Better Left Buried by Emma Haughton Read Free Book Online

What could it possibly mean?
    I glance over my shoulder, still unnerved. Scan the shoppers milling around me. Most are women, one with a toddler slotted into the front of her trolley. A youngish man with a basket, browsing the crisps further up the aisle.
    No sign of him .
    Why? I ask myself, for the thousandth time, as I unload another box of biscuits. Why would anyone be following me?
    And for the thousandth time I have no answer. I can’t think of a single reason. It’s ridiculous. Crazy. It’s no wonder Lizzie reacted so badly.
    Lizzie. My chest tightens as I remember yesterday. She hasn’t been in touch since, and that hurts. No way she didn’t clock how upset I was. No way at all.
    I think back to that night we heard about Max. A feeling in my heart like a bruise as I recall Lizzie’s arms around me, holding me tight. I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m so, so sorry. Over and over she said it, like Max’s death was something she could somehow have prevented.
    Like it was her brother that died.
    I’ll ring her, I decide, folding up the cardboard box and stashing it at the back of the cage. Text her at least. I nearly did this morning, before I came in, but something held me back. Something about the way she looked at me just before I left. As if…as if right at that moment she couldn’t stand being anywhere near me.
    Stop it, I tell myself firmly, as I open another box of biscuits. Stop being so bloody paranoid. Lizzie doesn’t hate you. And there’ll be some sort of rational explanation for all this.
    As I stack the digestives onto the shelf, I notice I’ve put the custard creams in the wrong slot. I sigh. Start again.
    I’ll talk to Dad, I resolve. Tonight, after I’ve been to Mrs Perry. I’ll show him that piece of paper, tell him what happened and see what he thinks. If he says it’s nothing to worry about, then I’ll throw the thing away and put all of this out of my mind.
    And I’ll definitely call Lizzie.
    When I get back from Mrs Perry’s, Dad’s already home. Squatting on his heels on the kitchen floor, searching through the food cupboard.
    â€œGood lesson?” he asks, as I dump my music on the table.
    I shrug. “Not bad.” In truth I made a mess of the Strauss, never quite able to bring out the haunting beauty of the song. I could see Mrs Perry fighting to keep the disappointment from her expression.
    â€œYou’re back early,” I say, thinking this is a good omen. It will give us a chance to talk.
    Dad looks up and smiles and I feel my heart lift a little. “I had a meeting over in Wandsworth. It wasn’t worth returning to the office.”
    He shoves a few cans aside to get to one at the back. Picks out a tin of ravioli and sets it on the counter. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you, Sarah.” He straightens up and fixes me with a serious expression and I feel a buzz of worry.
    â€œMe too,” I say quickly. “There’s something I want to talk about as well.”
    â€œWhat?” Dad sounds immediately concerned.
    â€œYou go first.”
    He loosens his tie and exhales loudly, not quite meeting my gaze. “I’ve got to go away for a few days. Maybe a week. Up to Scotland.” Picking up the ravioli, he checks the use-by date on the bottom. Chucks it in the bin.
    â€œScotland? Why?” My voice a good octave too high.
    â€œThere’s a problem out on the rigs. I have to go up and sort it. No one else can.”
    â€œRight,” I say, wondering how they’d cope if Dad had an accident or fell ill or something. I stare at his back as he moves his search to the fridge, my heart sinking in a slow kind of panic. He’s so like Max, I can’t help thinking – at least in some ways. Forever focused on what he’s doing at that moment. Taking it for granted that everyone else is as strong as he is.
    I wish I could say this to him,