Tanzie and Nicky didn’t speak, but Jess watched Nicky limp towards the car and start to haul out the bags. She couldn’t make him carry all that stuff home. She wasn’t sure he could even walk that far in his present state.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ She couldn’t look him in the eye.
‘What happened to your boy?’ Policeman Number Two said, as Nicky dropped his holdall at her feet.
‘Look it up on your database,’ she snapped, and walked over to the pile of bags.
They drove away from the police in silence. Jess sat in the passenger seat of Mr Nicholls’s immaculate car, staring straight ahead at the road. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt more uncomfortable. She could feel, even if she couldn’t see, the children’s stunned silence at the evening’s turn of events. She had let them down. She watched the hedgerows turn to fencing and brick walls, the black lanes turn to streetlights. She couldn’t believe they had only been gone an hour and a half. It felt like a lifetime. A five-thousand-pound fine. An almost-certain driving ban. And a court appearance. Marty would go mental. And she had just blown Tanzie’s last chance of going to St Anne’s.
For the first time that evening Jess felt a lump rise in her throat.
‘You okay?’
‘Fine.’ She kept her face turned away from Mr Nicholls. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t know. For a brief, terrifying moment after she had agreed to get into his car, she had wondered if this was a trick. He would wait until the police had gone, then do something dreadful to pay her back for her theft.
But it was worse. He was just trying to be helpful.
‘Um, can you turn left here? We’re down there. Go to the end, turn left, then the second turning on the right.’
The picturesque part of town had fallen away half a mile back. Here on Danehall, the trees were skeletal even in summer and burnt-out cars stood on piles of bricks, like civic sculptures on little pedestals. The houses came in three vintages, depending on your street: terraced, pebble-dashed, or tiny and built in maroon brick with uPVC windows. He swung the car round to the left and into Seacole Avenue, slowing as she pointed to her house. She looked round at the back seat and saw that during the short drive Tanzie had nodded off, her mouth hanging slightly open, her head resting against Norman, who leant half his bulk against Nicky’s body. Nicky looked out of the window impassively. They were turning them out of the Hare and Terrier, and groups of men stood smoking on the corner, some preparing to go home, others looking for an excuse not to.
‘You might not want to hang around too long,’ she said, nodding towards them. ‘Your car is the same model as the local skunk dealer’s.’
‘So where were you trying to get to?’
‘Scotland.’ She rubbed her nose. ‘It’s a long story.’
He waited.
Her leg had started to jiggle involuntarily. ‘I need to get my daughter to a Maths Olympiad. The fares were expensive. Although not as expensive as getting pulled over by the Old Bill, it turns out.’
‘A Maths Olympiad.’
‘I know. I’d never heard of one either until a week ago. Like I said, it’s a long story.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
Jess looked into the back seat, at Tanzie, who snored gently. She shrugged. She couldn’t say the words.
Mr Nicholls suddenly caught sight of Nicky’s face. He stared, as if seeing it for the first time.
‘Yeah. That’s another story.’
‘You have a lot of stories.’ He turned back in his seat and looked straight ahead at the men on the corner.
Jess couldn’t work out if he was deep in thought or if he was just waiting for her to get out of the car. ‘Thanks. For the lift. It was kind of you.’
‘Yeah, well, I owe you one. I’m pretty sure it was you who got me home from the pub the other night. I woke up on my sofa with my car safely in the pub car park and the world’s most malevolent hangover.’ He paused. ‘I also have a vague memory of being an arsehole. Possibly for the second time.’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, as blood rushed to her ears. ‘Really.’
Nicky had opened the car door. The cool air made Tanzie stir. She rubbed her eyes and blinked at Jess. Then she gazed slowly around her at the car, the last hour re-registering on her face. ‘Does this mean we’re not going?’
Jess gathered up the bags at her feet. This was not a conversation to have in front of an audience. ‘Let’s go inside, Tanze. It’s late.’
‘Does this mean we’re not going to Scotland?’
She smiled awkwardly at Mr Nicholls. ‘Thanks again.’ She hauled her bags out onto the pavement. The air was surprisingly chill. Nicky stood outside the gate, waiting.
Tanzie’s voice crackled with sudden knowledge. ‘Does this mean I don’t get to go to St Anne’s?’
She tried to smile. ‘Let’s not talk about it now, sweetie.’
‘But what are we going to do?’ said Nicky.
‘Not now, Nicky. Let’s just get indoors.’
‘You now owe the police five grand. How are we going to get to Scotland?’
‘Kids? Please? Can we just go indoors?’
With a groan, Norman heaved himself off the back seat and ambled out of the car.
‘You didn’t say we’ll sort something out.’ Tanzie’s voice was panicked. ‘You always say we’ll sort something out.’
‘We’ll sort something out,’ Jess said, dragging the duvets out of the boot.
‘That’s not the voice you use when we’re really going to sort something out.’ Tanzie began to cry.
It was so unexpected, that at first Jess could do nothing but stand there in shock. ‘Take these.’ She thrust the duvets at Nicky, and leant her upper half into the car, trying to manoeuvre Tanzie out. ‘Tanzie … sweetheart. Come out. It’s late. We’ll talk about this.’
‘Talk about me not going to St Anne’s?’
Mr Nicholls was staring at his steering-wheel, like this was all too much for him. Jess began apologizing under her breath. ‘She’s tired,’ she said, trying to put her arm around her daughter. Tanzie shifted away. ‘I’m so sorry.’
It was at that point Mr Nicholls’s phone rang.
‘Gemma,’ he said wearily, as if he’d been expecting it. She could hear an angry buzzing, as if a wasp had been trapped in the receiver.