The words enviable position echoed inside Bob's head. It was hardly how Harriet would describe her situation, he suspected. He just hoped her new job would work out, because if the unthinkable happened and she was made redundant, having taken on a mortgage, what then? She'd have to dip into the trust fund, he told himself firmly. Or he would have to help out. Anything so long as it meant Harriet and the children didn't move back in with him and Eileen.

He stood for a moment to rest his knee and examined the way his thoughts had gone. He was shocked how easily he'd turned his good mood upside down. I'm turning into a bitter old man, he thought miserably. This is what Felicity's death has done to me.

He pressed on, calling Toby to heel, determined to think more positively. Today was the day Jennifer had said she would be back in Kings Melford. And sure enough, as he rounded the curve of the ca.n.a.l, there was the Jennifer Rose moored just where it had been last month. At the sight of a plume of smoke rising from the chimney his spirits rose, and ignoring the grinding pain in his knee, he quickened his pace.

'h.e.l.lo stranger,' she said, when she emerged from the engine room, her face dotted with soot. 'I'm having a bit of trouble with the engine. Don't suppose you're any good with such things, are you?'

It was just as if the intervening weeks had never pa.s.sed. 'Put the kettle on and I'll take a look,' he said.

As she listened to the other girls chattering and laughing the other side of the toilet door, Carrie slid her fingernail under the gummed-down section of the envelope and opened it. She knew without reading it what it would say. With trembling hands and her heart hammering in her chest, she unfolded the piece of paper and took a deep breath.

n.o.body likes you because you're a nasty show-off. We don't want you here. We wish you were dead like your parents.

It was the same as the last note. And the one before that.

Carrie waited for the school bell to ring for the end of morning break and when she'd heard the last of the girls bang the door shut after them, she ripped up the letter and dropped it into the loo. Next she did the same with the envelope. She tugged hard on the toilet handle and watched the bits of paper swirl round and round before disappearing.

With her eyes fixed on the ground, she marched out of the toilets and kept on walking towards her cla.s.sroom. But as each step took her nearer, her heart beat a little faster. She felt hot all over. And sick. She wished she was at home. Anywhere but here. But she was here and she had to be strong. She couldn't let them see her cry. She was just pa.s.sing the main entrance when she noticed the door was open. Usually it was shut and anyone wanting to come in would have to press a b.u.t.ton, which would be answered by the school secretary, whose office was opposite. Carrie suddenly felt drawn to the door, and saw that Mrs Miller was sitting at her desk and talking on the phone. How easy it would be to slip away! To sneak out and spend the day wandering round the shops. Or maybe she could walk down to the ca.n.a.l and chat to the nice people in their boats who always waved and smiled at her and Joel. They might even invite her on board. It would be better than staying here listening to those spiteful girls calling her names and whispering about her every time she answered a question or was asked to read out something.

A glance over her shoulder told her that Mrs Miller was still talking on the phone. It gave her the courage to take a small step nearer the door. And another. Two more steps and she'd be out in the playground. If she was fast enough, she'd get to the gate before anyone saw her. And she was fast enough. She could beat anyone in her cla.s.s at running. Even the boys. That's why they didn't like her. She was better than them at everything, especially maths. Harriet had taught her a special way to learn her times tables - a better way than Dad had - and she knew them all easypeasy. No one else in her cla.s.s could do that. They were all babies still trying to work out what three times three was. Most of them couldn't even do joined-up writing. They were useless. Well, she'd show them.

Her head zinging with excitement, she slipped quietly through the open door and made a dash for it. She kept on running until she was beyond the gate and out onto the pavement. On and on she ran, her shoes slapping on the ground, her plaits flying out behind her, the blood pounding in her ears. She'd done it!

Her first mistake, she realised, was not to have brought her coat. Now that she wasn't running, she was cold. Her school sweatshirt and grey skirt was also attracting attention. One woman had already asked her if she should be at school. 'I'm waiting for my mother,' she'd told the woman. 'She's in the cake shop.' Which was where she was now standing, her stomach growling for food. It would be lunchtime at school, and as she stared at the rows of iced buns, doughnuts and chocolate-dipped gingerbread men and breathed in the smell of freshly baked bread, Carrie knew that the next time she would have to bring some money with her.

Across the road, she saw a scruffy man in an anorak giving her an odd look. Carrie would have liked to stick out her tongue and pull a face at the nosy man, but she didn't think it would be a good idea. Deciding she ought to keep moving to keep warm, she wandered down the main street and came to the cobbled area where Harriet had told her the original market used to be. Turning to her right, and walking along a short, narrow alleyway, she came to an area she'd never noticed before. It was cobbled like the old marketplace and was a bit dark. It reminded her of Diagon Alley, where Harry Potter goes to buy his wands and books. Ahead of her was a building that she knew had to be very old; it had black beams criss-crossing all over it. There was a green and gold sign above the door that said 'Hart's Antique Emporium'. She knew exactly what an emporium was; it was somewhere big and fancy that sold lots of nice things. It would also be warm, she thought. She was just making up her mind whether to go inside and have a look when she heard footsteps behind her. She spun round, suddenly scared that it might be the scruffy man in the anorak.

But it wasn't him; it was the man who lived across the road from them.

'h.e.l.lo, Carrie,' he said, 'what are you doing here?'

She swallowed. 'Um ... I'm just waiting for Grandma.' She looked in the direction of the emporium, hoping it was the kind of place her grandmother would go in.

He looked surprised. 'Why did she leave you outside?'

Carrie began to get fl.u.s.tered. 'Because ... because I didn't want to go in.'

'Well, you look frozen to death. Come on in out of the cold.'

She held back. 'It's okay. I'll wait here. I'm sure she won't be long.'

He smiled and she suddenly wished she wasn't lying to him. He was too nice to lie to. She saw that he was carrying two paper bags; one had a greasy patch on its side. She could smell food. A pasty? Or maybe a sausage roll? When she looked back at his face, she saw that the smile had gone and he was frowning. 'Your grandmother's not in there, is she, Carrie?'

How had he known she was lying? She shook her head and looked hard at her shoes.

He bent down to her. 'And you're not in school where you should be, are you?'

Again she shook her head. She noticed one of her shoelaces was fraying at the end.

'Tell you what; I'll trade with you. You tell me what you've been doing and I'll share some of my lunch with you - half a sausage roll and an iced bun. How does that sound?'

She raised her eyes. 'Will you tell on me?'

He stood up and took her hand. 'Not exactly. But we will have to tell a few people where you are as otherwise they'll be very anxious and call the police. If they haven't already. Just think how upset Harriet and your grandparents will be if they think you're missing.'

She tightened her grip on his hand. She was beginning to realise how much trouble she was in. But she had a worse fear. 'I don't want to go back to school,' she said.

He smiled. He had a nice smile, she decided. It reminded her of Dad. 'Don't worry,' he said, 'I'll make sure you have the rest of the day off.'

He led her inside the emporium and at once she forgot all about being in trouble. She'd never been anywhere like it. Everywhere she looked there was furniture - tables, chairs, bookcases - and china and sparkling silvery things and lots and lots of ticking clocks. There were mirrors, too. And those lights made of diamonds that hung from the ceiling. She could hear music playing. Sleepy piano music. It made her want to curl up in a chair and close her eyes. 'What kind of place is this?' she asked.

'An antique shop. Do you like it?'

'Yes. Is it yours?'

'Not entirely.'

She let go of his hand and wandered over to a chest that had a gla.s.s dome on top of it. Inside the dome was a brightly coloured bird. It was a kingfisher. She knew because Granddad had pointed one out to her down by the ca.n.a.l. 'Is it real?' she asked.

'In a manner of speaking. It died a long time ago. It's stuffed.'

'What with?'

'Do you know, I haven't a clue?'

'h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, and who have we here?'

Carrie turned round to see a very peculiar man coming towards them. He was wearing a suit the colour of Ribena with a spotty bow tie. On his feet were the strangest slippers she'd ever seen; the fronts were very pointed and curled like pigs' tails.

'Carrie, let me introduce you to Jarvis. He might look like something from another world, but he's quite harmless. Jarvis, this is Carrie Knight, a friend of mine. She's got herself into a bit of a fix and I'm going to sort things out for her.'

'Well my dear, any friend of Will's is a friend of mine. How do you do?' He leaned forward and held out his hand. Carrie giggled and held hers out just as she knew she was expected to. 'Enchanted,' he said. 'Now correct me if I'm wrong, but did I hear you enquiring with what this splendid creature is stuffed?'

She nodded, at the same time trying to get her giggling under control. He really was the funniest man.

'Permit me to explain. You see, what you have to bear in mind is that the Victorians believed this to be a form of conservation. Of course, these days, we have a very different approach to that.'

From inside his office, Will watched Jarvis carefully lift the gla.s.s dome off the kingfisher. He reached for the phone book on the shelf behind him and within seconds was ringing the local primary school. The next call he made was to his neighbours, Bob and Eileen. There was no answer.

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

Harriet switched off her mobile and leapt to her feet. This couldn't be happening. What had got into Carrie? First she'd tried to scare the other children at school half to death, now she'd turned truant. What next? Drug dealer?

Shutting down her computer and gathering up her bag and jacket, she forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath while she thought how to make an exit from her office without attracting attention from her new boss. She would have to feign illness, and not some girly stomach ache or headache, or she'd be branded Princess PMT from here on. An asthma attack would be better. A nice unis.e.x illness, the kind that even a great lump like Howard Beningfield might suffer from.

A knock at her door made her jump. It was Dave Carter, one of the junior a.n.a.lysts - a decent enough bloke if you forgave him his big buckled belt and cowboy boots, and the two lost causes in his life: real ale and Manchester City. His office nickname was Dangerous Dave on account of him being as action-packed as a loaf of stale bread. 'How's it going?' he said. 'I just thought you might like ... Hey, you okay? Only you look a bit pale.'

Pale? It must be the shock. She covered her face with a hand and staggered a little as though she might faint any second. 'I'm really sorry,' she rasped, 'but it's an asthma attack. I'm going to have to call it a day. I'm so sorry.'

'Will you be okay to drive?'

'I'll manage,' she said, already out of the door and making for the reception area. 'I'll be in extra early tomorrow,' she called over her shoulder, 'if anyone asks.'

By the time she was driving out of the car park, she was beginning to worry that she really did have an asthma attack looming. There was a niggling tightness in her chest that didn't bode well. But she couldn't reach her inhaler - it was in the bag on the back seat where she'd thrown it in her haste.

Once Crantsford was behind her, she tried to relax. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself when she had to stop for some traffic lights and was tapping the steering wheel impatiently. Carrie was quite safe. Admittedly she wasn't where she should have been, but she was safe. That was what was important, as the headmistress had pointed out on the phone. Apparently school hadn't been able to get hold of Mum and Dad when they realised Carrie was missing, and when she'd tried Harriet's mobile there'd been no answer because, until ten minutes ago, she'd switched it off while she was in a meeting. But thank goodness their neighbour, Will Hart, had spotted Carrie in town and taken her in, then phoned school. She would for ever be grateful to him. Even if he was now probably sitting in judgement on her and wondering how a child in her care had so nearly come to harm.

I'm doing my best, was all she could say in her defence. Then suddenly it wasn't Will to whom she was defending herself, it was Felicity, and her sister's presence was so palpable she felt her scalp p.r.i.c.kle. 'Oh, Harriet,' she imagined her sister saying, 'I thought you'd take good care of Carrie. I trusted you. My precious baby could have been s.n.a.t.c.hed by some vile perverted beast while your back was turned. She could have been tortured. Tortured, then murdered! Her violated body tossed into the ca.n.a.l. Her short life snuffed out because you didn't care about her.'

'But I do care about her!' Harriet said out loud, a rush of panicky sickness consuming her as the reality of what could have happened to Carrie sank in. 'She's safe, Felicity. Please don't make me feel any guiltier than I already do.'

She grasped the steering wheel and groaned. Oh, G.o.d, she was going mad. She was arguing with her dead sister.

She parked as near to Hart's Antique Emporium as she could - which wasn't close at all - and ran all the way. The tranquil scene that greeted her was totally at odds with the state she was in - sweating and out of breath, her chest heaving and wheezy, her mouth dry. But there on the other side of the shop was Carrie, sitting in a wing-back armchair with a wooden tray on her lap, her legs sticking out in front of her. She was polishing a silver teapot, concentrating hard on its spout, and humming along to a piece of music that was playing. Nearby, a couple were smiling at each other in amus.e.m.e.nt.

'You must have driven like the wind.'

She turned to see Will sitting behind an untidy desk in a small, cramped office, a pile of paperwork before him. There was something different about him. Then she realised he was wearing gla.s.ses, a smart frameless pair that made him look more like the corporate lawyer he had been. Removing the gla.s.ses and tossing them onto the desk, he came towards her. 'The kettle's just boiled; would you like a cup of tea? You look like you could do with one.' His kindness was too much, and overcome with relief that Carrie really was okay, she felt foolishly tearful and sank into the nearest chair. The tightening in her chest had worsened to such an extent that she fumbled for her inhaler in her bag. But she'd gone too long without it; her fingers were numb with pins and needles. She felt light-headed too and knew that she must have been hyperventilating for some time. Panic kicked in, which made her throat constrict even more.

Will was concerned. 'What is it, Harriet? What can I do?'

'Asthma,' she wheezed. She pointed to her bag. 'My inhaler. It's in there.'

Not wanting to waste any time, Will tipped the bag upside down onto the floor, scattering pens, tissues, personal organiser, lip gloss, tampon, cheque book, wallet. And finally, an inhaler. He pa.s.sed it to her.

'Okay?' he asked, when she'd pressed it to her mouth for a second time and he'd put everything back in her bag.

'I will be,' she rasped.

'How about a drink?'

She shook her head. 'I should take Carrie home.' They both looked over to where Carrie was oblivious to anything but the shiny teapot in her hands.

'I hope that's not too valuable,' Harriet mumbled, getting to her feet.

'Silver plate, circa yesterday.' He thought Harriet looked in no state to be going anywhere, and that maybe she ought to calm down some more before dealing with her niece. 'It's no trouble, you know, that cup of tea.'

'You're sure?'

'Come into my office and relax while I keep an eye on Carrie from the doorway.' She did as he said and after he'd moved some papers from a chair and flicked the switch on the kettle, he said, 'Carrie's really been no bother and I realise it's none of my business, but I made a bargain with her. I said she wouldn't get into too much trouble if she told me exactly what she'd been up to.'

'Well, of course she's in trouble. She can't expect to skive off school at her age and not realise there are serious consequences.'

He let it go. It wasn't his place to tell someone else how to go about the sticky business of parenting. Privately he thought Harriet and her parents would need to get to the bottom of what Carrie had done. She struck him as a good kid, not the sort who would ordinarily get into trouble. 'Milk and sugar?' he asked.

'Splash of milk, no sugar.'

When he'd dunked a teabag and stirred in some milk, he handed her the mug. 'Feeling any better?'

'Getting there. I'm sorry for snapping just now. It was rude of me. You've been very kind. I haven't even thanked you for taking care of Carrie.'

Her words were in the shape of an apology, but her tone was so stiff it sounded more like she was reading from a script. 'Oh, shucks,' he said good humouredly, 'now you're embarra.s.sing me.' He expected her to smile, but to his horror her face crumpled and she began to cry.

'I'm a failure,' she murmured, her head lowered. 'A total failure. I haven't got a clue how to bring up children and today's proved just how bad I am. I feel so guilty. So useless.'

He looked about him for some tissues, but could only find a pack of muslin he used for polishing. He pulled out a sheet, knelt on the floor and pa.s.sed it to her, at the same time taking the mug of tea from her shaking hands. 'You're not a failure,' he said, 'you're a hero for what you're doing. Your sister would be proud of you.'

She shook her head at his words. 'You're wrong. I've let her down.' She pressed the muslin to her eyes. 'I'm a rotten sister and an even worse aunt, guardian, mother, whatever it is I'm supposed to be. Oh, G.o.d, I don't even know who I am any more. What am I doing wrong? You're a parent; tell me how to do a better job.'

He put a hand on her shoulder. 'Don't be so hard on yourself. You're just on the steepest learning curve of your life. It'll get better, I promise.'

'That's okay for you to say; your children don't even live with you.'

Surprised at the vehemence of her words, and the implied criticism, he said nothing, just kept his hand on her shoulder.

In the silence, another voice spoke up: 'Will, have you got anything else for me to polish? Oh ... h.e.l.lo, Harriet.'

Harriet shrugged off Will's hand and blew her nose hard as Carrie stepped into the office nervously. 'Are you crying, Harriet?'

'Don't be so silly. I've got something in my eye. That's all.'

'Is it me? Have I made you cry?'

Will could see that Harriet was fighting to keep what little composure she'd reinstated. 'You aunt's just relieved to find you in one piece,' he intervened. 'Now then, Carrie, why don't we let Harriet finish her tea while I find you something else to polish? How about a candlestick? If you do a good job, I'll let you come another day and you can polish all the other bits and bobs I have. But preferably at the weekend,' he added with a wink.

'Really?'

'I don't see why not.'

Leading the way, he glanced back to check if it was okay with Harriet. But she wasn't looking his way. He thought he'd never seen anyone look more miserable.

Later that afternoon, in Maple Drive, Harriet was conscious that they were all behaving strangely.

They were sitting round the kitchen table for an early tea and it was difficult to know who looked the most distracted and uncomfortable. Mum was fiddling with the salt and pepper pots, repositioning them every ten seconds. She always did this when she was anxious or cross - Harriet and Felicity used to call it Tea-Time Chess. And Dad, well, frankly, Dad looked as though he'd been caught with his fingers in the till and couldn't apologise enough for not having had his mobile switched on that day. Meanwhile Joel was swinging his legs under the table and playing with his supper but not eating it, and Carrie was sitting like a statue in her seat as though afraid that if she moved someone might notice her and start asking questions all over again.

They'd already had the Big Scene, during which Carrie had been cajoled in as many different ways as they could contrive to explain what had got into her. But all they'd learned was that she'd been bored and fancied a walk. Harriet had decided it could well be true; she had entertained the same thought countless times when she'd been at school.

When the ordeal of tea was over and Harriet was upstairs supervising bathtime, Carrie said, 'Harriet?'

'Yes.'

'Are you going to punish me?'