I Found You by Lisa Jewell Page A

gone.’
    ‘Yes, well, so did I. But he came back.’
    Jasmine nods, and then bites her cheek before saying, ‘Let’s hope no one finds out.’
    Alice looks at her questioningly.
    ‘Kai and Romaine. And Derry. You should probably tell them not to tell anyone about him. In case, you know . . .’
    Alice nods briskly. She doesn’t want to have this conversation now. ‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘it’s late. You need to get some sleep.’
    ‘No school tomorrow,’ she says, stifling a yawn.
    ‘Yes. But still. It’s late.’ Alice clutches the tumblers between her fingers, holding the bottle of Scotch in her other hand. She wants her daughter to go now. ‘Go on then,’ she says, mock sternly. ‘Off you go.’
    Jasmine stares at her strangely for a long moment, as though she has something important to tell her, as though her young mind is whirring with unfathomable thoughts. But then, finally, she shakes her head and sighs and says, ‘Night, Mum. Be careful.’
    The words still echo in Alice’s head as she carries the Scotch and glasses through to the living room. Be careful . She’s not sure she wants to be.
    Hero has crawled on to Frank’s lap during her absence and he looks slightly overwhelmed by the sensation of six stone of solid Staffy.
    ‘Do you like dogs?’ she asks.
    He smiles. ‘It looks like it.’
    ‘Well, don’t be too flattered. Hero likes everyone. She’s a total attention-junkie. He’s the one you want to work on.’ She gestures at Griff sitting guarded and watchful, chocolate-drop eyes going from Alice to Frank and back again as though he knows he’s being talked about. ‘He’s very fussy. Do you want me to get her off your lap?’
    ‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s quite nice. She’s . . . reassuringly substantial.’
    She pours them both a heavy measure of Scotch and passes one to Frank. ‘Cheers,’ she says, raising her tumbler. ‘To remembering.’
    Frank clinks his glass against hers and he smiles. ‘And to you,’ he says. ‘For being so generous.’
    ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘I don’t know about generous. Stupid more like.’
    ‘Maybe both,’ he says.
    ‘Yeah. I’ll go with that. Story of my life. Generous and stupid.’
    ‘So.’ Frank takes a mouthful of his drink and grimaces. ‘What is the story of your life, exactly? Since we can’t talk about the story of mine.’
    ‘Oh Christ,’ she says, ‘you’ll wish you hadn’t asked.’
    ‘No,’ he says simply, ‘go on. Tell me about the maps.’
    ‘Ah.’ She looks into her drink. ‘The maps.’ She looks up again. ‘That’s my job. My business. My art .’ She laughs wryly.
    ‘They’re beautiful.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Where did you get the inspiration?’
    ‘You know, it all started with one of those huge road maps for cars, you know. My dad had one. A map of the whole of the United Kingdom. Gigantic thing. I used to leaf through it on long journeys, look at all the places I’d never been. I loved the textural contrasts, you know, between, say, the centre of London and the Highlands of Scotland. London was black with road markings. Scotland was white. Then Dad gave me his old car when I was eighteen and when I sold it a few years later I found the old road map in the glove compartment. Brought it in, found myself leafing through it again. Stuck at home with a baby, bored out of my mind. Decided to make something out of it. That, in fact.’ She gestures at a likeness of a very young Jasmine on the wall opposite.
    ‘That’s made out of maps?’
    She nods.
    ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘It looks like a drawing. It’s amazing!’
    ‘Why, thank you. So, after that I bought up old map books whenever I could. I mean, you should see my room upstairs: I’m virtually hoarding them. And whenI moved up here from London, I needed an income, so I started taking commissions. And then I opened a little online shop on the side for personalised birthday cards and stuff. And now I’m a professional full-time