She places the carrier on the passenger seat of Paul’s car, throws her bag in the back, slips her portfolio beside it and drives off. Tears well and she lets them come. Tears of exhaustion, relief, sorrow. She should stop because she can hardly see and is skidding around corners, a hand on the carrier to steady it. She is aware as the car lurches, that the weight in the boot is shifting and rolling from side to side. She hadn’t noticed it on the motorway today but then she hadn’t been skidding at speed. What if Paul was lying about the golf clubs? He lies about so many things; there might be something else rolling and sliding in the boot, something he wanted to take out or hide. Melissa drives the remaining streets very slowly; it’s hardly any distance but she needs to take great care. She steers the car around corners as her heart bangs against her ribs, her mouth dry with a new, deeper kind of fear.

Grace

Blake hunches down in the passenger seat, eyes lowered, brows drawn tight. This close she can smell his fear, man sweat already. His hands are larger, she looks closely, more muscled. She’s missed this recent growth; he’s on that cusp tilting towards puberty, hormones swirling, impelling recklessness.

‘Your teacher believed the story about the secateurs but I don’t, not completely.’ It was that glance in Mr Richards’ office, the way Blake checked her face to see if she’d been fooled as well. His hands clench tighter, he doesn’t move or turn. He’s so still he might not even be breathing, though she knows at any moment he could jump out and disappear into the dark street.

‘It’s okay, Blake. I’m not angry, just worried.’

Terrified. There is something Blake is hiding, though the explanation of why the secateurs were in his bag seemed genuine. She turns further towards him, trying for a reasonable tone.

‘Eric supported your story, it’s probably true. The teacher thought it was, but I’m your mum. There’s something else.’

His eyelids lower, shutting her out. Despite her intentions, her voice rises. ‘You’re in danger, Blake, Dad talked to you about this months ago. If you carry weapons, it makes it more likely that weapons will be used against you.’

He turns his face to the window, waiting this out. She leans over, rests her hands on top of his clenched fists.