Better Left Buried by Emma Haughton Page A

it.
    â€œSo, how’s things at home?” Lizzie takes the remaining half of the Danish and sticks it on my plate, wiping the sugary goo from her fingers with a paper napkin.
    I shrug. “Okay, I guess. Dad went off to Scotland yesterday, so it’s just me and Mum.” I don’t tell her how abandoned this makes me feel.
    â€œScotland?”
    â€œWork. Out on the rigs.”
    â€œAnd your mum? She all right with that?”
    My mood spirals at the memory of Dad’s departure. Mum putting on a brave face, though I could see how much effort she was making to hide her distress. Dad acting like it was nothing, like he was simply popping out for a carton of milk.
    That was until the taxi arrived.
    â€œI could cancel,” he said suddenly, as the driver loaded his suitcase into the boot of the car. Dad looked at me, then at the house, though Mum had already retreated to her bedroom.
    â€œGo,” I urged, standing on my toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “We’ll be fine. Just go.”
    He didn’t argue.
    â€œMum will be all right,” I reply, in answer to Lizzie’s question. Wishing I believed it myself.
    Lizzie fidgets with her napkin, as if searching for something reassuring to say. “Look, Sarah, I just wanted to tell you…I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a bit moody recently…well, for a while. But I want to say it’s not you…I mean, it’s got nothing to do with us. I need you to know that.”
    I stare at her. “So what is it, Lizzie? What’s going on?”
    She sits back. Chews her bottom lip and glances out the window. “It’s nothing. It’s just…” She falls silent again.
    â€œJust what?”
    Lizzie thinks for a few seconds, then opens her mouth to respond. Tries to force herself to look at me straight but doesn’t quite pull it off. “There’s some stuff I need to tell you. Things I probably should have told you a while ago actually.”
    My pleasure at seeing my best friend ebbs away as I sense this is serious. And the way she can’t meet my eyes tells me what she’s about to say is not going to be anything I’ll like.
    â€œI’m not sure how to explain. The thing is…” She falters. “Oh god, this is so difficult.”
    I lean forward and grasp her hand. “Lizzie, it’s me, okay. You can tell me whatever. You know that.”
    She squeezes my fingers in return. Manages a smile. “I do know that, Sarah. That’s why I feel so bad about not talking to you before, but—”
    She stops. Her eyes widen and seem to fix on something outside the cafe window.
    I swing round to follow her gaze. I don’t see anything at first. The usual clumps of shoppers cruising up and down the high street. Near the doorway a mother fiddling with a strap on a buggy while the toddler inside arches its back, face contorted in fury. A group of girls are hanging out by the benches – one pulls a pair of red jeans from a carrier bag and holds them up for inspection.
    All pretty normal for a Saturday afternoon.
    I look back at Lizzie. She’s still staring out the window with an expression on her face I can’t read. But I can see it’s not good.
    â€œLizzie, what’s up?”
    I turn again and examine the street. That’s when I spot him. Standing on the corner of Bute Road, leaning against the bit between the camera shop and the Italian restaurant, looking directly towards the cafe. Towards us.
    Black hair. The same leather jacket and dark jeans.
    â€œThat’s him!” I nearly leap to my feet as I turn back to Lizzie. “That’s the man I was telling you about! The one who ran away. The one with the map.”
    Lizzie doesn’t look at me. The colour has drained from her face.
    â€œThere!” I say quickly. “Over by the camera shop. The guy staring right at us.”
    Lizzie blinks, then fixes her eyes on