Ninepins by Rosy Thorton

their addresses. Vince, was all she could think. Vince, who had left his number on the pad by the phone that first Saturday. He would know what to do.
    It was just after nine thirty when the door opened. The kitchen door, that is; it was odd how, after straining her ears so long, she had not, in the end, heard the front door open and close. It was just Beth.
    Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick .
    â€˜On your own?’ she asked, rising and stepping forward, then stopping again. ‘No Willow?’
    â€˜Oh, she didn’t come with us, in the end. She went off. Shopping by herself, or something, she said.’ Beth was casual, unconcerned.
    â€˜And the others?’
    â€˜They got off earlier, at the turning. Caitlin rang her mum to come and pick them up.’ She peeled off her duffle jacket and hoisted it over a peg. Underneath, she wore just a T shirt; one sleeve of the Fair Isle jumper trailed from Laura’s suede bag.
    â€˜I thought you were coming home for supper.’ Her voice came out a little too high. ‘I’ve been calling you.’
    Beth turned round from the coat pegs, her face showing the first mild trace of consciousness.
    â€˜Yeah, sorry. The battery was dead. I forgot to charge it last night.’
    â€˜So, where did you go?’ Again, the tight, raised note, like somebody else’s voice.
    â€˜Gonzalo’s. Dad’s money was enough for us all to get enchiladas, and then an ice-cream. I had a hot fudge sundae.’
    Stay calm; don’t get upset. It would do no good to give in to the anger that was welling up now to replace her fear. Beth’s stolen evening could hardly have been more innocent, after all – having an ice-cream sundae to celebrate her birthday. It was only a quarter to ten: not too late to salvage something of a celebration. The safety lecture could wait for the morning.
    â€˜Think I’ll go and have a bath, Mum, if that’s OK. I’m totally wrecked. Can I have some of your coconut bubbles?’
    When she was gone, Laura took the cake back out of the fridge, and found two plates. Maybe the dining room was a bit much for just the pair of them, but Beth could still blow out her candles and make a birthday wish. Perhaps she’d like a mug of hot chocolate before bed, too, if she wasn’t too full up of hot fudge sauce. And there might be time for Laura to see the things she’d bought: a late-night fashion parade.
    After twenty minutes, she heard the gurgle in the downpipe as the bath water drained away. Ten minutes more, and she headed upstairs, calling softly on the landing, ‘Beth?’
    All was silent; a haze of slowly-dispersing steam hung damply around the open bathroom door. The door to her daughter’s bedroom was closed and no light showed in the crack underneath. A gentle knock and she turned the handle and pushed the door wide, flooding a segment of the room with half-light from the landing. The bed lay in the portion still in darkness. Beside it in a careless arc were flung the clothes which Beth had been wearing, the jeans with legs akimbo, T shirt bunched and inside out. And, under a hillock of duvet, clutched tight at the chin and folded close round jack-knifed legs, her daughter lay fast asleep.
    Laura closed the door softly and padded back downstairs. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. The hands of the clock showed twenty past ten. She should have a bath herself, too, and get to bed, if only she could summon the energy. Instead, she folded her arms and slid forward, elbows on the table, until her forehead rested on her wrists. The first shudder surprised her, catching her like a kick beneath the ribs; it was followed by another, and then another, until she was sobbing like a child.
    Â 
    Down in the pumphouse, Willow sat on the bed and closed her eyes. Except that she wasn’t in the pumphouse. She wasn’t at Ninepins and she wasn’t seventeen.
    She