Page 55 of Too Close To Home

Jake glanced sideways. “What’d they want?”

“To know how my teeth are.”

Jake huffed a laugh and reached across the other passenger seat in the van to squeeze Teddy’s chin. “Did you flash ‘em your beautiful pearly whites?”

Teddy jerked away. “Piss off.”

Jake returned his hand to the wheel. Sighed. He wasn’t sure how to do this. Or even if it was his place. He wasn’t Teddy’s dad. Nor his legal guardian. He was his uncle. But he’d changed his nappies. Walked him to nursery. Sat through parents’ evenings when Mum couldn’t. Apart from the short stretch inside, which Teddy barely remembered, he’d been there for him through everything.

Uncle didn’t quite cover what he was.

So Jake tried again. “Nowt else said at school?”

Teddy paused mid-scroll. “This about that girl what’s missing?”

Jake swallowed. “Aye.”

“I know about it. It’s everywhere.” Teddy tilted his phone so Jake could see the glow of notifications stacking up. “Group chats. Insta. Snap. People saying she’s halfway to Manchester already.”

“Hm. Right.”

Manchester.

He hoped she was.

So Jake left it there. No point feeding fear when rumour would do the job on its own. And after a drive, he turned into the familiar cul-de-sac and pulled onto the driveway of the old three-bed semi. Pebble-dash frontage. A hanging basket long past its prime. The battered Ford Focus parked wonky as always. The garden hedge cut straight but never quite level.

Where he’d grown up.

Where Robyn had.

Teddy was out before the engine fully died, racing up the path and shoving the front door open the way he’d done since he could reach the handle. Jake followed slower, and when he went inside, the house hit him the same way it always did. Warm air thick with gravy and pastry. The faint undercurrent of polish and old carpet. The tick of the wall clock in the hallway, too loud for the size. Shoes lined up by the radiator. A faded family photo hanging crooked on the stairs. Mum, Dad, him and Robyn.

It hadn’t changed.

His mum made sure of it.

She’d refused to redecorate. She wanted it to look the same when Robyn came home, as if time had paused politely in her absence. It hadn’t, of course. But the wallpaper still bore the same soft floral pattern from the early noughties. The sofa still sagged in the middle. Robyn’s old bedroom door stayed shut most days, as if dust might disturb memory.

Teddy thundered up the stairs into Jake’s old room, which had become all his, and slammed the door shut. Jake headed through to the kitchen, where the worn lino announced him to his mum, at the counter, sleeves rolled up, rolling pin moving over a slab of pastry. Flour dusted her hands. A pan of mince and onions bubbled gently on the hob. Peeled and washed potatoes sat ready in a chipped blue bowl. Carrots and peas waited in a colander. Pie, mash and veg. From scratch.

Which meant she needed her hands busy.

“Eh up, love.” Maggie didn’t turn to greet him, but she kept her voice warm, though stretched thin at the edges. Like her pastry.

She’d heard.

She knew.

“Y’alright, Mum.” Jake stepped in and pressed a kiss to her flour-dusted cheek. She smelled of pastry and washing powder and…home.

“Weren’t expecting you.” She flipped a slab of pastry over, then rolled it again, adding more pressure than she needed. Her tell that something was up. “You staying for dinner?”

“Aye. Why not?” He glanced at the stove. “What we having?”

“Mince pie. Proper one. None o’ that frozen nonsense.”

“My favourite.”