Free Better Left Buried by Emma Haughton Page B

for the insurance company. “Have you thought of anything else?”
    She shakes her head. “I’ve been racking my brains. But no, nothing.”
    That’s what’s weird, I think, reading through the items on the claims form. Most are for things that were smashed or damaged. Beyond that there wasn’t a great deal missing. Some cash Mum kept in a pot in the kitchen – only sixty quid or so. My laptop, and Max’s – the one he left behind in his room.
    PC Wilson says that whoever broke in knew he didn’t have much time, or wasn’t able to carry anything large. He was probably just looking for money and valuables.
    But he didn’t take my iPod, which was practically new. Or Gran’s gold wedding ring, or the little diamond necklace Dad got Mum for their twentieth anniversary. It was all there, scattered on their bedroom floor around her discarded jewellery box.
    It doesn’t add up. Why would he leave those, yet steal my crummy old notebook? Did he know his map was inside?
    I flash back to PC Wilson’s face when I told her about it and the man who’d been following me. How she tried to act as if it wasn’t some mad thing I’d invented. Made notes, like she was taking it seriously.
    But without the only piece of evidence I had to back up my story, it all sounded ridiculous. Some mysterious guy stalking a seventeen-year-old girl, dropping cryptic maps on a bus – a map that had suddenly vanished. I could see how easily PC Wilson could put it down to the aftermath of Max’s death. Grief. Stress. Pressure.
    Being plain bonkers.
    â€œAnyway,” Mum smiles, nodding at the envelope in my hand, “how did you do?”
    Damn. I was beginning to hope she’d forgotten. I’d told her where I was going, of course, but these days Mum lives in a universe all her own. There’s no knowing what she takes in.
    I hand over the envelope. She removes the letter and reads it. I can’t help watching her face. She keeps her expression steady, apart from the faintest twitch of her lips and a small, barely audible, intake of breath before she speaks.
    â€œWell done, darling.”
    She steps towards me and gives me a hug, but I’m not fooled. There’s nothing to congratulate me for. Especially not compared to Max, who took five A-levels and cruised A-stars in all of them. Not to mention a place to study chemistry at the best university college in London.
    And made the whole thing look effortless.
    Mum releases me, examines my face. “I can see you’re disappointed, sweetheart. But it’s not your fault. Considering what…considering what you’ve been through, darling. What we’ve all been through.” Her voice trails off and she looks down at her feet.
    I know what she’s referring to. Dad asked the college to inform the examining board about Max’s death, but they only boost your marks by five per cent as special consideration. Clearly that hasn’t made much difference.
    â€œActually, it’s my fault,” Mum continues. “I haven’t been able to offer you a great deal of support since…” She can’t bring herself to finish.
    I’m just thinking how to respond when she lifts her shoulders and takes a deep breath, letting it out with a long sigh before looking right at me.
    She reaches for my hand and enfolds it in hers, squeezing it as she speaks again.
    â€œI’m very proud of you, Sarah, and I’ve every faith in you. I want you to know that. And I want you to know I couldn’t have got through any of…of this without you.”
    She gives my hand a final squeeze before letting it go.
    I lean forward and hug her tight so she can’t see my face. “Thanks, Mum.” I try to keep my voice steady. But despite all my vocal training, there’s a tremor there I can’t hide.
    â€œI should be thanking you,” she says. “And try not to fret over