‘I said,’ repeated Layla, ‘that there was a sort of incident today, Auntie Dolly. In the park.’
‘Wha- An incident? What sort of incident?’
‘A man tried to grab me.’
Dolly sat down sharply, her stomach tight with anxiety. She wasn’t Layla’s aunt, not really; Layla was her goddaughter, but she’d been calling her ‘Auntie Dolly’ since she was small. ‘Grab you?’ she echoed, stunned.
‘I got away. Only just, though.’
Dolly took a breath. ‘You told your mother about this?’
‘She’s in the States, due home in a few hours. I didn’t want to worry her.’ Layla was about to mention the shamrock, but stopped herself. That was one weirdness she didn’t feel inclined to share. Dolly might really freak out if she did.
‘You told the police?’
‘No.’
‘You alone in the house?’
‘Rosa’s here.’
Like that was reassuring. Rosa the housekeeper was ancient, deaf and panicked at the least provocation. ‘Does she know what happened?’
‘I couldn’t tell her that.’
‘I’ll give Steve a ring.’
‘No. Don’t. It was probably just some pervert…’
‘Just some pervert?’ Dolly snapped. ‘And is that something to be taken lightly? I’ll call Steve, he’ll-’
‘No. Don’t. I wanted to talk to someone, that’s all, so I phoned you. Please don’t go calling Steve.’
Dolly rolled her eyes in exasperation. She loved Layla to bits, but the girl was so straight it made your teeth ache. She admired her for making her own way in the world, for working hard at being her own person – and putting up with the taunts that went with the territory.
It couldn’t be easy for her. Layla utterly rejected the sort of life her parents led. She refused to work in the family business, even though her dad would have liked her to. It seemed to Dolly that Layla’s whole life so far had been about distancing herself from her parents. Not that surprising, given that Annie had once been in court for running a posh knocking shop. And her father was Max Carter, who was… well, never mind.
She didn’t like the sound of this ‘incident’ one bit. Much as Layla tried to, she couldn’t escape her family connections. And in her parents’ world, there were times when muscle was called for. This seemed like such a time to Dolly.
‘Promise you won’t call him,’ said Layla. ‘Promise me.’
‘Are you going to tell your father about this?’
‘Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘Layla.’
‘I don’t want trouble.’
Sounds like you got it anyway, thought Dolly.
‘Tell him,’ ordered Dolly.
‘I don’t-’
‘Layla!’ Dolly’s voice was sharp. ‘Wake up and smell the bloody coffee. You are who you are. Which means you got to be careful. So tell him. OK?’