Книга - The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street

The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street
Rachel Dove


The brand new novel from the author of The Flower Shop on Foxley Street – coming soon!A heartwarming, uplifting new novel from Rachel Dove. Perfect for fans of Cathy Bramley and Heidi Swain.Readers LOVE Rachel Dove:'Whenever I pick up a book by Rachel Dove I know that there will be engaging characters along with a story that has warmth, humour and heartwarming vibes''an entertaining and wonderful story''Great read and a great ending''I loved it so much I sat up half the night to finish it.'









About the Author (#ulink_185b2682-87a9-5ff2-8e6f-8cef350a539c)


RACHEL LOUISE DOVE is a mum of two from Yorkshire. She has always loved writing and has had previous success as a self-published author. Rachel is the winner of the Mills & Boon & Prima Magazine Flirty Fiction competition and won The Writers Bureau Writer of the Year Award in 2016. She is a qualified adult education tutor specialising in child development and autism. In 2018 she founded the Rachel Dove Bursary, giving one working class writer each year a fully funded place on the Romantic Novelists’ Association New Writer’s Scheme.




Praise for Rachel Dove from readers: (#ulink_8d6ca888-44be-59ab-a9ee-29d72a258ec3)


‘Whenever I pick up a book by Rachel Dove, I know that there will be engaging characters along with a story that has warmth, humour and heartwarming vibes’

‘An entertaining and wonderful story’

‘Great read and a great ending’

‘I loved it so much, I sat up half the night to finish it’




Also by Rachel Dove (#ulink_f5078de8-ad41-5d7c-8c58-405f61c2861a)


The Chic Boutique on Baker Street

The Flower Shop on Foxley Street

The Long Walk Back

The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street




The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street

RACHEL DOVE








HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Rachel Dove 2019

Rachel Dove asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008312688

Version: 2019-04-08


Table of Contents

Cover (#u406dc79e-efc5-5ba0-b448-33ac364d33dc)

About the Author (#ub5ae6906-c596-5a47-ac59-44357e9f5fb3)

Praise for Rachel Dove from readers (#ua6536876-d696-5a6f-acee-a4fb6621e106)

Also by Rachel Dove (#u6da7198b-b45b-5695-b456-0ac6180ef4e3)

Title Page (#uc16ac880-5444-5e5b-9bd5-8d4ad6ece343)

Copyright (#u4a767008-4b75-5c14-a4d8-d195a0e63a8d)

Dedication (#uf76c700e-6539-58b0-a14b-42607a9d0a8e)

Prologue (#uce0a4379-e90d-5bfc-ab80-d4ef964ebd52)

Chapter 1 (#u50f3ff0b-6161-5701-8db6-8df08b7e7660)

Chapter 2 (#u61363749-20b8-5943-acd7-20a6b456af24)

Chapter 3 (#ua8705c69-dabd-5a47-a1ef-37a1f2f65bb7)

Chapter 4 (#u831b89fe-1938-56b2-b30d-bcae4d657271)

Chapter 5 (#u2a8e9c50-175f-509f-8396-dc27be1d2416)

Chapter 6 (#u7b92e857-ec26-5dda-be1d-0105e6d833a5)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader … (#litres_trial_promo)

Thank You For Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Dedicated to my gorgeous, clever and unique sons,

Book Worm and Little Man.

And to all the Mama and Papa Bears out there –

keep fighting and keep smiling.





Prologue (#ulink_eb45fb28-510f-53de-8489-c45b9c4fdc19)


By the time the first alarm had sounded, Samuel Draper was already up, out of his bunk and running full pelt to his gear and the rig. His firefighter comrades were hot on his heels, all snapping into action the second the bell sounded. A mere few seconds after that and they were on the truck, peeling out of Euston Fire Station at speed.

‘House fire, Guildford Street. Originated in the kitchen. Suspected hob fire. All residents are out of the property, but it’s going up fast.’ Robert rattled off the details as they navigated their way through the streets of London towards their shout. Sam nodded, pulling on his helmet, ready. ‘Understood. Robert, you and I will do front door. Lenny, you head round the back. Assess any damage, check for hazards and stray looky-loos.’

‘Okay, ETA six minutes. You glad to be back?’

Sam flashed his colleague and friend a smile. ‘I’m going back, two weeks.’

Robert’s face dropped in surprise. ‘Back up there? What for, midwife school?’

Lenny, looking as big and burly as ever behind the wheel of the fire engine, laughed out loud as they sat in the back.

‘Good one, Rob. Why are you going back? Got something going on up there?’

Sam didn’t answer, just nodded in his usual quiet way. Lenny and Robert knew not to bother pressing him. Sam wasn’t a gossip, or one to judge anyone else. Whatever he was doing up there, it had to be important to him. Sam never did anything in life without assessing every aspect first. It made him the skilled firefighter he was, and he had all the lads’ unconditional trust the minute he walked through the door on his first shift, all those years ago. The only real thing that had altered was his hairline. When they did school visits, the others liked to joke that his mop of dark curls had been singed off – frazzled off in a fireball. The kids loved it. Sam, not so much.

They got to the shout in record time, putting out the small pan fire and comforting the understandably very frightened residents. These were the best calls, the best outcomes. Quick in and out, put the fire out and have no casualties or structural damage. A new pan or two, a lick of paint and the memory would be washed away, freshened up, made anew. The lads all knew from experience that it could have been far worse than a scorched splashback and smoke damage. Before long, they were heading back home to the station.

‘Come on then, Sam,’ Lenny teased, as he indicated left and waved at a small gaggle of schoolgirls who were frantically blowing kisses and waving at them from the corner of the busy street. ‘Why do you keep going up to God’s country?’

‘God’s armpit more like,’ Robert scoffed, wiping a black sooty mark from the side of his face. ‘Helping that woman deliver her baby must have been the most action you saw, right? You starting to feel your age?’

Lenny banged his meaty hand against the steering wheel.

‘That’s it! He’s getting some action! That’s it, isn’t it?’ He beeped at a cyclist who swung out wildly in front of their truck, chuckling to himself as the cyclist jumped about ten feet in the air and peddled frantically back into the bike lane where he belonged. ‘Bike lanes save lives, man!’ he shouted genially out of the window. The cyclist nodded apologetically, face as white as a sheet. ‘Finally, Sam! A real-life woman who is not your mother to talk to!’

‘Hey,’ Sam warned, ‘watch the mother talk.’

Robert laughed. ‘Come on, Sam, as if we’d dare rib her. She scares me more than you do with one of her looks!’ The lads in the truck all laughed together.

Sam, as eager as always to shut down the talk about his life, shook his head.

‘I delivered a wedding planner’s baby, and she is now planning her own wedding, to the man she loves. As a matter of fact, they asked me to go be part of it. I like the country, the station lads are nice, and I’m due a change. No woman involved.’

Robert sighed dramatically. ‘Sam, Sam, Sam. You make my heart bleed, bro. You really do. How could you leave London?’

Sam just sat back and smiled at his friend. His mother Sondra had said much the same when he had told her, but she understood, as upset as she was.

Being a gangly lad in primary school, a white boy with a loud, bubbly African mother behind him and an array of temporary siblings, he was used to people trying to suss him out, wondering aloud and questioning his life choices. The thing was, Sondra Okeke Draper, his larger-than-life foster mother, always taught him to ignore the stares, hold your head up at all times, and do what felt right. Westfield, as bizarre as it was to his colleagues, was right. It felt right, and it wasn’t his life going forward he needed to sort out. It was his backstory. He loved London, sure, but aside from a few colleagues and his mother, he was alone here, too. Moving to the North wouldn’t be such a wrench, and one thing that Sam wasn’t afraid of was making the bold moves. He might be the strong silent type, but Sam knew exactly what was going on, and what felt important. This did, and without quite knowing what the outcome would be, Sam knew he had to at least open the puzzle box of his past, and peek inside. A wedding was a new beginning. Maria Mallory and James Chance, the couple with the baby he had delivered in front of the fire house, had their happy ever after. Sam had decided to at least look for his, and all signs pointed north.




The Day of The Mallory–Chance Wedding


Sam waved off the happy couple, and went to collect his bag, to head to the night do at Maria’s friend’s restaurant.

The chief of the fire house came out to shake his hand.

‘Well done, Sam, nice bit of publicity there. With us being a little local fire station, we need all the good news stories we can get. Keeps the penny counters happy. We haven’t always had a dedicated fire service in this village you know, and we need to make sure these damn cuts don’t change that.’

Sam shook his hand back, shaking off his praise.

‘It’s okay, sir, it was an honour. Nice to see a couple doing so well. It’s a good station.’

Chief Briggs nodded. ‘Beautiful baby too.’

Sam smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.

‘Sure is, Chief, Hope is gorgeous.’

‘Have you considered my offer?’ he asked Sam, all business now. ‘You’ve done a few cover shifts here, including the one where you were delivering babies, so have you decided what’s next? I know we’re not very exciting, compared to what you’re used to, but we’re a good group of guys, and we’d love to have you onboard permanently. Good scope for progression too, believe it or not.’

Sam looked around him at Westfield Fire House. It wasn’t what he was used to, by any means. Working in London was a world apart from here, and the fires were a lot different too, along with the other terrifying call-outs he had endured lately. He realised that his personal quest had become much more. Lately, instead of coming to Westfield to figure out his past, it had made him consider his future.

The day that Maria and James had slammed onto the drive of the fire house, he had done his job. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t think twice. He reacted, he planned and he galvanised the others into action. The baby was born safely, and it wasn’t till Maria had held the child in her arms, James wrapped around them both protectively, that it had hit him. He wanted to find out the truth, he needed to. He had to find out what his past was, before he could even think about forming a future. Every time he had tried in the past, it had ended in failure, leaving him more alone, lost and confused than before.

He looked at Chief Briggs who was watching him, as though realising that he was thinking it through. It was this quiet, unassuming air that tipped the scales for Sam. He liked his new boss, felt at home.

‘I’ll take the job,’ he said, shaking his hand before he could second guess himself and back out.

The chief looked delighted, pulling Sam into an awkward spontaneous hug.

‘Ah lad, I am pleased!’ He slapped him on the back and Sam patted him back gently. Given that Chief Alan Briggs was half his size, he felt fearful of breaking his new boss.

‘Family coming with you?’ he asked, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Sorry, Sam, I never asked if you had a wife, or kids.’

Sam shook his head, the sunshine shining off his broad bald bonce.

‘It’s just me, sir. I’ll be moving from London on my own.’

The chief nodded, seemingly satisfied.

‘There are some cottages in the village, they do long-term lets as well as holiday ones. I’ll get you a number. You can’t be staying in the pub B & B or hotels when you come for good. That’s if you don’t want to buy, of course.’

‘Great, thanks, sir. I’ll be off then. Will check them out later, I have a wedding reception to attend.’

Chief Briggs gave him a thumbs up and Sam walked up to the staff quarters to collect his stuff. He was booked into a hotel in Harrogate that night, and due back on the train to London the day after. He sat down on one of the bunks, thankful that the room was empty, and dialled a number.

‘Hey, Gina,’ he said as the line of the fire station he worked at down south was answered by their receptionist.

‘Hey, Sam! How’s village life? Did the wedding go well? Rob had a bet with Lenny that you’d end up getting off with one of the bridesmaids.’

‘Yeah,’ he replied, looking out of the window at the green fields around him. He could see the Mayweather Estate beyond that, and further still the cottages and shops, laid like pearls in the countryside. ‘It was nice. Tell Rob and Lenny that they’re idiots, and to get their own love lives. Listen, tell the chief I’m taking the transfer. Chief Briggs will be in touch with him later today, I expect.’

Gina sighed. ‘Aww, honey, we sure will miss you. Are you positive this is the right thing to do? You can talk to people you know, people here. I know you’ve had a few bad shouts lately. Moving stations won’t change that you know.’

Sam’s large jaw flexed, and he stood and leant on the windowsill. Just looking at the scenery soothed him. The thought of going back to London filled him with dread, and frustration. He knew he was making the right move, and he always followed his gut.

‘I’m sure, Gina. I want something different from life. I’m fine mentally, but a break would be good.’ He straightened his tie, which felt like it was strangling his thick-set neck in his collar. ‘I need to make a fresh start.’

She made all the right noises, not that Sam was really listening. He thanked her and rang off, promising to stay in touch.

After leaving the fire house and saying goodbye to the lads who would soon hear that he had taken the job, he got into his hire car and pulled away. He liked the team already, but he wasn’t one for a big fuss. He would let the chief tell them. He headed out of Westfield, making his way to Harrogate and his hotel. A few days in London to pack up his life, and he would be on his way back here. To Westfield, to live a new life. Put down some roots, and finally find out the truth of how his story started.

Somewhere in Westfield was the father he had never met. A mother he wanted to find. And once Sam set his mind on doing something, he didn’t let anything stand in his way. Westfield had a secret, and Sam was going to find out the truth. Surely, someone in Westfield knew something. They had to. After all, it takes a village to raise a child. If you took the child from that village, someone would at least notice. Wouldn’t they?




Chapter 1 (#ulink_441fa841-b511-5e62-b303-ea79828c94fd)


Lucy pulled Xander along the platform edge as best she could, whilst juggling her suitcase on wheels and heavy holdall. Iain would be annoyed that she had taken his favourite gym bag, but at this point that would be the least of her worries.

‘Mum, what about school? It’s illegal to play truant. Mr Elphick told us last week when Billy went to Mallorca but his mum lied and said he had diarrhoea.’

She smiled down at her plain-speaking son, trying to keep the worry from her face, the anxiety from her voice. He would pick up on it and the last thing either of them needed was a meltdown at the train station. He had pulled his ear defenders off one tiny ear to listen to her, and she could already see that he was tense; his hand pulling on the fingers of the other, his eyes darting from side to side, searching for unknown and unseen dangers.

‘You’ll only miss one day, sweetheart, and then it’s the summer holidays. Your teacher said that your class was only going to be watching videos all day anyway. I brought your iPad for the train.’

‘Lego Movie?’ he asked hopefully, and she nodded.

‘Yep, and I downloaded Lego Batman too.’

Xander smiled, and she felt the relief wash over her. Luckily, Xander loved trains, so the journey wouldn’t be too much of a trial. Thank God for J.K. Rowling. King’s Cross would have been impossible without Harry Potter, but now with the shop there, Xander had made it to the train doors unscathed, a new Hedwig stuffed owl in his hand. The travelling wouldn’t be the problem. It was what was waiting for her at the other end that worried her. What the hell was she going to tell Xander? Would he cope with all the changes? She had packed all of his notes, his medical letters, his medication, and his repeat prescription slips, so they could get his sleep medication, but the upheavals to his routine would still be immense. She shuddered at the thought, but pushed on, till they were sitting on the train, near the doors and toilets. She stashed their luggage on the racks behind them, putting her oversized grey handbag on the seat next to her. She sat backwards, facing Xander who was sitting looking out of the window, humming to himself. She saw a few passengers giving him a sideways glance, and she tutted loudly at one man who didn’t hide his judgement. She motioned for Xander to take off his ear defenders, and passed him the iPad, his soft cushioned earphones already plugged in. It had a full charge, and the charger in her bag was on hand, along with a spare, just in case. Worst case scenario he could watch Netflix on her smartphone. He was halfway through a documentary on global warming, so he could watch that, or draw or read. She had even bought a paperback for herself, a delightful romance book that she had picked up in the station bookshop. She had heard some of the other school mums talking about it at the gates, from a distance of course. In another world, she could have shared it with them, been friends perhaps.

Lucy never usually got much time to herself, but she was hoping that this, as well as many other things, would change now. Xander put his headphones on and settled down in his seat, his coat now discarded and used as a pillow. She had felt bad making him wear it on this July day, but it had been both a good disguise for the neighbours and a means of transporting the coat to their destination. He was wearing his weighted jacket too, and she decided to give him a minute before asking him to take it off. Maybe when the train had set off would be better. Nowhere to run then in the event of a tantrum. She took off her own coat, laying it on the seat next to her. She had reserved all four seats, with the table, so she could relax in the knowledge that no one was going to crowd them and they could spread out a little. Xander was engrossed in his iPad, and she took out her new mobile, tapping out a text that they were now on the train. She got a text straight back, and smiled at the reply before slipping it back into her bag.

‘Excuse me, is this yours?’ A deep voice came from the side of her. It sounded like it had come down from the heavens, as high in direction as it was deep in tone. She could see a flash of white in the corner of her eye. Xander’s new owl.

‘Hedwig!’ Xander shouted, reaching forward to grasp the toy, his fingers opening and closing like pincers. Lucy winced as a past memory came to mind, and as she watched her son cuddle his new snow-white companion, she wished for the train to leave, fast, and spirit them both away from here, and the memories she was trying so hard to forget.

‘Why does he even need that stupid thing? He’ll only lose it.’

Iain’s whining was already in full flow, and they had only just gotten onto the bus to the airport, the one that took you from the long-stay car parks to the actual airport itself. They were juggling cases and bags, and Xander was sitting next to her on the seat, backpack strapped to his shoulders, playing with a tangle toy. One of many that she had bought and stashed in her case, not that she would tell Iain that. A bored-looking couple at the side of them looked across to see what Xander was holding, and she gave them a pointed look as if to say, ‘Mind your own beeswax,’ and turned to her husband. He looked like he was chewing a bee or two himself.

‘He needs it, for his anxiety. Airports make him nervous,’ she hissed. ‘It’s only a toy, I’ll keep an eye on it.’

‘Bloody waste of money if you ask me,’ he chuntered on, his jaunty holiday panama hat making him look all the more curmudgeonly atop his sour face. ‘Half the stuff you buy him doesn’t get used.’

Not true, but Iain had never let the truth get in the way of a good whinge and moan.

‘Really,’ she said, monotone, watching Xander watch the planes as they took off overhead. His fingers ever moving, bending and reshaping his toy. It kept him calm. She almost wished she had one herself. A large one, that she could tie around her husband and the nearest car park meter. ‘Bit like your fishing gear then, and the model airplane in the garage? Perhaps we should sell those, then we will have more money for stuff to help our son cope, eh? This toy cost less than a fancy coffee, Iain.’

He looked out of the window like a petulant child, taking a swig of his large extra hot no foam rip-off, and said nothing else till they got to the airport. The gulf between them was getting wider than ever, and she’d hated it at first. Now, she was just beginning to hate him. Where was the man she married, the one who danced around the room with her, holding a positive pee stick? That Iain was gone, replaced by this bitter, twisted, work-driven man. As they stepped down off the bus, cases in hand, she tried to stay positive and lock her own snark away. This holiday had been hard work to pay for, and she had planned everything down to the last detail, so she was going to go for it.

This holiday was more than just Xander’s first holiday abroad with his family – it might just be his last unless things improved. Make or break, as the cliché went. She was determined to save her marriage, and their father–son relationship. Here, all together, they might just pull it off.

‘Xander,’ Iain shouted, drawing attention their way. ‘Pick up your bloody toy, now!’

Lucy sighed and, putting her shiny optimistic face on, picked up the toy and took her son’s trembling hand.




Chapter 2 (#ulink_06f6e99f-c434-513b-b9dc-e41953b79089)


The day Sam decided that he was going to be a fireman, no one in the household batted an eyelid. It was written in the stars, pretty much, and had been since he was a small dot in someone’s arms. To young Sam, though, it seemed like a revelation. That he, little orphan Sam, could one day be a hero. Someone who people would turn to on their darkest days; someone strong, sturdy. Someone who would never let you down, would always come to your aid, no matter what. The kind of person he wanted around him. The kind of people who had saved him.

When his mother tucked him into bed that night, kissing the top of his little head and smelling the shampoo scent of his baby soft brown hair, he snuggled down under the covers, and finally felt like he had a plan. Not a thing to be sniffed at, having a plan, especially at five years old. He didn’t realise it at the time of course, but he had in one day achieved what many people waited half their lives to feel. Purpose. Little five-year-old Samuel had purpose. He had a plan. That sheer bloody-mindedness fuelled his whole childhood, and never once did he detract from his mission. He had learned from an early age if you wanted something, you went for it. No excuses. His future was all down to him. Or, as his mum would say, ‘We make our own destiny in the face of fate, Sam. Fate dealt you a bad deal, but it’s not the end of your story, just the start.’

Now, as he packed up his belongings and prepared to make the journey once more to Westfield, and his new home, he had another mission in mind. One that, yet again, he had no hesitation in. No fear that he wouldn’t complete it, find what he was looking for. What he wasn’t so sure about was just what he would find, and whether he could live with his decision afterwards. Even for a man who walked into flames, with a spine of steel, the prospect was daunting, and a little scary.

Packing up his flat had been easy, and what he hadn’t got in his holdall and suitcase, he had boxed up and stacked up in a corner of his mum’s garage. Two whole boxes, mostly books. His furniture in the flat had been sparse at best, so he had sold what he had, or donated it to charity. Clothes, toiletries, a stack of paperbacks, and one photo album was all he took with him. Easy to carry, even easier to unload at the other side. He didn’t need much. So here he stood, underneath the departure boards at King’s Cross Station, waiting to board, alongside the Harry Potter fans and bored-looking commuters.

‘I’m going to miss you, my darling boy,’ Sondra said, her greying thick black curly hair tied up neatly in her trademark bandana. ‘It will be so strange not to be close to you.’

Sam felt a twinge of regret as he saw her wipe a tear from her eyes with her handkerchief.

‘It’s not forever, and it’s only a couple of hours on the train. I’ll come and see you when I get a few days off, and you can come stay with me, when you have a break between kids.’

Sondra wouldn’t take a break, but the pair of them didn’t say that to each other. Such was their relationship that a lot went unsaid. They both knew it, and so to them, that was enough. She would come if she could. Sondra had never been between kids in all the years that Sam had lived with her. He had grown up in a hectic home, one full of smells, and noise, and memories, and Sondra was always at the centre of it. The calm captain at the helm. Many kids from all kinds of life had come through those doors. Some came in the dead of night, shaky little ghosts clutching bedraggled teddy bears, traumatised by what they had seen and heard. Others came angry, aggressive, half dragged out of cars by overworked social workers, eager to get rid of their fraught charges. Sondra never batted an eyelid, and she always commanded respect. Sam had been the only child she had never let go of, and he was forever grateful for her.

The train announcement sounded, and Sam took the woman into his beefy arms, kissing the top of her head as she wrapped her arms around his middle and held him tight.

‘I love you, my boy. I’ll see you soon.’ When they finally pulled away, she pressed a thick envelope into his hand. Her trademark cream notepaper and vellum-finished stationery. He smiled, a picture of her sat at her desk popping into his head. Glasses halfway down her nose, a glass of wine on a coaster on the wooden surface of the desk, her head bent over her paper as she scribbled away. ‘Read it on the train or when you get settled. Not now. Okay?’

He nodded, not trusting himself to keep it together if he tried to speak. She raised her hands above her five foot six frame, placing them on either side of his stubbly face. He stooped to let her, savouring the warmth from her palms, the scent of her coconut hand lotion enveloping him.

She dropped a motherly kiss onto his lips, stroking his face and letting the tears fall for a moment.

‘Just you remember, my sweet little Sam, you always have a home with me. Stay safe.’

He hugged her tight once more, kissing her cheek.

‘I will, Mum, I promise.’

She nodded, smiling through her watery tears. ‘And find someone to love, okay? Grandbabies need a mother, you know. I’m not getting any younger here.’

He laughed then, a deep throaty boom, and she laughed right along with him, each of them tucking the moment into their pockets, to pull out and cherish when they needed it.

They looked back at each other till he turned the corner, and he gripped the envelope to him. It smelled of her. He pushed it into his coat pocket and hauled his baggage to the train. The conductor looked twice at him as he went to enter the train, and Sam could feel himself getting annoyed. Looking down at the man, he nodded slowly, not bothering to raise a smile. The man nodded back, clearing his throat nervously and stepping aside for him to get onto the train. Sam was used to people thinking he was a meathead, a rough and tough bruiser, but realistically, it did start to grate when he was trying to go about his day. Made his job tougher too, with the louts that seemed to think it was okay to have a pop at a man trying to save lives, do his job. Idiots, one and all. He wouldn’t miss them in Westfield, and he very much doubted that it would be as tough in the little village he was going to call home for the next few months. He could only hope, anyway. In his current state, he didn’t have the energy for much else.

Still irked by the bloke, Sam stomped through the carriages till he found his seat. Moving to the end of the carriage, he stashed his bags in the luggage compartments. He noticed a woman and a small boy, sitting across from his table seat. The boy had headphones on, his face enraptured in the screen, his hair ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, pushed askew by his big headphones. Sam smiled, thinking of the kids he had grown up alongside. Half of them had never seen movies, let alone been lucky enough to have a portable screen to watch them on. He squeezed himself into the seat he had reserved, so he ended up sitting the opposite way from the lad, the same side as the woman. He felt eyes on him, and looked across to see the boy watching him intently. He looked away, aware that a man of his size looking at a youngster might be intimidating. He flicked his gaze across at the woman, and she was looking right at him. He was just noticing how blue her eyes were when she opened her mouth to speak, flashing him a set of pearly whites, that were currently bared at him.

‘Do you have a problem?’ Her tone was clipped, pushed out like pellets from an air rifle.

He laughed, out loud. Right at her. He didn’t mean to, and he choked off the motion in his throat as soon as he realised.

‘Sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘I didn’t mean to laugh. I don’t have a problem.’

She clenched her jaw, and Sam said nothing, observing her. He noticed how alike the pair looked, the young boy having her brown hair colouring, little streaks of lighter caramel tinted hair running through her shoulder-length locks. She had it wavy, and loose around her shoulders. She looked tired, he noted, and tense across her features. The boy was still looking at him, the tablet now on the table, forgotten.

‘Are you okay?’

He surprised himself by asking. Normally he kept himself to himself, off the job, but something about her made him want to know more.

‘I will be,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘I just want to enjoy the journey in peace.’

She glared at him again, and then turned to look at her son.

‘Xander honey, don’t stare.’

The boy, who had one headphone off his ear, looked at her in surprise.

‘He’s staring! Tell him!’

‘Xander!’ his mum scolded, in the form of a whisper. ‘Remember what we said?’

‘Mum! He did it! You always said to tell the truth!’

‘Xander, please!’

Xander huffed, and rolled his eyes so far in the back of his head Sam thought they would never return.

‘Fine,’ he spat out, giving Sam a sidelong glance that could spark a fire from across the county. ‘I don’t like you,’ he said, matter of factly, sticking his tongue out at Sam before picking up his tablet and shoving his headphones back onto his ears. The woman blushed furiously, and Sam chuckled again.

‘I’m sorry, Xander,’ he said. ‘You’re quite right, it is rude to stare.’

Xander didn’t take his eyes from the screen, but Sam saw him sneak a peek over the top at his mother and give a little grin.

‘I see you,’ she said, but her tone was softer this time. She looked across at Sam. ‘Thank you. He speaks his mind.’

Sam looked at the woman, who looked so frazzled and on edge and nodded once.

‘Nothing wrong with that.’

She raised her eyebrows, pulling a face.

‘Not always, for him. He hasn’t mastered tact.’

Sam looked out of the window at the man from earlier, who was now getting ready to blow his whistle.

‘He has time, I know plenty of adults who haven’t learnt that skill either.’

She laughed then, just once, and smiled at him for the first time. Her blue eyes flashed and he couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was.

‘Well, thanks.’

‘Sam, Draper.’

She looked him up and down, as though deciding something for herself, and then looked at her son, who was by now engrossed in his movie and not paying any attention to their conversation.

‘Lucy.’

She didn’t volunteer a surname, and turned back to her book. As she folded the page out to crack the spine a little, he noticed that she touched her bare ring finger, as though out of habit, before stopping herself. He was about to ask where she was headed when the whistle blew, and the Tannoy started to detail the journey from London to Leeds, and all the stops in between. He had stashed his holdall and suitcase in the compartments, and he checked on them as the train started to move. He took his jacket off, folded it and put it onto the seat next to him, before reaching into the carrier bag he had bought in the station. He took out a bottle of water and the latest thriller and settled in for the duration. He couldn’t bring himself to read the letter yet, when the smell of his mother was still all around him, on his clothing. He would wait to get settled in, and be alone. Then he would read the letter. No one wanted to see a six foot four man cry like a baby. As emotional as she had been on the platform, his mother wasn’t an overly emotional woman. Whatever was in that envelope was going to hurt him, and help him. How much of each, he didn’t like to hazard a guess.

A few chapters of his book in, and the train was racing along the tracks, the near empty carriage quiet and soothing. Xander was still in his seat, wrapped in his and his mother’s coats, tablet propped up on the table, his head nodding as he fought sleep. The noise of a mobile phone broke the silence, and Lucy scrabbled to answer it.

‘Hello,’ she said, half whispering. ‘I can’t really talk at the moment, call you later?’

The Tannoy sprang into life, announcing that refreshments would be coming down the train on a cart, and Lucy jumped, cupping the phone between her hands for dear life and scrunching down into her seat frantically. Shit!

The voice prattled on, and Lucy listened as best she could to the voice on the line. He was talking about work, again. He hadn’t even noticed the Tannoy, hadn’t even asked where she was. She let him finish, and waited for him to ask her about her day.

‘So,’ he continued, a line starting to ring in the background, ‘I’ll be really late, so go ahead and have tea without me, I’ll grab something here. We might end up going out somewhere, with it being Friday.’

‘Hmm-hmm.’ She looked across at her son, whose eyelids had now closed, and marvelled at how adorable he was. His long brown eyelashes fanned out into his cheeks, and even in sleep, he looked a little confused and anxious. Her beautiful, clever, misunderstood boy. ‘Okay, fine.’

If her husband picked up on her tone, he didn’t mention it. His voice was the same; distracted, far away. He acted as though letting his family know his whereabouts was an annoyance, a mundane obligation to tick off his to-do list. Speak to long-suffering wife. Check. Ignore existence of son bar the basics. Check. She thought of how he used to be, and her stomach flipped as she thought of where they were now. Miles apart from each other, now more than ever.

‘Okay. Oh, honey?’

She took a deep breath in. This was it. He was going to ask her. He was going to ask if Xander got to school okay, or what she was up to today. Anything. He could ask her anything, and she would tell him the truth.

‘Yes?’ she asked on a shaky breath. Her eyes flicked to the man opposite, but he hadn’t lifted his eyes from the pages of his book.

‘I forgot to ask, sorry. Been so busy today.’

Here it was. Ask me, damn you. Prove me wrong. I swear, we’ll get off this train. All you have to do is ask.

‘If you get time today, get my dry cleaning would you? I have golf tomorrow, and I need my suits back for Monday.’ Another phone started up again, his office phone, and he tutted crossly.

‘I gotta go, okay? See you later.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could even form the words, she heard the click of the line. He had gone, back to work. She looked at her phone, willing him to ring back. To have picked up on her tone and guessed that something was off. But she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t. He had stopped noticing things long ago. Her wallpaper came up on the screen, a picture of her and Xander together, smiling in the Lego shop. She remembered the day. Another bad day at school, another day of her son coming out of the school doors and running into her arms, crying. Kids were rotten, and some parents were no better. She had wrapped him in her arms and strode out of the wrought iron gates, mentally sticking a finger up at the judgemental mum set that watched them leave. She had gotten him straight into town, to the Lego shop that he loved so much, and they had sat there, at the activity table, till her son dried his tears and started to be himself again. One of the shop assistants had offered to take a photo, after her attempts at a selfie had resulted in either missing the model or chopping their heads off. The photo came out well, and it had turned into a good day. A day of hot chocolate in the coffee shop, of Lego models and little smiles. Another day where his dad had not been able to get out of work, or even taken a minute to give him a call.

She looked again at her sleeping son and brushed a tear away. Today was going to be one of those days, where it would end better than it began. She turned her phone over, took out the SIM Card from the back and snapped it in half. Just looking down at the pieces of plastic and metal made her feel better. She brushed them into her pocket, and settled back down to read her book. At least in the pages of this story, there would be a happy ever after. She never noticed the man across watching her with interest, and a flexed jaw.




Chapter 3 (#ulink_a8f01fa6-328e-5482-81ee-ce0da94f9c57)


Marlene stood on the train platform, shuffling from foot to foot, checking her watch and then checking it again when she realised she hadn’t even registered the time. Dot and Grace were sitting on the metal bench nearby; Grace knitting away, Dot tapping on her phone.

‘It’s late. What if she never got on it?’

Grace didn’t look up, swapping needles over in her arms and flicking the multicoloured wool in her bag to allow more of it to escape.

‘She got on it. The trains are always bloody late, calm down. You’ll have no shoe leather left. You’ll look like a knackered old tyre by the time you’re done.’

‘I’m worried! I can’t help it. Dot, what time do you make it?’

Dot looked at the platform clock and checked her own watch. ‘Eleven twenty-seven, dear. My clock is still the same as yours.’

‘And every other bloody clock in the land,’ Grace griped. ‘We share time you know, it won’t pass any quicker looking at the blasted thing.’

‘Oh shut up, Grace, go back to your knitting!’ Marlene snapped. ‘Why did you even come if you aren’t going to be helpful?’

Grace’s needles clacked away, and she let out a little sigh.

‘I came to support you, and to stop you getting arrested by station security. You look like a bloody nutter, running a track into the platform. She’ll be here when she’s here, same as the rest of the train. It’s an eighteen-minute delay, not the end of time for God’s sake!’

Marlene glared at Grace, and her friend eyeballed her from the top of her glasses, shoving her middle finger up the bridge of her nose pointedly and returning it to her knitting. Marlene gasped, and Dot groaned.

‘Up yours eh!? Well, the same to you, Grace. Dot, tell her!’

‘Dot, tell her!’ Grace mimicked, her needles picking up speed with her fury. ‘You need to chill out. That poor girl is going to get off that train and jump straight back on it looking at you. Knock it off!’

‘Oh shut your face!’ Marlene boomed, startling a man walking out onto the platform.

‘Shut both your faces!’ Dot screeched, standing and pushing Marlene into the seat she had vacated. Grace and Marlene hissed at each other and had a mini elbowing fight, Grace being the victor by jabbing her knitting needle into Marlene’s thigh.

‘Oww! Bugger off!’ Marlene shouted, trying to grapple the needle away from her. Her hand caught in the strand of wool, and started to unravel the stitching.

Grace growled furiously, slapping Marlene’s hand, making her reel back with a startled yip.

‘Watch my blessed knitting, you ham-fisted old tart!’

Dot ran to the pair, pushing her hands in between them.

‘Ladies, for chuff’s sake, pack it in!’

Bing bong. The Tannoy sprang to life, stopping the sparring ladies in their tracks.

‘The delayed train from London King’s Cross is now arriving on Platform 2. Can all passengers please stand well back.’

Dot sagged with relief.

‘Thank Christ for that.’

Marlene and Grace both jumped up, ready to greet the newcomers.

The train trundled to a stop on the platform, and the doors swished open.

‘Can you see her?’ Grace asked, putting her arm around Marlene, their fight long forgotten.

‘No, you?’

Grace peered into the carriages as they moved along the platform, but the windows were tinted, making it difficult. A train employee stepped out, paddle in hand, and then the commuters started to disembark.

‘Dot, you see anything?’

Dot stood open-jawed next to them, looking at something a little way down the train. She nudged Grace, who followed her gaze. Marlene was still looking frantically, Grace pulling on her arm.

‘What Grace, give up? What?’

Grace tutted and, reaching across, she grabbed Marlene by the jaw and showed her what they were looking at.

Down the platform, just getting off the train, was a man. Well, they assumed it was a man, not a mirage, but, sometimes, it was hard to tell the difference. Grace dropped her needles and they clattered to the floor with a metallic tinkle.

‘What, I ask you, is that?’ she asked, licking her lips slowly.

Dot shook her head slowly, her eyes out on stalks. ‘I don’t know, but I want one.’

Marlene, slack-jawed, babbled twice before muttering, ‘It’s Bruce Willis, I tell you. Or that other guy, the Statham guy, what’s he called?’

Grace giggled. ‘Who cares what he’s called, where did he come from?’

The three women watched as the man put down a suitcase and oversized holdall, and swept back onto the train, dipping his head as he walked back through the doors. A minute later, dressed in a long coat and jeans, he stepped back down off the train, more luggage in hand. A woman and a small boy followed, the woman taking the bag from him.

‘Figures,’ Dot whined. ‘A man like that, had to be taken.’

‘Lucky cow,’ Grace moaned, looking down at her forgotten knitting. ‘Bollocks, I dropped my jumper.’

She bent to pick it up, and Marlene practically leap-frogged over her.

‘It’s Lucy! She’s here!’

Marlene half ran, half trotted like a pony, over to the trio, and patted the woman excitedly on the shoulder.

‘Lucy dear, is it you?’

Lucy turned around and smiled broadly, throwing one of her arms around her beloved aunt.

‘Auntie Marlene, hello!’ Marlene threw her arms around her, hugging her tight. Over her shoulder, she saw the Adonis they were ogling earlier, standing a little way back with the bags.

‘Did you have a nice journey?’ She pulled back, looking at her niece. She looked tired and drawn. She didn’t let her face betray her worry for her niece. A pair of little eyes fixed on her, and she looked at the little boy, holding his mother’s hand so tightly. He was looking around him as though he was fighting the urge to run off.

‘Hello, my darling,’ she said softly, bending down to look the youngster in the face. ‘Shall we go to the car?’

Xander looked at her, his headphones making him look all the younger, and smiled slowly, nodding his head. Dot and Grace came up behind them, pointing to the bags.

‘These all yours?’ Grace asked. Or rather, she asked the crotch of the rather tall bald man guarding them.

He nodded politely, pointing at two of them.

‘These are theirs, I just helped. You need a hand to your car?’

Lucy shook her head, and opened her mouth to say no, but the women had already gone, cooing around the bloke that she had just spent two hours trying to avoid.

‘You are lovely!’ Dot simpered, reaching up and touching the man’s arm. ‘Ooo, have you felt this, Grace?’ She squeezed his bicep, and Sam blushed.

Lucy looked down at Xander, and he giggled at her.

‘Come on then, let’s go sort these ladies out before they rip his pants off.’

Xander gasped, a shocked expression on his face. ‘That’s not allowed in public, you told me!’

Lucy laughed, cursing herself for not watching her phrasing.

‘It’s just a saying, that’s all, love. Sorry. They won’t touch his pants. Let’s go, shall we?’ She squeezed his hand and he squeezed it back, their little nod to each other. Their comfort to each other when out and about in the world. I’m here, it said to the other.

They walked towards their cases, but Sam had seen them coming, and picked up their holdall.

‘I can take your bags,’ he stated, throwing the holdall over his shoulder with his own and taking the case handle in his hand with his own in the other.

‘No, it’s fine, I can manage.’

The women were all flocked around him, rapture on their faces. Lucy wanted to slap the lot of them. What was it about him that had made them lose their mind like this? Sam paid them no notice, he was standing there, laden down, looking at her in his own quiet way. She felt naked under his gaze, like he could read her thoughts, and she swallowed hard. Why didn’t he say anything? What was in that lofty head of his?

‘I didn’t say you couldn’t manage. I have them. I’ll see you to your car.’

The ladies sprang into action then, and she found herself being pulled along, Xander stuck to her leg. They left Leeds station, heading through the crowds of suits and shoppers, Sam a way in front, carrying their combined luggage with ease. Grace and Dot went on in front, heading towards the car park, and, once there, they both got into two different cars.

Marlene turned to her and smiled kindly. ‘We took two cars, because we all wanted to come. See you, and help you.’ She looked at Xander, who was looking at Sam, who was putting their luggage into one of the car boots. ‘Are you okay?’ she said lightly, looking at Lucy intently. She smiled faintly, a little movement of the head barely identifiable.

‘We will be.’ Marlene squeezed her shoulder, and the two women looked at each other for a moment, happy to be near each other finally. Sam turned to look at them, a frown across his features, and Marlene noticed.

‘Nice man, isn’t he?’ she said softly.

‘Yes, I dare say he is.’ Lucy noticed that he was putting his own case into the back of the other car. ‘What is he doing?’ Her voice came out shrill, panicked, and Xander looked up at her, picking up on the change instantly. She squeezed his hand to signal that she was okay.

She looked at her aunt just quickly enough to catch a sheepish look passing over her face.

‘Auntie?’ she tried again, but Marlene had already taken Xander’s hand and started off towards the car. To his credit, Xander didn’t make a fuss.

‘I’ll take Xander with me, you get in with Grace. Come on, Xander. Let’s get home, and then we can make some lunch, eh?’ Xander looked back at his mum questioningly, so she just smiled and waved him off.

‘See you there, honey. Make sure you put your seatbelt on.’

The others got into the car, and drove off, leaving Sam standing by Grace’s car. Grace was seemingly busy playing with the radio.

‘I hope you don’t mind – your friends didn’t really give me the option of refusing. I was going to get a taxi, but apparently we’re heading the same way.’

Lucy nodded, pointing to the front seat.

‘I don’t mind at all. Please.’

He shook his head, taking off his coat.

‘I’ll be fine in the back. You go ahead.’

He opened the door, and folded his tall frame into the back seat, his coat on his lap. She walked around to the other side of the car, opening the passenger side door. Grace’s large bag was strapped into the seat.

‘Sorry, love, I like to have my bag close, for my pills.’ She winked at Lucy, and Lucy blushed. Subtle.

‘Okay, no problem.’ She forced her face into a relaxed expression, even though she was utterly embarrassed. The rear door opened, and she saw Sam’s hand pull back onto his lap.

‘Thank you.’ She slipped into the seat next to him, putting her handbag onto her lap.

‘Please, use the middle seat. Don’t sit with your bag on you, all squashed up. There’s plenty of room.’

She eyed him, but saw the same calm expression. He was hard to read. She slid the bag off her lap and put it in the space between them.

‘So, what brings you to Westfield then?’ Grace asked brightly, pulling out of the train station car park at speed, startling a passer-by as she weaved into the busy morning traffic. ‘Meeting your wife?’

Lucy winced, looking out of the window. She saw a pigeon eating some discarded food at the side of the road and suddenly wished she could change places with it. This pretty much felt like being pecked to death anyway.

‘Er, no wife.’ Sam’s deep tones filled the car. ‘I’m here for work.’

‘Ah, I see.’ She turned the wheel abruptly, flicking from lane to lane, heading out of Leeds city centre. Lucy’s bag lurched forward, and she put her hand out to grab it, instead touching Sam’s doing the same. They both yanked their hands back as the touch of each other burned like fire. He pushed her bag back along the seat.

‘I got it,’ he murmured, and she smiled at him gratefully.

‘So, have you got a girlfriend back home? Is she coming to join you? Or a him, maybe?’

‘No, no girlfriend or boyfriend anywhere. It’s just me.’

‘No family?’ Grace pushed.

Sam looked down at his hands, and Lucy cleared her throat.

‘Grace, what were you knitting, back on the platform?’

Grace started babbling away, telling them both about the jumper drive that the village was currently embarking on, preparing for winter for the homeless.

‘We’re going to send them to the foodbanks, the homeless shelters. Amanda and a few of the other women are sewing blankets too, so we should have loads by the time the winter starts to bite.’

She eyed Sam in the rear-view mirror.

‘About a forty chest, aren’t you, Sam?’

Sam looked shocked, but soon recovered.

‘Er yes, good eye. You must know your knitting.’

Grace chuckled, a mucky laugh that belied her years.

‘Aye, I know a good beefcake size when I see one.’

‘Dear Lord, kill me now,’ Lucy muttered to herself.

‘Take me with you if you do,’ Sam muttered back. They shared a look and both stifled a laugh.

He is really cute, she thought to herself. Not my type at all, but I can see the attraction. He had long lashes, which reminded her of her son.

She looked away, out of the window, and didn’t speak again until they reached the village of Westfield.

Sam saw the fire station come into view, and leaned forward.

‘Here’s my stop, Grace, thank you for the lift again.’

‘It’s no bother, are you sure you’re okay here?’

Sam nodded.

‘Yes, I’d like to say hello to the lads before I do anything else. Check everything’s okay.’

Grace smiled approvingly.

‘Well, Mr Draper, we are lucky to have you.’

He looked at her in surprise, and she winked.

‘It’s a small village, duck, nothing much passes us old bats here. Why do you think we took two cars?’

He looked across at Lucy, but she was sound asleep.

‘Say goodbye to them for me?’ he asked, feeling foolish, and a little cheated that he didn’t get to tell her it himself. He wanted to see her again, feel her eyes on him.

‘I will, love. I’m sure you’ll see her soon enough.’

As Sam watched the women drive off, he was pretty sure that Grace meant every word, and seemed to know that what she said would come true. He had a feeling that some of these villagers might be a bit of a handful. Throwing his holdall over his shoulder and grabbing his suitcase handle, he headed inside to the fire station to start his new career.




Chapter 4 (#ulink_3e04c779-407e-556b-bf33-c15f97a8ff0a)


Grace drove up the small lane where the holiday cottages sat like pearls threaded on a necklace. It was beautiful here, even more beautiful than Lucy remembered from her childhood. She used to come up here for long summers as a child, no bigger than her son was now. Not much had changed at all, and she felt happier just being here. Grace pulled the car in side by side with the other, and Lucy spotted Xander, sitting in the back seat, headphones on. No doubt he was watching his movie all over again. He seemed settled, so she got out of the car and headed up the path to the cottage with the wide open front door.

The smell of fresh flowers assaulted her nostrils, and she looked around at the neat and gorgeous gardens. The cottages were in lines of twos, hugging each other in little couples along the small country lanes. There was no car next door in the little drive at the front of the house, and Lucy felt relieved that there would be no neighbours, for today at least. Marlene came out of the front door and, seeing her, grinned broadly.

‘Lucy dear, it’s lovely in here. Just the ticket for you both. I left Xander in the car, will he be okay?’

Lucy looked at her son, who hadn’t moved a muscle.

‘He’ll be okay, he’ll come out when he wants to.’

Marlene nodded, motioning for her to come inside. After walking past the blooming flowers that ran around the edges of the green grass in neat beds, she passed by a lavender bush by the front door, and walked through the painted mint green door. The smell of bleach hit her as she walked in, and she wasn’t surprised to see Marlene scrubbing the sink, Marigolds on, cloth in hand.

‘It’s not dirty, the whole place is spotless really, I just love a bleached sink.’

Lucy nodded, going to open the window and putting it on the latch.

‘Xander’s not so keen on the smell, it bothers him.’ She looked through the window and saw that he was still sitting in the car, Dot now sitting in the passenger seat, book in hand. She waved her away, motioning to her that everything was fine. Lucy waved back.

‘Sorry,’ Marlene was saying. ‘We did ask at the library, but they don’t really have any books on the subject. If we do something wrong, let us know love, we want to help.’

Lucy felt the familiar burn of rage in the pit of her stomach.

‘He’s autistic, not stupid or difficult.’

She spat the words out, looking out of the window at the pretty garden to stop herself from saying anything else. The water started running behind her, and she heard the swish of the cloth as her auntie kept cleaning.

‘We know that, dear, but we are trying. The last thing we want is to upset him. We didn’t have it in my day, dear. Well, I’m sure that we did, but we just didn’t know about it like we do now. Us old bids were just trying to be down with the kids.’

Lucy turned to look at her.

‘I know, I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day.’

Marlene nodded, pulling off her gloves and placing them on the stainless steel draining board.

‘Did you tell him, before you left?’

Lucy swallowed, thinking of the phone call on the train.

‘He went to work early. I spoke to him on the train but it didn’t seem like the right time to tell him. I left a note, at home.’

She thought of her plush house back home, immaculate as always, the show house of his dreams. She had left everything neat and tidy, including the envelope she left on the kitchen island telling him that she was leaving him, to spend time with her family and think things through.

‘Did he really deserve that, Luce?’ Marlene asked. ‘I know that things have been hard, but does he deserve to come home from work to that?’

‘He barely comes home at all. I’ll be amazed if he even sees the note.’

Marlene pursed her lips, but said nothing.

‘I put your bags in the master bedroom, so Dot and I will leave you to it. We have yoga at the community centre this afternoon anyway. We put some food in the fridge, but you might want to do some shopping soon. If you need a sitter, let us know.’

Lucy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She heard the door open behind her, and the waft of lavender filled the kitchen. She could hear the women speaking to Xander, and car doors open and close. She headed to the front door, and watched her little boy carry his belongings into the house. He wrinkled his nose at the smell.

‘It’s just cleaning smells that’s all. Do you like the house?’

Xander looked around him at the cosy cream kitchen, the dining room table set for two, fresh pink peonies in a little vase on the table.

‘It’s different from home,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘It’s not as shiny.’ Thinking back to her state-of-the-art kitchen, she laughed a little to herself.

‘It is; it’s a country look, more wood than shiny surfaces.’

Xander walked around the space, staying clear of the kitchen sink, and touched the surface of the wooden table.

‘I like it. It’s smaller. Can we see my room now?’

Lucy smiled, pointing to the stairs.

‘Lead the way, little man.’

Xander ran up the stairs, dumping his bag on the table before he went. There were no special hidden cupboards here to stash life away in. She looked at the backpack, and felt a wave of relief rush over her. Maybe, just maybe, this would all turn out for the best.

‘Mum, come look!’

‘I’m coming!’ she said, kicking off her shoes and racing up the stairs.

It was late by the time Sam had eventually said goodbye to the lads at the fire station. As soon as he had walked through the door, the thought of the woman on the train fresh in his head, he had been dragged in and made to feel welcome. Chief Briggs was a burly man, his moustache the only tiny thing about him, a whisper of a thick bristle seemingly stencilled on his broad face.

Being lunchtime, the men were all sitting at the large scratched wood table, chatting and laughing away. Norman was at the stove, dishing out plates of hot chilli on baked potatoes. Sam’s stomach gurgled.

‘Come on in,’ Danesh said, pointing to a clear space at the table. ‘You eat meat, right?’

Alan patted him hard on the back.

‘A man this size? Of course he does!’

‘Er, actually no, I don’t. Not much anyway. More chicken, eggs. I tend to stay away from red meat.’

He waited for the usual explosion of what? why? how? but none came.

Alan shrugged. ‘Ah well, more for me, Dan!’ He took a seat at the head of the table, and Danesh placed a steaming plate in front of him. Danesh returned to the cooker, taking the lid off a different pot.

‘Here’s yours.’ He spooned some chilli onto a huge baked potato. ‘Meat free chilli, Norm’s spesh. It’s pretty good, but hold judgement till you’ve had it three times in one week.’ Norman jabbed him in the side, and he laughed.

‘Cheeky bugger, you love my cooking!’

Danesh groaned. ‘Love, really? It’s a strong word, Norm.’

Norman flicked his tea towel at Danesh as he headed to the table, putting a plate in front of Sam.

‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully, and Danesh sat down next to him.

‘So,’ Norman called, turning off the heat on the stove and coming to sit down. ‘What made you come up here from London?’

Sam took a bite of his food and his whole body embraced the flavour. Proper food for once.

‘Nice,’ he said to Norman, pointing to his plate. ‘I came for the job really, a change of pace.’

Danesh guffawed, slicing his potato up into smaller pieces.

‘Well, you’ll get that here, we don’t get much action. You must have seen some things in your time.’

Sam thought of the call-outs he had had recently, back home, and nodded slowly.

‘A few, yes. What have you got on today?’

‘We have the rigs to clean out, and the general station maintenance. We need to get things ready for the summer crowds, and the holiday lets will all need checking over. We do things differently up here, Sam, as you might have gathered from your shifts.’

Sam nodded once, not feeling the need to answer any further. He knew what the job was, and it suited him just fine, for now at least.

‘Agatha’s on the warpath again too; she’s coming down later. Something about the Langthwaite Farm and a bull.’

Norman groaned. ‘Christ, can’t she just call Ben at the veterinary surgery and get him on the case? The poor lad is obviously just trying to get his leg over; Old Man Langthwaite just needs to set him to work.’

Alan shook his head. ‘Reg has been showing him to the females, but the bull is just not interested. It keeps jumping the fences to get onto Agatha’s land. I think he fancies Archie’s new cow.’

‘Wow,’ Danesh quipped. ‘Quite the dairy disaster, eh?’

Alan gave him a look that could curdle milk. ‘Anyway, we’ll have to speak to Agatha, she’ll not rest till she gets her way.’ Sam finished his food, feeling very intrigued as to what kind of woman Agatha was that she could get a fire station full of burly blokes quaking into their safety boots.

Sam had hung around for the rest of the shift, filling in his paperwork, picking out a bunk and helping out where he could. Or where Alan would let him at least.




Chapter 5 (#ulink_56a8d251-71b8-57ba-a5dd-b64b6f51fe49)


Lucy woke up with a sharp pain in her back, like someone was trying to poke something through her spinal column. Wincing, she rolled over to her side, reaching behind her to move whatever piece of office crap Iain had left on the bed. Opening her eyes, she froze. She wasn’t in her bed, or at home. The events from the day before came screaming back to her in a flurry, making her groan loudly and fall back on to her bed. The sharp object stabbed her again, making her jump up to a sitting position, bolt upright.

‘Muuummm!’ Xander moaned behind her. ‘You crushed Bobba Fett!’ He pushed her arm away, reaching under her to pull out his beloved toy. ‘Grrr!’

He growled loudly, a sure sign that he was both upset and angry. He used to do it all the time as a toddler, unable at the time to verbalise his feelings. She felt a wave of nostalgia so strong that she half expected to see a toddler staring back at her when she looked back.

‘Sorry, poppet,’ she said softly, holding her hands out palms up. Xander eyed her warily, looking from her face to the toy with its now separate arm.

‘Be careful, Mummy,’ he said, giving her a final glare before placing the pieces into her waiting hands. She grinned at him, blowing an errant strand of light brown hair out of her eye line.

‘I think you know by now, my darling son, that I—’ she put the arm back on with ease, making Bobba wave at him ‘—am a master builder.’

Xander pressed his cute little lips together tight, but she could see he was dying to laugh.

‘All fixed!’ She grabbed him, pulling him closer to her. ‘Cuddle for Mummy!’ He squealed, grabbing Bobba tight to his chest, before turning and setting him down on the bedside table.

‘Cuddle fort?’ he asked, and she nodded.

‘Cuddle fort it is!’ She pulled him close, his little PJs smelling of the fabric softener she washed his clothes in. He snuggled tight into her, his nose inches from hers. She covered the quilt over them both, stacking the pillows to make a tent of sorts. He nestled closer to her, and she held him tight.

‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked, looking into the eyes that were so like her own – a bright blue that made his dark, thick lashes all the more striking against his pale skin. Marlene had them too.

‘Yep, my room’s nice. It’s empty, I like it like that. I need my Lego from home though, I don’t have enough. Will Dad bring it?’

Lucy winced, thinking of home. Iain would have noticed they were missing by now. He was due to have his golf weekend, but he wasn’t leaving till that night. She wondered if he would still go. Would he have called Marlene? She knew her aunt wouldn’t lie to him, it wasn’t in her nature.

‘Well, you remember I said we were coming here for the holidays, and we made that holiday scrapbook to bring? That means we won’t be going home for a while yet. We have to leave what we didn’t bring at home, till we need it.’

‘I need it now,’ he whined. ‘I need more Lego! I can’t do nothing, my brain won’t let me.’

Her mouth curled up at one side, a slight grin showing. She ruffled his hair gently, and touched her nose to his. He let her, and stared right at her, just as she had taught him.

‘We will have a lovely summer here, and have lots of things to do and see … your brain won’t have to be doing nothing. I’ll tell you what, you pick some Lego from Mummy’s phone, and when it arrives, we can build it together.’

‘Will Daddy bring it?’

‘We’ll get it delivered to our cottage, but we might even see something in town. We are going exploring today, remember, from the calendar?’

Before they had left, she had bought a calendar for the wall, and gone through with Xander the dates and plans that she knew they had, to prepare him. Many days were blanks, and she feared these days more than the ones with her loopy handwriting filling the squares. These were the days where she would feel lost, guilty with a dash of panic. Xander feared them too, the difference to his routine being so huge already. They both had a mistrust of the unknown, but here they were, together. She had a flash of memory. Xander, standing by the pool, screaming. Iain standing over him, shouting and demanding. Holiday-makers, openly gawping at the resort’s prize exhibit. She pushed the thought away, willing it to dispel from her brain, riding the bolt of ice water she felt zipping down her spine. This would be a better holiday. It had to be.

‘Breakfast first though, Mummy,’ Xander checked.

‘Yes, my darling. Breakfast. I think holiday pancakes are in order.’

Xander’s nose scrunched up. ‘Ordered from who?’

Marlene bustled into A New Lease of Life and flopped down on the chair that Grace had her leg on, shunting it to one side.

‘Hey, my knee hurts you know!’

Marlene shot her a look. ‘Don’t moan, woman, it never stopped you doing samba last night, did it? Thrusting your hips at a man half your age, I ask you, where’s the dignit—arrgghh!’

She rubbed her left bottom cheek as Grace stuck her tongue out at her, her needle flicking back to her work after a successful stabbing. Marlene narrowed her eyes, looking around her quickly before opening her mouth.

‘You do that again, woman, and I’ll tell everyone about you and Ted Wilson, you see if I don’t.’

Grace jumped forward, horror etched on her face.

‘You promised!’ She hissed. ‘Since 1974 you have held that over me, you buzzard!’

‘Buzzard?’ Marlene frowned, before realisation set in. Followed by anger. ‘You mean vulture, you bloody wizened old crow!’

Grace jabbed her wool-free knitting needle out in front of her menacingly.

‘Crow! Crow? I’ll stab you in the throat, you blackmailing witch!’

‘Ladies, ladies, please!’ Amanda, owner of the shop, and proud host of the Westfield Craft Club, pushed the two ladies gently back into their seats, prising Grace’s needle from her white knuckles and placing it behind the counter. ‘You can have this back when you stop trying to attempt ABH, okay?’

Grace opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it. Instead she mouthed ‘you’re dead’ at Marlene, who ignored her.

‘How are you, Marlene?’ Amanda asked, putting a tray of tea together, and arranging some biscuits on a plate. ‘Did you get the brandy snaps for Agatha?’

Marlene reached into her bag, producing a posh-looking pack.

‘Yep, although why she can’t just eat Malted Milk like the rest of us is anyone’s guess.’

The door opened, the tinkle of the bell heralding someone’s arrival.

‘Guess what?’ Dot said, striding in with her bags. ‘It is rather glorious out there today, I had a lovely long walk here. I’m at 6,000 steps already!’ She waggled her wrist at them all, her red fitness band’s screen lit up.

‘Agatha’s posh biscuit demands, that’s guess what. Six thousand is nothing, I’ve smashed my target.’

Dot looked at Grace suspiciously. ‘How did you beat me? You came in the car, didn’t you?’ She looked outside the shop, at Baker Street, where Grace’s car was parked near the pavement. Marlene, still incensed at the stabbing incident, joined in.

‘Yes, Grace, how did you do that?’

Grace pushed her remaining needle into her wool ball, and dropped it into her bag.

‘I just did, I’m a very busy woman.’

The two women’s gazes centred in on her wrists. Amanda started laughing, setting down the tea tray on the table in front of them and heading back to her workstation. She was used to these ladies coming into her business and taking over. Today was an average day. Quiet even. Dot suddenly inhaled sharply, pointing excitedly.

‘It’s on your dominant knitting arm! You bloody well cheated! Stitches are not steps, Grace!’

Grace poured a china cup full of tea, the smell filling the shop with a homely aroma.

‘Tell that to the app. I bet I’ll win weekday warrior this week.’

Dot, who always won the weekday warrior challenge, was furious. ‘By cheating and sitting on your fat arse, yeah!’

The ladies all spoke to each other at once, the decibels increasing as they tried to get their points across, shouting to be heard over each other. Their cacophony of noise drowned out the shop bell.

‘You can’t win every week, it’s not fair on the rest of us!’

‘It’s a competition, Grace, you don’t just get to win for nothing because it’s your turn! I walk every inch of this village, so if I win, I win on merit!’

‘Er, hello?’ A quiet voice could be heard, but only Amanda looked at the shop doorway.

‘You always did have to win, didn’t you? You were always the same, even when we worked together.’

‘Hello?’

‘Oh here we go!’

“Yeah, let her have it!”

‘Hi,’ Amanda said finally, moving through the shop and reaching out her hand. Lucy stepped forward, Xander gripping her other arm, and shook Amanda’s hand. ‘Ignore the ladies here, they will settle down soon.’ She turned to Xander, leaning forward, hands on her knees to get on the same level. ‘And hello, young sir. May I interest you in some cake, and a glass of juice?’

His eyes opened wide at the mention of cake. Cake was one of Xander’s horcruxes. Cake, Lego and superheroes. Not necessarily in that order. The boy was obsessed, and his obsessions were all-consuming at times. Lucy still knew all the names of the dinosaurs from the Cretaceous period, including half of the Latin ones, from having picked them up over the years, when his dino love was in full flow. She could go on Mastermind with that specialist subject, and feel completely at ease. Xander had learned all there was to know about the subject, and then moved on. Now it was all superheroes and Lego. Which was a real hardship to Lucy. Really, she did suffer. It was cruel really, this parenting lark. From learning about extinct scaly creatures to having to watch every superhero franchise movie, complete with half-naked sex gods? Parenting was indeed very tricky sometimes, but she did grin and bear it. Especially when poor Thor lost his long hair. That was terrible. She didn’t get any cleaning done that day, that’s for sure.

Amanda leaned in a little further, as though she was sharing a secret.

‘Come with me to the counter, and I’ll cut you the biggest piece.’

Xander nodded slowly, a happy smile crossing his features, and Lucy watched as he let go of her hand and trotted along behind the lady. He really was anybody’s for a slice of cake. She pushed down the mild thought of terror that sprang to her throat when she thought about that simple truth, and shook herself out of it. The ladies were all still sniping at each other, Grace mumbling something about a needle weapon, so she walked forward and sat down in an empty wooden chair next to her aunt.

‘Hello!’ Marlene seemed to start a little when she noticed her, and the conversation stopped, turning to cheery hellos. The women transformed before her eyes from the cast of Hocus Pocus to something from The Darling Buds of May. In a split second they were all sitting contritely, arms clasped together on their laps, looking straight at her. Great, she thought, panicking slightly and looking longingly at the door. Here comes the inquisition.

‘So, did you sleep well?’

‘I did thanks. We both did actually.’

‘Lovely,’ Marlene said, holding up the pot in question. Lucy nodded and watched the steaming hot tea pour into the cute china cup and saucer. Looking around the shop, she could see why the ladies raved about it. It was like a home from home; little corners full of interesting trinkets and pieces of furniture, with the tables front and centre for people to come in, have a cuppa, do their hobbies in company. She couldn’t imagine coming to one of these herself, back home. Perhaps she should have done, made more effort to get out of the house once in a while. She knew why she hadn’t though. being in public meant dealing with people, and the human race loved to revel in the differences of others.

‘Everything okay back home?’ asked Grace, never one to shy away from an awkward question.

‘Fine thanks,’ Lucy replied, in as neutral a voice as possible. ‘It’s nice to get away, have a break.’

Grace nodded slowly, before looking out of the window. ‘Agatha’s not coming till later, so how come Taylor’s here?’

Amanda groaned loudly, distracting Xander momentarily, who was sitting at a table beside her, chewing on a huge doorstep-sized piece of red velvet cake.

‘He’s here on official Mayweather business, for the wife. Christenings, and the seasonal run-up. Agatha’s bugging all the shop owners. Once the Austen open air event is done, she’s like a dog with a bone.’ The door opened, and she hushed immediately. Sebastian Taylor, dapper as ever, even in his relaxed checked shirt and jeans, strode in, a clipboard under his arm and a lazy grin on his face. Lucy smiled back at him, and his grin widened in response. She couldn’t help it, the man just seemed to shoot Valium into the shop space. She sneaked a peek at the other ladies, and saw similar expressions. The man was like a walking tranquilliser.

‘Been shooting eh, Tex?’ Dot quipped, and Lucy looked at her in confusion. Dot nodded to his feet. ‘Cowboy boots. I swear, since you got wed, I think your dress sense has gotten worse, not better.’

‘Hey!’ Taylor stuck his lip out. ‘Don’t knock my cowboy boots, they’re good for riding.’

Lucy heard her son gasp behind her, and turned automatically to see what was wrong. Xander was staring at the boots too, a look of awe on his cute little face.

‘You’re really a cowboy?’

Taylor chuckled. ‘I wish, lad. I drive a car to get around, and I don’t shoot bad guys. I do ride horses though, is that cowboy enough?’

Xander seemed to mull it over at some length, and Taylor just stood there, waiting as though he had all the time in the world. Lucy wanted to hug him.

‘Not really, no, but I won’t tell the real cowboys.’

That got another laugh from Taylor, and the ladies laughed along with him.

‘Okay, thanks very much.’ Taylor walked forward to the table, but instead of sitting down, he knelt to a crouch at the side of the boy. Holding out his hand, he offered a handshake. ‘I’m Taylor, what’s your name?’

Xander shook his hand immediately, so hard that Taylor’s hand banged on the table a couple of times. If it hurt, Taylor didn’t acknowledge it.

‘I’m Xander Iain Walsh, pleased to meet you.’ He pointed to his mother. ‘That’s my mum Lucy, we’ve come on holiday for the summer. Dad stayed home for work.’

‘Ah well, we are glad you came, Xander. Tell me, have you ever been on a horse?’

Xander shook his head. ‘I tried to go on a donkey once, at the seaside, but I didn’t like it. It pooped on the sand.’

Taylor chuckled again. ‘Well, if you ever do want to be a cowboy for a day, let me know, and I will show you our ponies.’ He looked across at Lucy, and she found herself nodding, despite her misgivings. This summer was all about Xander, so if he wanted to ride a pony, he would ride a damn pony. ‘Great, so, Amanda, can I borrow you for a minute?’ He brandished the clipboard with an apologetic grin, and Amanda eye-rolled him into the back room.

The ladies all waited till the door closed behind them, then leant forward, closer to Lucy.

‘If Agatha tries to rope you in, just shrug it off, tell her you are here on holiday, and far too busy to help. Taylor’s married to her, and Amanda is like family. They are already damned, but we can save you.’ Dot patted the hands on her lap. ‘Honestly, she will accept it if you are firm.’

Grace snorted. ‘Like you were, about the community centre bake sale? My fingers are still sore from mixing all those ruddy cupcakes!’ She pointed out of the shop window, eyes focusing on Lucy. ‘I tell ya, that woman was a menace. We all said no, that we were busy, but did she listen? Did she ’eckers! Then, come the day, she springs a bloody cupcake competition on us and stands there dissing our work! She was like Simon Cowell on acid.’

Marlene smoothed down her jumper. ‘I didn’t think she was that bad.’

Dot guffawed. ‘Of course you didn’t, you ruddy well won!’

Marlene pulled a happy face at Lucy. ‘I know.’ She stage-whispered the rest. ‘I just like you lot remembering that important fact.’

Grace looked around the room. ‘Whatever, Nigella, where is my blinking needle?’

Marlene shrank away from her, her hand covering her rump protectively.

‘Well, I think we shall be off, anyway.’ Lucy stood to leave, her duty being done. Her aunt had asked her to come, and be friendly, and she had. Xander was still at the table, holding his fork midair with the last piece of cake on.

‘Noo, my cake!’

Lucy headed over to him, ruffling his hair as she always did.

‘Finish it up, then we can have a look for some Lego.’

Dot frowned. ‘I’m not sure you’ll get any round here, honey. You might have to order it in.’

Lucy’s heart sank. She thought as much.

‘Shall we order it online then, Xander, and have a look around the shops anyway?’

She passed him her phone, but when she looked back he was frowning.

‘It’s saying that we can’t go online, Mum.’

Shit. The SIM Card. He was frowning at the screen, jabbing away at the buttons.

‘Mum, it’s not working. Does that mean Dad can’t call us?’

Lucy felt the air in the shop change, and the conversation trickle to a stop. Xander was now looking up at her, his eyes wide open and focusing on her. It was his anxious face, an expression she knew so well. She licked her lips, trying to get them moist, looking around her at the women, but they were studiously pretending not to be listening, fiddling with their crafts, rummaging in their bags.

‘Xander,’ she started, coming to sit in the chair next to him. ‘Mummy and Daddy love you very much, and Daddy is working hard at home while we are on holiday. Mummy and Daddy had a little bit of a fight, and so I got cross and took something out of my phone to stop it working. I’m sorry. Shall we see if we can get a new number while we are shopping?’

Xander still had his worried face on, and she gave him the time he needed to process what she was saying. The ladies were all speaking in hushed voices now, and Lucy could feel her face flushing as her dirty laundry was aired out in front of them. God knows what they thought of her! She didn’t even know why she had done it herself. She just remembered sitting on that train, wanting to protect her son from the world, if only for a few weeks. She wanted to protect him from the kids at his school, who picked on him, laughed at him. Called him names. She wanted to get away from the stares he got in shops when he couldn’t cope with his senses. Most of all, she wanted to protect him from his father. And that was what hurt most of all.

‘Mum, are you not listening to me? Can’t you just put the thing back in? Dad could send us the Lego then, from my room.’

Lucy sighed, and pulled herself out of the chair.

‘Let’s go get a new SIM Card and see about ordering that Lego. Goodbye, ladies!’ She gave a cheery wave that she did not feel and motioned for her son to follow her. He stood up and went to follow, but then, almost as an afterthought, he returned to his plate and proceeded to dip his face right into it, licking all the crumbs off with his cute little pink tongue.

‘Xander,’ she whispered, trying to get his attention. ‘Love, what did we talk about?’

She turned to the women, who were all looking at the little boy, and automatically started to explain. What she didn’t expect, however, was the look on their faces. There was no judgement there, just amusement. Marlene was even laughing a little as he made his way around the plate, getting every little bit of cream cheese frosting off it and into his mouth.

‘Sorry, he has a thing about dirt, but he will always lick his plate clean when there is cake involved.’

Xander finished and put the plate down on the counter.

‘I’m autistic – we don’t like change, but we love cake!’

Lucy’s eyes bulged. Marlene looked just as shocked. Xander’s autism wasn’t something they hid, but Xander himself never referred to it. Maybe time apart from home was going to be worth all the grief she would get when she went back. It wasn’t anything to hide after all, so why had they?

‘Well,’ Grace said, getting up and heading for where Amanda had stashed her needle. She was shaking like she was having knitting withdrawal symptoms, which she probably was. ‘I’m impressed, Xander.’ She located the needle, and punched the air triumphantly. ‘I’m a little jealous too. I would love to enjoy cake as much as you do!’

The ladies all laughed, and Lucy found herself laughing along too. Xander bounced out of the shop all smiles and sugar highs, and it made her heart soar. She was started to really like these ladies. Aunt Marlene was right, a change was as good as a rest.




Chapter 6 (#ulink_9667efa8-31f3-57f8-95a4-f1569bf33c29)


Sam’s first morning in Westfield was uneventful. Waking up in the cottage he was renting, he listened to the quiet of his surroundings. It had been a long while since he had lived with his adoptive mother in her full and noisy house, but he still found himself missing the noise of little feet on the stairs, music battling for supremacy in different rooms, the heartwarming belly laughs of his mother as one of the children made her laugh. Even in his flat in London, he would be awoken by the sound of the streets outside his window, the sound of the fire engines starting up in the middle of the night. He rented near to the station, so that when things got bad he could be called in. There in six and a half minutes from the time the call came in to him walking into the fire station. He liked to be near.

He stretched out his arms in front of him, working out the kinks from sleeping on the unfamiliar and rather hard mattress in the master bedroom. It was a cosy cottage, homely and clean, with some nice touches throughout. Milk and bread and other essentials were in the fridge and cupboards when he had finally come in last night, and he was only connected to one other cottage, seemingly occupied judging from the lights that were in the window when he had arrived. No car though, so he couldn’t get a read on who was staying there. Still, he couldn’t see them receiving many night call-outs, so he shouldn’t be a nuisance. He was used to making himself smaller around people by now. Sometimes in life, he had to, despite what his mother taught him. He needed to fit in, or at least fly under the radar. At least for now. Toe the line.

Westfield Fire Station was a feeder station, as well as catering for the residents of Westfield. They often helped out on call-outs in Harrogate and other surrounding areas. Little villages mainly, dotted around the vast green fields and forests of the area. It sure made a difference from the concrete jungle he was used to, but it had great value all the same. This wasn’t an easy job, by any means. He had not come here for an easy ride, job wise. True, he had his own agenda, but the job and the guys at the house were great. It had felt welcoming from the first moment he had worked in there, all those months ago. Filling a staff need and looking for answers.

Heading downstairs a short while later, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, he made himself a coffee using the complimentary sachets and made a mental note to get some shopping in after his shift, or at least book an online delivery. Back home, he would place the same order week after week, to be delivered the same day. Convenient, but, tasting the coffee in his mug, he realised that change perhaps wasn’t such a bad thing. He opened up the patio doors in the kitchen, standing just outside the door, his bare feet feeling the cool of the neatly decked seating area outside. A barbecue stood in the corner, covered up and tucked away from the elements, with a large seat on the other. Perfect for family holidays, he was sure. Lucky for him that this had been available. The thought of living in a hotel had filled him with dread, but a holiday cottage? He hadn’t been keen when the chief suggested it, picturing plaid and crocheted doilies, but he actually rather liked living in a house. It felt homely, in an odd way. He was busy looking out at the countryside that stretched out beyond the garden borders when he heard a noise to his left.

Sitting on one of the chairs, wrapped in a teal fluffy robe that he recognised from his own welcome pack, was the girl from the train. He opened his mouth to say hello, but then she started talking.

‘I know you’re not happy I left, but we needed to get away. Don’t you get that?’

She was sitting side on from him, twirling a piece of lavender in her free hand, and he found himself taking a step back, closer to his porch. He could slip back through the patio doors, but he found himself hesitating. She sounded upset, and he had a feeling that this was something to do with why she was here. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had come to find answers, and perhaps she had escaped whatever she had to find her own.

She stood suddenly, dragging her fingers through her unkempt morning hair and sticking the lavender behind her ear. The movement made Sam yearn to lean in and smell the fragrance that it left there, near her hair.

‘No, you can’t speak to him, he’s asleep! I’m not waking him up for you to interrogate him like you normally do! We are here on holiday, he needs this. So do I, come to think of it. I asked you to come away with us, for us to sort things out, but you couldn’t do it. What do you want us to do, hang around at home for you all summer whilst we wait for you to grace us with your presence?’

Her head snapped back, the phone suddenly thrust forward in her hand. She forked it vigorously before speaking into it again. The sprig fell from her ear and landed on the stone slabs under her feet.

‘Iain, I don’t give a shitting shite about your shirts! Is that really what you care about?’ She flumped back down on the seat, shaking her head. She was angry. Even a stranger could tell that.

‘I know I don’t talk like that, but you pushed me, Iain.’ She sighed heavily, and her voice cracked a little when she spoke again. ‘I’m just trying to help my son.’

Whatever the caller said didn’t help. In fact, she started to cry softly.

‘Iain, you know where we are. I shouldn’t have changed my number, but you …’ A sob escaped, and her hand flew up to her mouth. ‘You know what you did, Iain. I just can’t spend all summer living like that. He can’t cope and, to be honest, neither can I any more.’

Sam decided he had heard more than enough. Turning to go back into the house, he didn’t see a ceramic blue plant pot there, a topiary tree potted in it, and ended up kicking it with his bare foot.

‘Arggh!’ He tried to trap his pain in his mouth, but it squeaked out. He immediately looked to his right, to see if she had heard. Funny that, how a human’s first reaction after kicking a ceramic pot and being ‘punched’ in the scrotum by a ball-shaped tree is to look around to see if anyone was a witness to their failure. She had heard. She was up out of her seat, looking right at him. The phone was still to her ear, and after a moment of panic crossing her features, she narrowed her eyes and made a shushing sound with her finger.

‘Iain, I have to go, okay? Xander is waking up.’ She flinched, nibbling her bottom lip as though considering something. ‘I’ll ask him to call you, yes. I have to go.’

She ended the call and put her hands on her hips.

‘Earwig much?’

Sam held up his hands in surrender.

‘I’m sorry, I really wasn’t. I just came out here to drink my coffee, and then …’ One look at her and he forgot what he was trying to say. Her robe had come undone a little, showing a white t-shirt and pink shorts underneath. It was distracting, and he wasn’t a great liar in the first place. Lies and secrets were two things he abhorred. He dragged his eyes back up to her face, but not before she noticed what he was looking at, covering herself with her robe. Her cheeks flushed, and Sam was conflicted by the action. He had invaded her privacy and then ogled at her, which was bad. The flush in her cheeks wasn’t though, nor the biting of her bottom lip, which she seemed to use as a comfort motion when stressed. That was good. It lit up her whole face. He couldn’t help but think about how he could make her cheeks flush that way again.

‘And then?’ she prompted, hands firmly back on her hips now, with the added movement of a foot tap. He noticed her feet were bare, pretty polish adorning the toes. Polish that was a little wonky.

She followed his eye line and crossed one foot over the other, hiding one set of toes with its counterpart.

‘Xander did my nails last night. Or did you already know that?’

He pulled an action like she had wounded him, reeling back a little and putting his hand over his chest as though shot through with her words.

‘Guilty as charged. I’m sorry, I am not normally nosy. I honestly just did come out here for coffee. You on holiday then?’

She already knew that he had heard her phone call. That this was more than just a holiday. She took the bait though, smiling a fraction of a second at his attempt to smooth things over.

‘Yes. My Auntie Marlene lives here, she’s always at me to come. She asked me to stay with her, but Xander likes his own space, and her house is a lot to take in.’

Sam nodded. ‘Autism, right?’ He said it easily, as he would any other word. He had seen his fair share of kids with different needs over the years, picked things up. On the job, too.

He felt her scrutinise him, as though she was weighing him up and finding him lacking.

‘Yes, he has autism. It’s not been diagnosed long, but I knew.’

Sam nodded, putting his coffee cup down on the table across the deck. Moving a little closer to her.

‘Mothers always know. He got a good school system set up?’

Her face pinched, and the flush disappeared. He regretted asking, if it took that away from him.

‘Kind of. Not really.’ She shrugged. ‘They put things in place, things work for a while. Till someone says something, or there’s an event.’ She looked down at her polish, her face lighting up as she saw the haphazard blobs of polish on her nails. She loved the bones of the boy, Sam didn’t need to ask a question to know that. ‘July was hard, you know. I just needed to get away.’ He waited for her to elaborate, but she was looking at him now. ‘How did you know?’

‘I’ve been around a lot of kids, on the job. My mum is a foster parent too, so I picked a few things up.’

‘I’m sure you did, but living with it is a little different.’ He wanted to counter that he had lived with it, many times over, but what would the point be? He wasn’t a parent, so he didn’t know what it was like to be raising a child, that much was true. Any further explanation would only bring questions back to him, and he didn’t want to talk about it. So they both stood there a while, looking at the other, wanting to ask, to probe, to enquire, but not wishing to divulge anything themselves.

‘Well, I’d better be off to work. You and Xander have a good day, okay?’

At that minute Xander shouted for her from inside, and she automatically took a step closer to the cottage. Her face was pinched, her shoulders up above her ears with the tension of the stress.

‘Hey, listen,’ Sam said softly. ‘It’s your holiday. Enjoy it.’

She said nothing, just waved her fingers at him and headed inside.

‘You have a good day at work.’ Her foot was on the step, when she turned and looked at him, biting her lip. ‘Be safe.’

Sam nodded. No one but his mother had ever cared about him like that. Here she was, worrying for his wellbeing. He stood there, looking at the space where she had just been standing, and felt the bloom of warmth in his chest. It felt nice, having someone take the time to think about him. He thought of his mother and, going indoors, he opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out the letter that she had given to him at the train station. He took a seat at the small kitchen table, stretched his long legs out in front of him and, smiling at the looped handwriting he knew so well, opened the cream envelope. There were two sheets of paper inside, folded in half, and when he opened the sheaf, a photograph fell out, face down. He could make out his mother’s faded writing on the back of it. He picked it up and read the inscription. It read:

Baby Sam, with his rescuers. November 1987, Euston Road Fire Station.

None of the description was anything new to him, the details were imprinted in his brain. His mother had told him all about his rescue, the firemen who had cared for him, and the social worker who had called Sondra that icy late November night, telling her a baby had need of a home. Turning over the photo, he saw the original of the photo that hung on the living room wall of Sondra’s home. It was three firemen standing together, a tiny bundle of red cloth wrapped in the middle man’s arms, all three of them smiling at the camera. In the background, on a table in the fire station, is a box. The box he had arrived in, marked ‘Burgess Teas of Harrogate’. He’d been found just outside, after the half-frozen wails of a baby had gotten the inhabitants running outside, looking for the noise. That year, a new TV show had started, with the hero being a Welsh fireman called Sam. The men, all grappling to warm the baby up, feed him and wait for social services, hated to keep talking to him without him having a name, so one of them, a dad of a telly mad toddler, nicknamed him Sam. When Sondra took him in later that night, after the hospital gave him the all clear, she didn’t have the heart to change it.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/rachel-dove/the-fire-house-on-honeysuckle-street/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.