Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

in his school uniform, Joe already has his shoes on. ‘You said you’d take us today. It’s time to go. But don’t worry, Gill said to let you have a lie-in, and she’ll take us.’

‘Absolutely not,’ I say, leaping out of bed and throwing on the jeans I left on the floor last night. Or should I say this morning? It was gone midnight by the time I’d finished listening to a drunk Sasha apologise for the hundredth time.

‘Get Isabella and your bags by the door, and I’ll be there in one minute.’ He jumps up and down, his cute little face a ball of excitement as he turns and bounces out of the room yelling his sister’s name. ‘Make sure you are ready to go,’ I shout out after him.

‘Not like you to oversleep,’ Jim says.

‘I can’t believe it!’ I pull on a T-shirt and dash into the bathroom to give my teeth a quick brush.

‘What happened to you last night?’ he calls out.

‘Sasha’s. She was in a right old state,’ I sputter through a mouthful of toothpaste. ‘Too much red wine got the better of her.’ I brief him on the night’s events before he once again questions my involvement, frowning with disapproval.

Gill has left for town when I get back from dropping the kids at school, and Jim is in his study working. I filter some coffee and take him a mug. ‘We really should’ve arranged to go away while you’re off,’ he says, stretching his arms. ‘A couple of nights break would’ve done us good.’

‘Then I wouldn’t have got anything done here.’

‘Are we going to book something for the kids’ summer holiday?’

‘Let’s do that today. I’m going to make a list of everything that needs doing around the house and all the admin still outstanding. And I must sort those weeds out the front. And mow that damn lawn.’

I take my coffee to my desk and grab a piece of paper from the printer. The events of last night have stolen my concentration, and I find myself doodling faces around the perimeter of the blank sheet. I know Art was lying. It was the way his eyes blinked a little too fast.

My phone beeps with a text from Sasha, apologising profusely for last night.

I reply straight away:

Forget it. You’re under a lot a pressure. X

She replies:

You’re wrong about Art, you know. I’ve known him for years. He’s not the type. He’s too into his fitness. I’ll see you after school. X

When I first started working for Arthur, he told me I had been pointed out as one to watch. ‘You’ve got that little bit extra,’ he said. ‘True detective’s intuition and an eye for the truth.’ I’m not wrong, Sasha.

I finish my coffee and, opening the desk drawer, gather all the scraps of paper that have been mounting up since New Year. I note every job that needs doing around the house: sort out the cupboard under the stairs so that every time we open the door, half the contents don’t spill out; weed, front and back; descale the showerhead; sew some buttons on clothes so they can be worn again; put a new bulb in the security light out the back. The list continues with all the admin and paying outstanding bills. I cringe at the things that shouldn’t have made it to the list in the first place: arrange a smear test; book dental appointments.

Feeling unusually flat, I tackle a few quick wins, before heading upstairs to start on Joe’s room. It’s a complete mess without Mel’s daily dose of efficiency. Gill is brilliant, a real diamond, but she’s not Mel in the tidying department. I kneel and start clearing toys off the floor into the wicker baskets I bought at New Year in an effort to keep more on top of things. As I’m sweeping a pile of Lego into a box, I swear when I see the state of the radiator that Joe climbed on top of a couple of months ago when, in his childhood innocence, he thought there was nothing wrong with using it as a step to get a better view of the garden. His weight snapped the bracket and dislodged the radiator from the wall. I did a bodge job on it at the time with some cable ties as my mind had been preoccupied with a trial I was helping Arthur prepare for court, but when I crawl over to it, I find one of them has snapped. ‘Damn.’ It needs fixing before it gets any worse. While there, I notice a wet patch on the carpet. It’s not coming from the radiator. I look up to the ceiling and see a brown stain. The paint has started to bubble. A leak. I bet that’s from the roof tile I found on the patio a few weeks ago. I knew I should have sorted it out before.

Standing up, I lean against the window ledge and peer into the garden, which is still in serious need of my undivided attention. Gill hasn’t managed to get out there. We really should get a gardener. A small tree that lost several branches in the April gales needs sorting too, I notice from up here, and the kids’ old trampoline that I dismantled a couple of summers ago, in favour of a newer model, lies stacked by the fence waiting to be taken to the tip.

I stare at the new trampoline and think of Marc. He came over to help me assemble it. I managed to get the frame up, but when it came to attaching the springs, I wasn’t strong enough. Jim had already called him because he knew I wouldn’t be able to do that part myself. His “We’ll get this done in no time,” attitude and repertoire of humorous jokes turned it into an enjoyable afternoon. Probably helped by the six-pack he had arrived with, tucked under his arm. He only drank one can because he was driving