I feel better outside the house. I push the shopping trolley around the store while Mum collects items, scoring them off her list.
We round the top of the dairy aisle and are moving in the direction of the delicatessen when I hear a voice calling me.
“Briony, is it you?”
I turn to look at the woman walking towards me. It’s Mrs Douglas, Jenny’s mum. I force a smile.
“I haven’t seen you for ages. How are you?” Mrs Douglas asks and continues without waiting for an answer. “I wouldn’t have expected to see you in here at this time on a Monday. What is it? Are you having a day off?”
Why would she be asking about what she already knows? I wonder. Last Thursday, when Jenny asked me to stay with her, she told me she had told her mum about me being abducted, although she said she’d made her pro
