out of my legs. She wasn’t here. I made my way back through the field, across the stile and on to my street. Trying to seem like someone taking a casual stroll I walked up the road, flicking my eyes from left to right, making sure the parked cars were empty. They were.
For a moment I considered marching right up to my front door and unlocking it with my key. But a small part of me still felt uneasy. I kept on going right to the end of my street and then turned the corner, doubling back on myself along the rear alleyway. It was narrow. Both my street and the one behind it had back gardens that opened on to the alley. It was big enough for wheelie bins and not much else. There was no one there but me and the ginger cat who liked to come and visit us from time to time.
When I got to my back gate, I paused. The garden was small with nowhere to hide. Just a picnic table, a washing line and a few scraggly shrubs. I unlatched the gate and pushed it open with my toe. It swung inwards with a creak.
I would only need two minutes to get what I needed. One hundred and twenty seconds. In and out. Surely the odds were on my side.
I swallowed my fear and slowly put one foot in front of the other. There was no sound. I’d always enjoyed the quietness of Penpol Cove before; now, it just felt creepy. I pulled my house keys out of my jeans pocket and slipped the back door key into the lock. I turned it and pushed the door open.
I stepped inside. The kitchen looked just as it always did. The table still had a half-finished bottle of red wine next to the salt and pepper shakers. Miranda’s mug was sitting in the sink. The address and phone number of the house she was staying at in Bath were stuck to the side of the fridge with a magnet. The house was silent. All I could hear was the hum of the fridge and the all too familiar pounding of my heart.
I left the back door open and tiptoed into the hall. The door to the sitting room was ajar. I glanced inside. Nothing. Exhaling deeply, I climbed the stairs.
It was an old house. Every other stair squeaked or groaned and some of the floorboards on the landing were loose. I wished I could remember which stairs and boards were bad, but I’d never been the sort of girl who liked to sneak out of the house at night. Upstairs were three rooms: my room, Miranda’s and the bathroom. I was pretty sure that Lauren wouldn’t be hanging out in the bathroom, but I pushed open each door in turn to check. Nothing.
My cash savings were in a jam jar on the top of my bookshelf, hidden behind a copy of Great Expectations . I pulled out the jar and emptied the cash on to my bed. One hundred and four pounds. Not a lot, but enough for petrol to get us out of Cornwall. Enough to buy food for a few days.
My mother’s engagement ring was in my jewellery box. It was a slender band with a large diamond, which I had attached to a thin gold chain. Miranda had had it valued just a few months ago when renewing the house insurance. The jeweller had said it was worth three thousand pounds. The ring was all I had left of my mother, except for a handful of photographs. I put the necklace around my neck and picked up the framed photo of me and my parents which stood on the bedside table. It was the photo I said goodnight to every night before turning off the light. I was about to slide the photo out of the frame, when I remembered I couldn’t. Ryan had said we would make it look like we had drowned. So no one would look for us. If I took that photo, Miranda would know I’d run away. Instead, I rummaged
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