Page 27 of 59 Minutes

MRS DABB

She squints into the fog to find Jasmine’s house.

It should appear any moment, a rosebud cottage at the front and a modern extension at the back, all sleek black metal doors and polished concrete.

A tick list of must-have features that Bunny once asked why their own house is lacking.

A waste disposal and a solar hot tub and an instant boiling water tap and on and on.

‘I do my best,’ she’d snapped, thinking of the two incomes Jasmine’s household has.

And that her parents are ten years older, proper adults who planned it all out and have a remote-controlled orangery roof to show for it.

She imagines that delicate roof fracturing into tiny pieces that fall like rain onto the family.

She pulls onto the driveway and fumbles to get out. The shutters are down, but there’s a car on the drive. She bangs on the front door, rings the video doorbell, slaps the nearest window. She looks mad, undoubtedly, but this is a time for madness.

The front door is yanked open, a little boy of eight or nine stares back at her with moon eyes.

‘Is Jasmine here?’ she asks him but before he can answer, Jasmine’s mum, Daphne, skids into view at the end of the hallway.

‘Don’t open that door,’ she’s shouting, though it’s too late.

She reaches the doorway. ‘Upstairs,’ she hisses to the boy and then grips the door jamb, peering out to check who else might be there, before finally focusing on her visitor.

‘I need to speak to Jasmine.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I know for sure Bunny has a phone, I found the charger and—’

Daphne sags. ‘Is she not home yet?’

‘No.’ It comes out as a sob.

‘I’m sorry,’ Daphne says, opening the door wider. ‘I really thought she’d be back by now. Come in a minute.’

The door is closed and locked behind her, and now she’s engulfed by the smell of a warm, posh home. Orange peel curls and cinnamon, real logs popping and smoking on the fire though god knows how much they must cost.

‘My husband works in Princetown,’ Daphne whispers then, ‘and he’s not back yet either so the kids are really rattled.

Be gentle with Jasmine.’ She turns and calls up the stairs for her daughter.

It feels insane to be standing still, fingers tangling, drumming, waiting.

Daphne looks at her, her eyes backlit with questions but she doesn’t open her mouth again.

Jasmine appears skittishly at the top of the stairs. Out of school uniform she looks older than thirteen. Older than Bunny, even though Jasmine is shorter. She steps down slowly like she’s walking to the gallows, her glossy long ponytail swinging.

‘Jasmine,’ Daphne says, ‘we really don’t have time for this today so can you please tell Mrs Dabb anything you know about where Bunny might be.’

‘I honestly don’t know, Mum, she told me she had a doctor’s appointment.’

‘So it was a doctor’s appointment,’ Daphne says. ‘You said you didn’t know.’

‘I didn’t … I think she told me that, or maybe I just … maybe I thought that’s what she said.’

‘And you didn’t push to find out?’ she interrupts, even though Daphne casts a warning look. ‘You didn’t ask if she was okay?’

Jasmine looks down at her slipper-socked feet and shakes her head.

‘I told my best friend everything when I was your age.’ It comes out with more anger than intended and Daphne moves her body slightly in front of her daughter.

‘Bunny’s mum knows she has a phone, Jazzy,’ she says, raising her eyebrows at her daughter, prompting, but Jasmine just stares back in panic.

‘I do, Jasmine. And it’s okay, she’s not in any trouble, I just really need to know what the number is and who gave it to her.’

‘I don’t know,’ the girl says, her eyes pleading at her mum.

‘I’m sorry but I think you’re lying, I need—’

‘Okay, alright,’ Jasmine’s mum says then. ‘I know you’re worried but we’re all dealing with … look, if Jasmine says she doesn’t know then she probably doesn’t know.’

‘But she does know, I can tell, and you can too. Look, Jasmine, it’s not the time for covering for your friends, this is life and … just please tell me where she got the phone, I won’t tell her you told me.’

At the top of the stairs, the moon-eyed boy crouches down, spying. Everyone is holding their breath.

‘I think it’s something to do with her dad,’ Jasmine says, finally.