The Family Friend, C. MacDonald [ereader for android TXT] 📗

14

‘Who you think it is then?’ Caz says, through a mouthful of chips.

‘Not a clue,’ Erin says, nudging her friend’s knees with her own.

‘Come on, you’ve got a working theory, for sure.’ The potential for beef that comes with Erin’s news of the troll seems to have amplified Caz’s Glaswegian accent, both ‘for’ and ‘sure’ spelled out in two belligerent syllables.

‘Such a weird thing to do,’ Erin says, ‘I genuinely have no idea.’

Caz pokes a hand into the bag of chips that’s resting on Erin’s lap, the greased warmth pressing into her jeans. They’re sitting on the high wall of the harbour arm, the masts of dozens of sailing boats swaying like reeds in a breeze. Bobby sits in his buggy facing them, not sleeping, but not unhappy, gnawing on an oversized fluffy squid like a caveman with a brontosaurus bone.

They’ve just been at a mums’ coffee morning at a brand-new restaurant just up the road that curves down to the harbour. It was heaving, every inch of the room populated by a mother and at least one young child crawling around the floor, banging their heads on chairs and table edges and screaming intermittently. Erin had had no idea that so many people would turn up but she’d posted about it and after what happened at the church group she shouldn’t have been too surprised. Erin was struggling to focus as a range of different mums vied for her attention. Two days since the video and she hasn’t been able to keep it out of her mind. It was a raven-haired older mother telling Erin that she’d never do some of the #gifted promotional posts she’d done recently – she clearly had a bank balance to match her high-mindedness – that precipitated her catching Caz’s eye and their escaping the coffee morning as quickly as they could. And now they’re sharing a bottomless bag of chips, watching a smattering of fishermen and older gentlemen tinker with their boats. It’s only eleven o’clock but Caz knows the man in the chip shop so he fired up the fryers early. Erin hadn’t intended to tell Caz about being trolled but she blurted the whole thing out before the chips were cool enough to eat.

‘Well, I’d say there’s about thirty-five stuck-up mums round here who I’d put in the “massive twat” category, but not sure which of them’s got the onions for something like this,’ Caz says and it makes Erin smile. She’s missed her so much since she’s gone back to her job as a social worker. On the mum scene they were inseparable, Erin quick to laugh and make an effort, Caz almost the opposite, they formed a good cop/bad cop double act.

Erin catches Bobby staring up at her from under his brow and it reminds her of Amanda being right there, swooping in to save her as she lost her temper on the grassy verge that overlooks the sea. They had lunch after Erin got the call from Grace. Amanda didn’t ask any questions about the phone call she’d heard snatches of and Erin didn’t elaborate. She doesn’t want Raf to know. He’d overreact. And she doesn’t know whether it would be to the fact she’s being trolled or the way she was behaving in the video but she fears the latter. It took minutes rather than hours after Grace’s call for Erin to decide that it might be best for everyone to keep him in the dark. She dropped Grace an email and agreed that there was no point making a mountain out of a molehill.

‘I’ve watched the video twenty or so times, been down to the mound to try work out where it was taken from.’

‘And what do the forensics say?’ Caz says and Erin hums out a dry laugh which must be pregnant with misgiving because Caz adds, ‘Erin?’

‘Well, um, Raf’s family friend who’s staying with us, Amanda, she was there.’

‘What?’

‘She was there, on the grassy knoll,’ she says, trying to make a joke of it, ‘she came and helped with Bobby, helped calm him down.’

‘You think it’s her?’

Erin clears her throat and wipes salt off her fingers with a paper napkin. ‘No. No, she’s lovely, and she was with me pretty much the exact time the video ends so it can’t have been her.’

‘Right, well, that’s good.’

‘I don’t know, something like this happens and you question everything. It could be anyone. Literally anyone. That’s the thing.’

‘I met her, Amanda. End of last week at Millie’s Movement.’

‘Thursday?’ Caz nods. ‘I was meeting someone from Channel 5. Jesus, listen to me.’

‘She’s not a laugh a minute, bit starey, glazed, you know, head in the clouds, but friendly. That hair though, eh? Thick as a rope.’

‘You could sleep in a bath of hair mask every night and you wouldn’t get hair like that.’

‘Put it in a fucking Gro-Bag every day.’

‘Inject each strand with anabolic steroids.’

‘You could, er – No, I’ve not got another one,’ Caz says, defeated, leaning the chip bag over to Erin who dips her hand in and brings out a thick clump of them.

‘I know she seems pretty out there,’ she says, ‘but she’s good fun actually, and amazing with Bobby, been an absolute godsend in terms of Insta-stuff that’s kicking off. I’ve got all these events lined up and there’s no way I could do it without her helping out with Bob.’

‘What sort of events?’

‘Well, it’s erm – speaking at a MotherLoving Institute thing.’

‘Really?’

‘Do you follow them?’

‘Aye. That’s –’ she looks down, scratches at her waterproof jacket – ‘that’s impressive.’

‘I can’t believe it really.’ The MotherLovingInstitute (178k followers) is a big new collective of bloggers who have banded together to campaign for mothers’ issues, particularly relating to loneliness and mental health, being more openly talked about.

‘You not want any more no?’ Caz says, hoisting the chip bag off Erin’s lap as she stands up from the wall. ‘Can I see the video?’

Erin’s shoulders hunch and she shakes her head. ‘I’m