Free The Other Child by Lucy Atkins Page A

they’re at their children’s sports games then. They take kids’ sport really seriously here – it’s great, actually; they have proper facilities, semi-professional coaches.’
    ‘What they have,’ David says, ‘is money.’ He looks around at the marble countertops, the Bosch appliances, and runs a hand over his chin. ‘You’ve come up in the world, Ms Harding. Remember Camberwell?’
    They catch each other’s eye and smile, and for a moment they are back there – idealistic twenty-somethings eating baked beans in a freezing bedsit. She looks away first.
    ‘I know it’s posh here, but the people are nice, the school seems good and it’s very handy for Greg to get to the hospital.’
    ‘But it’s not really you, is it?’ he says. ‘Suburban life in a mock Tudor?’
    ‘It’s an experience, David. It’s also very pleasant and safe here. This is the fifth safest place to live in the whole of the country – it used to be the first, but someone got shot a few years ago on the border between this suburb and the next, so it was knocked down the league table a bit.’
    ‘Yeah, well, safety’s overrated.’
    ‘Not when you have a child.’
    ‘I thought the police shoot-out with the marathon bombers happened just—’
    ‘That was the next suburb along, David.’
    He leans back, sticks his legs out and crosses them at the ankle, his eyes lively.
    ‘What time do you have to get going?’ She gets off her stool.
    He holds up both hands. ‘It’s OK, calm down. I’m just winding you up. I’m sure it’s delightful here, and outrageously safe.’
    ‘The biggest crime here last week was someone calling the police to report a severed foot inside a sock, bobbing in the lake.’
    David grimaces. ‘That doesn’t sound particularly minor.’
    ‘When the police fished the sock out there was no foot inside it.’
    ‘Are you working at the moment, Tess,’ he laughs, ‘or are you spending long days poring over the local paper’s crime pages?’
    She stops laughing. ‘I’m finishing a book project actually.’
    ‘Good.’ He doesn’t ask for details. ‘Because you’d go mad here if you weren’t taking pictures.’
    She raises her eyebrows. He has never taken her photography seriously, despite the fact that it has largely fed and clothed his son for nine years. Perhaps if she’d been a war photographer or had pictures of Peruvian hill tribes published in the
National Geographic
, he’d have respected her work more. But her career can never rival the hands-on, dirty, dangerous work that David does. Her photographs don’t save lives.
    Joe comes into the kitchen carrying a backpack stuffed with Lego and remote-controlled helicopters.
    ‘Well done, love.’ She smiles at him, suddenly not wanting him to go with David. ‘You’re all packed up.’
    ‘How’s school going, big man?’ David ruffles Joe’s hair. Her anxiety fades. When he is physically with Joe, David is an excellent father. He might be financially unreliable and hard to pin down, but he loves his son, and is good at showing it.
    ‘Made any new mates since we talked?’ David keeps his hand on Joe’s head.
    ‘Two.’ She watches Joe inflate. This is the first time he has admitted to any successful social interaction. She tries not to look surprised.
    ‘Which one do you like best?’
    ‘Maybe Forrest, he’s OK. He’s into football – soccer.’
    ‘Ah yes, it’s soccer now, isn’t it?’ David sits, legs apart, on the stool, as if this is his kitchen, his house. ‘Vital to learn the lingo. Blend in with the enemy.’
    ‘OK. So. What’s the plan?’ Tess takes David’s coffee cup to the sink.
    ‘Guess what? I got us Red Sox tickets.’ David produces them from his inside pocket. Joe’s face lights up. After so much anxiety, the sight of his smile makes her almost dizzy with relief. She realizes she has not actually seen Joe smile properly since they crossed the threshold of this house.
    She considers taking David’s arm,