Leaving Taisie to stew, Janet ran a bath. She thought about Lisa Finn’s missing phone. What might be on there, what it might tell them? Someone had taken it, concealed it. Because of what it might reveal? Or something more basic? Phone equals dosh. Sean would have reason to take it if he needed money for drugs. Or the killer might have stolen it, knowing it betrayed clues as to his identity. Was Sean the killer? She couldn’t tell. And that was OK; early days. You couldn’t rush an investigation, you’d be likely to muck it up if you did.
After her bath, Janet went to Taisie, the phone in hand. Taisie was sitting on her bed, school books spread out around her, but Janet had no idea whether she had done any work or simply arranged them for effect. Parents’ evenings, the ones she made it to, and the ones Ade had reported back on, brought less-than-glowing reports on Taisie’s work. She was slapdash and careless. Her reading and numeracy levels were almost a year short of the average for her age, though the school couldn’t find any specific problem to account for it, no dyslexia or other learning difficulty. Her attitude was found wanting too. They had hoped that the move to High School would be a fresh start, a turning point, but this didn’t bode well.
Janet sometimes thought it was as if Taisie, realizing Elise was a high achiever, motivated and hard-working, the swot of the family, had decided to carve out a different niche for herself in reaction. Wayward, bolshie, bold. At the end of the day, Janet wanted both her girls to be happy. Unlike Ade, she didn’t care overmuch if Taisie shunned the academic route, but she passionately wanted her to do well in some field, to know the sense of achievement, the boost to self-esteem, the sheer engagement that came from a job well done, from having skills and being a success. Whenever Taisie showed any glimmer of interest in something: street dance, ice-skating, guitar, woodwork, Janet was 100 per cent behind her: encouraging, interested, shelling out for all the gear. And all too often Taisie’s interest faded as quickly as it had blossomed. The roof space was half-full of discarded tennis racquets and jewellery-making kits, magic sets and martial arts outfits.
‘How do you think he feels?’ Janet held up the phone.
‘It’s only a joke,’ Taisie said.
‘I’m not laughing. Would you like it if it was you? Would it make you laugh?’
‘I wouldn’t care,’ Taisie said dismissively, with a toss of her head.
