Free Out of My Depth by Emily Barr Page A

the way Mrs S sauntered over to her and Tamsin afterwards and perched on the edge of their table.
    ‘Always pay close attention to the girls at the back,’ she said, with a cackle. ‘That’s what every teacher learns over the years. How are you two?’
    ‘Fine,’ Izzy muttered.
    ‘Not bad, thanks, Mrs S,’ Tamsin said, brightly. ‘How are you?’
    ‘Very well, thank you, Tamsin. Thank you for asking. Now, let’s all get off to assembly, shall we?’
    Izzy knew it was her punishment for abandoning her principles. In a way, it was funny.

chapter eight
Susie
    Les Landes, France
    August 2005, Friday
    As I was walking out of the door, the phone started to ring. Our telephone had a habit of ringing at the least convenient moment, so this was, in many ways, entirely expected.
    ‘Roman!’ I yelled. I yelled it even though I knew he wasn’t there. I knew he wasn’t there because I had sent him out myself, fuelled by paranoia and anxiety, to buy toys for the children. He had laughed, had told me that, firstly, children came with their own toys and, secondly, they ought to be able to improvise, considering that we had a large garden with climbable trees and a swimming pool. He had humoured me and gone anyway, and now I wished he hadn’t. I was leaving for the airport, and the phone was ringing.
    I wanted to let the answerphone get it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I ran back into the house, and snatched it up. I even forgot to answer it in my French voice.
    It was a man. ‘Susanna,’ he said. I couldn’t place him. Very few people called me Susanna, least of all because it wasn’t actually my name, but an upmarket variation of my name that I had assumed for work purposes.
    ‘Yes?’ I said, cautiously.
    ‘Neil Barron.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said. I sat down. ‘Hello.’
    ‘You sound nervous,’ he said.
    ‘Not nervous,’ I said, hoping my voice was steady. I kicked off my beaded flip-flops and rested the soles of my feet on the cool tiles. ‘Actually, I was just walking out of the door. I’ve got some friends I haven’t seen for years coming for the weekend.’ I pulled the strap of my dress up. My dress was white and pale green, calf-length and clingy, and I hoped it looked as good as it felt.
    'Apologies,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you.’ He was waiting for me to say something.
    ‘I’ve got ten minutes.’ I had an hour, but not for him.
    ‘Then I’ll spare you the formalities. You’ve spoken to my wife.’
    I was hesitant. ‘I’ve spoken to Sarah Saunders. Who says she isn’t your wife, in fact.’
    He laughed, too loudly. ‘It’s too embarrassing for words, isn’t it? I mean, ludicrous. He says. She says.’
    ‘Yes, it is. Confusing. And I don’t think it’s something I need to be involved in, if that’s all right with you.’ I shook my head. Had I really just said ‘If that’s all right with you? I was glad Roman hadn’t heard that.
    ‘I quite agree. For what it’s worth, my wife — Sarah Barron, née Saunders — has been suffering with something akin to a nervous breakdown. And she’s extremely angry with me. She had a right to be cross, but not to drag you into it, and I can only apologise again.’
    He was too glib. ‘Can I speak to her?’
    ‘She’s not here. She doesn’t know I’m calling you. It’s a little, well, delicate.’
    ‘So you’re telling me to forget all about it?’
    ‘I’m suggesting you should.’
    I sighed. ‘I wish I could. But I need to speak to her first. Can she call me tomorrow or something? You do understand?’
    ‘What, that for all you know, I might be the murderous art commissioner?’ He chuckled. ‘Yes, quite. Speak to her in the morning.
    ‘And then I’ll be done with it.’
    ‘Which is for the best. For all of us.’
    I was uneasy as I started the car. I wanted to believe him. She hadn’t sounded mad. Both of them were plausible. He was charming, as he had been when I’d spoken to him previously. I pulled my little Mercedes out of