Deborah led me down into her kitchen in the basement. It looked like a bomb had hit it – opened post
and abandoned mugs strewn across every available surface – with a distinct whiff of cat litter, to add to
the overall ambience. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been here,’ I said. ‘It’s so cozy, isn’t it?’ ‘Coming from a
property expert like you...’ she said, looking pleased. She was holding an old-fashioned kettle in her
hand, which was designed to sit on the big metal range. ‘Tea or coffee?’
I paused. ‘Oh, I could almost handle something stronger. Couldn’t you?’ She grinned her assent and
pulled a half-drunk bottle of white out of the fridge. Her whole personality was coming back into focus
– it was all about making her feel like she was in the cool gang, like she was bunking off maths to flirt
with boys. Then she’d do anything required.
Soon we were sat opposite each other with brimming glasses, a look of earnest concern plastered across
her face. ‘So, Lily, what’s been happening? Is Rachel still struggling?’ I took a slug of my wine – I had
to admit to myself, as it slid down my throat, that my request for booze had come from more than just a
desire to make her relax. ‘It’s been a nightmare,’ I said. I paused, forcing her to study me. ‘I know how
you feel about Amber, but we have a responsibility to make sure no more families go through what
we’ve been through.’
‘Tell me,’ she said, glass left suspended in mid-air by her desperation to know, and I laid out the last
few months for her, watching her bulging eyes almost goggle out of the sockets as she struggled to
compute it all.
‘But Rachel has stopped drinking?’ she asked, once I’d finished. ‘So she has at least got her back on the
straight and narrow?’ I snorted. ‘Even that small mercy was short-lived. Sophie saw Rachel this week,
so she could plead with her to come to her senses, and she was reeking of booze first thing in the
morning.’ ‘Oh, Lily,’ said Deborah. ‘You see now why I was so desperate for information when I called
you? At least then...’ My voice splintered, emotion overwhelming me now. ‘At least then I could still
talk to her. Hold her. You have no idea how hard it is to be physically s eparated from your child.’ Pain
and anger were flooding me now. ‘When I saw her after that terrible retreat, I tried to take her in my
arms, to hug her back to her senses, but it was like she’d been possessed.’
I could see Deborah wrestling with what I was telling her. ‘Lily, I’m not dismissing what you’re saying,
but so many of us have seen such good results. Anorexia, cutting, d epression – all these things this
generation of girls seem to suffer from the way we suffered with acne! Amber seems like some kind of
whisperer for their neuroses.’ My heart was pounding in my chest, my eyes narrow. ‘The police can
arrest me for calling my own child – my broken, beloved child – and telling her how much I love her,
Deborah. How can a person who has done that to a mother be anything but evil?’
Deborah looked helpless, clinging on desperately to her narrative. ‘She must think that she’s helping!
I’m not saying she is, but... I do believe she’s a good person.’ I felt my skin flush, then bleach, my right
hand held tightly between my knees to stop it reaching across the table unbidden and dashing itself
across her weather-beaten face. A mangy ginger cat unfurled himself from a rattan basket, and I dropped
my fingers down, making a chirruping noise.
‘What a beautiful moggy!’ I said, feeling the tension drop. ‘Isn’t he handsome?’ Deborah gratefully
agreed, an eternal optimist in all possible areas. ‘He’s a rescue.’
‘So there are others?’ I said, lightly, stroking the piebald fur on the top of his head. One of his ears was
missing its pointy tip. He pushed his weight against me, purring as needily as his hopeless owner. ‘You
know plenty of other people who’ve encountered her, it sounds like?’ I dropped to my knees, so I was
level with the cat. This was what we needed – corroboration. I couldn’t let righteous fury destroy this
opportunity. ‘What’s he called?’
‘Mr Stuffins,’ said Deborah, face wreathed with smiles, like he was her firstborn, receiving his doctorate
from Oxford University. ‘And yes. I mean – you’ve been quite out of touch with all of us St Johns
mums the past few years.’ ‘Have I?’ I said, sharper than I intended. ‘I feel like we’ve all drunk our fair
share of Sauvignon Blanc on the Askew Road?’
Deborah looked shifty. ‘Yeah, no, of course. But you’ve built such an incredible business, Lily, while
we’ve all just been bobbing along.’ I could just imagine it – their ‘Tipsy Mums W12’ Whats App group
that they’d made a collective decision not to add me to. I didn’t care. Listening to them all droning on
about whether Teletubbies was hilarious or rotting our children’s brains had been dull enough back in
the day – God only knew what passed for stimulating discourse by this point.
‘Yes, the business has rather run away with me the past few years,’ I said airily. ‘It’s not like I ever
advertised, but even just the word of mouth...’ ‘Well, quite,’ agreed Deborah, a little too quickly.
‘We’re all in awe! And Nick, too. The Applebys are clearly property geniuses.’ I smiled icily. ‘So have
quite a few of the St Johns gang ended up with Amber in their lives?’
Deborah was thinking. ‘Yes, yes they have.’ I was trying not to sound vindictive. ‘Surely other people
must have seen how manipulative she is? How controlling?’ She was still hesitant. ‘I mean – I know
she’s a strong character. No one would deny that she’s very forceful about her advice. But...’ ‘What?
What are you trying to say, Deborah?’ Deborah’s gaze was suddenly intense. ‘Did you ask anyone else
about her before talking to me?’
‘No, I didn’t. I remembered you’d mentioned someone...’ ‘Definitely?’ she said. ‘Yes!’ I said, irritated
with her. ‘It’s really not the point here, Deborah...’ She waved a hand to silence me. ‘It’s just... I felt
like when I asked Amber if I could give you her number, she already knew who you were. But that
doesn’t make any sense, does it?’