Книга - If I Should Go

If I Should Go
Amanda Brooke


Another heart-felt short story from the Richard and Judy Book Club bestseller.Rachel is a single mum to Hope, and since Hope’s father left, has raised her daughter alone. They are as close as can be. So when Martin enters her life, he’s a breath of fresh air – the first guy that she has felt a connection to in a long time. But Martin’s plans for the future appear to be different to Rachel’s day-dreams: a future for two, without Hope…At the Sunny Days nursing home where Rachel works, Mrs Wilson is convalescing after a fall. But although she’s only staying for a short time, there’s a finality about her that Rachel just can’t get to grips with. Despite Mrs Wilson’s initial reluctance, Rachel starts to break through her tough exterior but she doesn’t seem to be able to get beneath the surface.As the clock starts to count down to the end of Mrs Wilson’s stay and Martin’s eventual move to Liverpool time is running out for Rachel to make a difference. The question is: what could she give up for love?









If I Should Go

Amanda Brooke








Table of Contents

Cover (#uf93861be-2007-5efe-b195-addb7ffa23de)

Title Page (#u7ecc87ee-f93a-577c-826e-0bceb1b6ae6e)

Chapter 1 (#u2a3d6e5f-5ad2-51d8-80a9-531c2d9e4c58)

Chapter 2 (#u536804aa-a662-5ded-931e-9d946c25a5db)

Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Amanda Brooke (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




1 (#ulink_f2896715-2d70-54db-b13c-463066b2ccf3)


Still cursing under her breath, Rachel knocked on the door and hobbled into the room. Stepping across the ribbons of sunshine trailing from the window, she reached the bed where Mrs Wilson sat propped up reading a book. The spectacles pinching the bridge of Mrs Wilson’s nose were as thin and wiry as the woman herself. Her piercing blue eyes lifted only briefly from the pages that demanded her attention.

‘I’ve worked here for three years and I still manage to bang my ankles on that blinking stair lift,’ Rachel muttered. She rubbed her foot and looked over to Mrs Wilson for that first connection and perhaps a little sympathy, but the latest resident of Sunny Days Care Home was unmoved.

‘Try breaking your leg in two places,’ Mrs Wilson replied without lifting her gaze again.

‘I hear you’ve been in the wars. I’m Rachel by the way.’

The only response was the crackle of paper as a page was turned. From what Rachel had been told, Mrs Wilson’s stay was only temporary. She was a retired headmistress in her late-eighties who had been fiercely independent until her recent fall. She didn’t have anyone nearby to help care for her after she left hospital and so she had booked herself into Sunny Days where she would wait it out for her bones to mend.

The room that was to become Mrs Wilson’s home from home had been decorated in neutral shades of washed-out creams and murky browns. Other than an uninspiring Alpine landscape on the wall and a vase filled with dusty silk flowers, it was a blank canvas on which Mrs Wilson could stamp her own identity. The only mark she had made so far was the dent in the bed and the suitcase on the floor, which the previous day’s staff had only rummaged through to retrieve some of Mrs Wilson’s essentials. ‘Shall I make a start unpacking your things?’ she asked.

Mrs Wilson shrugged but said nothing.

Rachel was still hobbling as she crossed the room, coming to a stop by the window. Sunny Days was on the outskirts of Sedgefield, a small town nestled in the Cheshire countryside, and from this vantage point she could see more countryside than town. Only the sharp point of a church spire piercing through the lush canopy of trees gave away the town’s position.

In contrast to the wide open space beyond the veil of glass, Mrs Wilson’s room felt oppressive. The air was heavy with the cloying scent of the artificial air fresheners the home’s manager, Carol, was so keen on using to dispel the less-pleasant smells that were part and parcel of a home that had its fair share of the infirm.

‘How about we get you up and dressed? It’s a beautiful morning and there’s a lovely little rose garden just outside,’ Rachel said. She opened the window just a crack to invite in fresh air laced with floral scents.

‘No thank you,’ Mrs Wilson said, and turned another page.

‘I’m on duty until two o’clock so how about we aim to get you downstairs for lunch?’ Rachel set about unpacking the suitcase. ‘There are plenty of ladies and gents here who would love to meet you.’

‘No, thank you,’ Mrs Wilson said more slowly this time.

‘You lived on your own, didn’t you?’

‘I still do,’ the retired headmistress corrected.

‘And I’m sure you want to get back there as soon as you can but it’s going to be a good few weeks before you’re on your feet again and I’m sure physio have already told you how important it is to do your exercises and keep mobile.’

There was a deep frustrated sigh as Mrs Wilson lowered but didn’t close her book. ‘I can do my exercises from my room; I can take my meals in my room. The only thing I can’t apparently do in my room is keep other people out.’

Rather than be offended, Rachel was relieved that Mrs Wilson was at last looking at her. At only twenty-five, she didn’t feel particularly comfortable squaring up to someone with so much more seniority in years and in experience, but she wasn’t going to stand by and let Mrs Wilson retreat into her own world. She had seen it happen before and it never boded well. Rather than speed up recovery, too many residents had become so withdrawn that they never re-emerged again, from themselves or the home. ‘I see you’ve acquired a pretty decent set of wheels,’ she said, tipping her head towards what looked like an almost new wheelchair folded away to the side of the door. ‘It would be a shame not to put it to good use.’

Mrs Wilson’s eyes narrowed. ‘Which school did you go to?’

Rachel enjoyed another small victory now that her new charge had finally engaged in the conversation, even if she had changed the subject. ‘Sedgefield Comprehensive,’ she replied. ‘Was that the school you taught at?’

‘Did you do well?’

‘Well enough. I was a straight-A student with twelve GCSEs.’

‘I didn’t realise changing old lady’s incontinence pads required such high standards of education.’

It was Rachel’s turn to shrug. ‘Life didn’t exactly go to plan,’ she said, pulling Mrs Wilson’s clothes from the suitcase to hang in the wardrobe. ‘And yes, certain aspects of the job can be unpleasant and all-too-often painful but there are plenty of positives. The hours I work fit around taking care of my daughter and I get to meet lots of interesting people like you. In fact, getting to hear people’s life stories is the part of the job I love most.’

Mrs Wilson had fallen silent and when Rachel turned back to her, she was nose deep in her book again. Undeterred, Rachel carried on talking as she unpacked the suitcase. ‘It’s not something I plan on doing forever though. All my friends, the ones who weren’t daft enough to get pregnant at eighteen, are busily working their way up the career ladder, reminding me where I should be. But Hope is six now so I’m starting to think it’s time to play catch-up. I’m planning on going back to finish off my education if I can. That’s certainly what my boyfriend wants me to do.’

Rachel had to stop what she was doing as her stomach did a somersault. She and Martin had been dreaming up all kinds of plans but it was the first time she had mentioned them to anyone else. They had known each other for over a year now but had only been dating for three months and as yet he remained a distinct and separate part of her life. At home she was a single mum who worked part-time to make ends meet, living with her own mum who knew better than most how to bring up a child on your own. But for those few snatched hours when she could get away, she was a young woman with ambition, on the arm of a man who believed in her. Those two worlds had yet to collide.

‘I actually met Martin here at Sunny Days,’ she explained. ‘He came here regularly to visit his mum but she was very ill by then. He read to her a lot but they couldn’t hold a conversation so he started to talk to me.’

Martin’s mum had early onset Alzheimer’s and he had looked after her at home for as long as he could. When Rachel met him, he had seemed lost and lonely so of course she had reached out to him, and that was when he had sneaked into her heart. She hadn’t been looking for a boyfriend, quite the opposite, in fact. Hope’s dad Nick had been the first to break her heart, deserting her before the baby was even born; then, a couple of years ago, she had become engaged to Dan. When that relationship failed, it wasn’t only Rachel who had been devastated but Hope too. So she had resigned herself to a single life until Martin had come along to remind her that she wanted so much more than that. She would just have to tread very carefully this time, although the fantasy world they were concocting between them was already making her head spin.

‘I can’t imagine him being able to get a word in edgeways with you,’ Mrs Wilson said.

Rachel smiled. Martin was quite introverted and shy and at first she had indeed overpowered the conversation. Some people thought him aloof but once Rachel had broken through his protective shell, he had opened up to her and she to him.

‘I’m a good listener too,’ she said, and with perfect timing took out a framed picture from the suitcase. ‘Is this your family?’

The photograph looked as if it had been taken in the late fifties. The only wrinkles on the woman’s face were laughter lines, but her eyes, though brighter and less jaded, were unmistakeable. A young Mrs Wilson was holding hands with a young boy with golden locks who appeared to be about the same age as Hope. Behind them stood a man, his arm at home around the woman’s waist and his smile a replica of the boy’s.

Watching from her bed, Mrs Wilson’s features softened but her voice caught when she said, ‘Put it on the windowsill for me please.’

Before Rachel could ask any more, there was a knock at the door and Carol popped her head around.

‘Is everything all right so far, Mrs Wilson?’ she asked.

Mrs Wilson’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s what I expected.’

‘There’s a craft workshop this morning starting at ten thirty. Rachel can help you down to the main reception room if you’re interested.’

The smile was tight on Mrs Wilson’s face making her words pinched. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘OK, maybe once you’ve settled in,’ Carol conceded, and then looked over to Rachel, her eyebrows raised. At first, Rachel thought she was giving her the challenge to get Mrs Wilson out of her room but there was something else on her mind. ‘A very large bouquet of flowers has arrived in reception for you. I wonder who they might be from.’

The glow from Rachel’s cheeks was enough to stop Mrs Wilson returning to her book once Carol had left them in peace. ‘The flowers will be from Martin,’ Rachel said. ‘We have a date tonight and I’ll be staying over for the first time so he’s obviously out to impress.’

‘He’s not your daughter’s father then?’

‘No, Nick’s long gone. To cut a long story short, we started dating at sixth form and I became pregnant soon after. I gave up my studies but Nick had plans for the future and for a while I was part of them. But he did so well at his A levels that he won a scholarship in engineering which took him to America. He left before Hope was born and didn’t look back.’

‘I don’t suppose any of us can guarantee a happy ending,’ Mrs Wilson said as she stared at the photograph silhouetted against the sunshine streaming through the window.

Rachel’s laugh was hollow. ‘I can agree with that. My last relationship didn’t end well either so I want to be absolutely sure I’m making the right decision this time and not only for me but for Hope too. She hasn’t even met Martin yet but I think … I have to believe that Martin will stay the distance,’ she added as her stomach flipped for the second time.

‘You don’t sound so sure.’

‘Like you said, none of us can guarantee a happy ending,’ she said as she tried to silence the self-doubt. ‘Now, what about this?’ She was holding up a calendar that had been at the bottom of what was now an empty suitcase. ‘There are a few spare screws dotted around the walls if you’d like me to hang it up.’

Mrs Wilson turned her head away as if she couldn’t bear to look at the calendar, and yet she pointed to the wall immediately opposite. ‘Could you put it up there, please?’

When Rachel went to hang it, she noticed it was open at September with a beautiful scene of a country lane covered in fallen leaves. She was about to turn the pages back to June but Mrs Wilson stopped her.

‘No, keep it where it is,’ she told her.

‘It must be an important date,’ Rachel said as her finger rested on a circle that had been scratched around Sunday 8 September in red ink. ‘Something you’re looking forward?’

‘Resigning myself to, more like. Now, if you don’t mind,’ Mrs Wilson said, picking up her book again.

Unable to think of an excuse to stay and with a long list of other duties ahead of her, Rachel reluctantly left Mrs Wilson in peace. As she reached the door she glanced back and caught the old lady staring, not at the pages of her book, but at the wall opposite. She had a look on her face that gave Rachel a shudder.

Mrs Wilson’s eyes didn’t flicker, her attention held captive by the calendar – and yet from nowhere she asked, ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

The question ought to have surprised Rachel, but she had heard from other staff during the changeover that they had all been asked the same thing. So far, no one had managed to give the old lady a satisfactory answer but Rachel was willing to give it a try. Looking over towards the autumnal landscape she considered a lie but then swept her hand across the starched material of her tunic. ‘I should have mentioned that the other reason I was drawn to the job was the uniform,’ she said. ‘Pink. My favourite colour is pink.’

The only response was an almost imperceptible sagging of Mrs Wilson’s shoulders and Rachel had an unnerving feeling that the old lady was no longer in the room but travelling down the country lane in the photograph with its carpet of red and gold.

‘Hope, are you still there, sweetheart?’

Rachel could hear the TV blaring in the background and the occasional slurp as her daughter ate her breakfast, and yet Hope’s own silence was deafening.

‘I missed our kisses and cuddles this morning,’ she continued. ‘We can have double when I pick you up from school later, I promise.’ As she spoke, Rachel’s fingers gently traced her chapped lips. She felt a tingle down her spine as her body relived memories of the night before, but her mind was focused only on mending bridges with her daughter. She closed her eyes. ‘Please, Hope, talk to me.’

There was a mumbled response.

‘What was that, sweetheart?’

‘I had a bad dream and I wanted you but you weren’t there,’ Hope said. ‘I was crying and crying. Where were you, Mummy?’

Rachel glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. She was standing in the main entrance hall at Sunny Days after Martin had dropped her off. She was earlier than normal but still had to get changed. She wished she could have used the extra time to be with her daughter.

Rachel normally only spent a few snatched minutes at the beginning of the day with Hope, but up until today, she had at least been there to see her tumble out of bed. Her mum took her daughter to school but working an early shift meant Rachel could finish in time to pick her up. It was an arrangement that usually worked well but she wished she didn’t have to wait until the afternoon to make it up to her little girl. ‘I had a sleepover with a friend, that’s all. I told you I wouldn’t be home, remember?’

‘Nana made me some milk and read me a story.’

‘And did it make you feel better?’

Hope didn’t reply but from the swish of hair against the phone, Rachel guessed she was nodding her head. Raking her fingers through her own dark locks which were hanging loosely over her shoulder, Rachel wished she could stroke her daughter’s hair. ‘Good. And I’m very, very sorry, Hope. Really I am.’

‘OK, but don’t do it again,’ Hope said in a firm, deep voice that held an unshakeable belief that her Mummy wouldn’t be letting her down in the future.

Rachel couldn’t decide upon a half-truth or a downright lie but was saved from answering by her mum. ‘Say goodbye to Mummy and then go upstairs and brush your teeth,’ Karen told her granddaughter.

After escaping Hope’s interrogation, it was the turn of Rachel’s mum to ask the awkward questions. ‘And will it be happening again?’

Rachel nipped at her sore lip nervously before speaking. ‘Would you mind?’ When her mum didn’t reply, she added, ‘It won’t be forever, mum. Only until Martin and Hope get to know each other.’

‘So it’s getting serious then?’

There had been a hint of regret in her mum’s voice that made Rachel’s heart ache. They made a good team, just the three of them. Karen had brought Rachel up single-handedly and had been there to make sure that her daughter didn’t have to go it alone too. They had their moments and it could be frustrating sometimes when Rachel tried to assert herself as a mother in her own right. But it was hard to imagine any other life, and yet that was exactly what she was doing. She and Martin had been up half the night talking about the future they might have together. The dreams they had become expert at weaving were taking on more substance, and if they came true it would mean major changes for all of them, not least her mum.

‘Yes, mum. I think I love him.’

Rachel placed a hand on her chest, as she silently begged her mum not to force-feed her a dose of reality. She could feel her pulse racing as her fingers touched the gold heart-shaped pendant Martin had given her last night. Karen was oblivious to this and somehow managed to speak and sigh at the same time. ‘Oh, Rachel, please don’t go rushing into things, for Hope’s sake as well as your own. Remember how she was when you split up with Dan?’

‘I remember,’ Rachel said. She looked over to the staircase, suddenly eager to get to work.

‘I don’t mind babysitting Hope if you want to spend more time getting to know Martin. All I ask is that you take your time before letting him into her life.’

Rachel wanted to tell her mum that time was something they didn’t have if Martin’s latest plans came to fruition, but she held her tongue and said, ‘OK.’

‘Good. Now I’d better go and see what that little minx is up to.’

When Rachel finished the call, she sloped off to the staffroom to change. She was one of the youngest members of staff at Sunny Days and there were a few knowing smiles from older colleagues when they caught her looking slightly dishevelled in a frilly black dress with layers of chiffon and a scattering of sequins instead of the vest top and jeans they were used to. She kept her head down as she slipped into her uniform and thought she had got off lightly until she went into the kitchen where all the staff were gathered for the shift change.

‘Was that Martin I spotted dropping you off before?’ Carol asked casually when she had finished issuing orders for the day.

The blush that rose in Rachel’s cheeks was as scalding as her coffee. ‘Yes.’

‘I would have thought he’d have treated himself to a better car by now. When he settled the final bill here, he was telling me he had quite a bit of inheritance coming his way.’

‘He’s not going to waste it, Carol,’ Rachel said proudly. ‘In fact he’s going to invest his money in a new business venture.’

‘Ooh, that sounds interesting.’

There was a pause as Carol waited for further details but Rachel was feeling even more uncomfortable than she had earlier. Martin’s inheritance had indeed been substantial. His mum had died just over three months ago and up until that point they had kept their relationship at arm’s length, partly because Martin had been too preoccupied with his mum’s care and partly because he had been too shy to make the first move and Rachel was still convincing herself she wasn’t looking for love. It was only after his mum’s death that Martin had realised he wouldn’t have an excuse to see Rachel anymore and had plucked up the courage to ask her out and she had had the courage to accept. Not everyone, however, would see things that way, and Rachel worried that some would view her as a gold digger. ‘He’s still working on the plans,’ she said.

‘Well, I’m glad to see he’s factoring you into those plans,’ Carol said with a kind smile and a look that told Rachel that she shouldn’t always think the worst of people.

Rachel scraped her hair back into a ponytail as she headed upstairs. Her party frock had been replaced by a crisp cotton uniform, her heels by practical pumps and there was only a faint smudge of make-up on her lashes from the night before. The woman who had been courted by her attentive boyfriend had vanished, outwardly at least, and now the working mum took over. Her first job of the day was to check on Mrs Wilson, who was still refusing to leave her room. ‘I’m sure she thinks we run a hotel service here,’ Carol had complained but Rachel didn’t mind being given the task of looking after the retired headmistress. Mrs Wilson had eighty years’ worth of memories that Rachel would love to hear if only she could be persuaded to share.

‘Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?’ Rachel said, picking up the tray that Mrs Wilson had discarded in favour of her book.

‘Enough of that mush, yes,’ came a muttered reply.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. ‘Judging by the clothes hanging in the wardrobe, I’d say you’ve lost a fair bit of weight recently. If you’re so determined to get home then you’re going to have to do better than that.’

There was a sigh as Mrs Wilson put down her book. ‘The same could be said of your cooks.’

‘If you could make it down to the dining room, there’s a better selection. It’s not all mush,’ Rachel said, tipping her head towards the scrambled egg congealing on soggy, brown toast.

‘I think I’d rather have the mush, thanks.’

Rachel wasn’t going to be fobbed off for the second day in a row. ‘How about we try again to get you up and dressed?’ she said with an air of confidence that had nothing to do with Mrs Wilson and everything to do with Martin. He had spent the night telling Rachel how wonderful she was, how lucky he was to have her and how amazing their life together could be. She had woken up that morning believing him and, more importantly, believing in herself.

The steel in Mrs Wilson’s eyes seemed unyielding but then she said, ‘Oh, anything to shut you up.’

‘Another way to shut me up would be to talk to me. I’d love to hear about your family or all of those boisterous kids you taught over the years. Maybe you could give me some tips on how to keep my six-year-old in check.’

‘The best advice I can give is that, if you make a promise, keep it and if you make a threat, follow it through. Children like the reassurance of knowing what comes next even if they know they won’t like it.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Rachel said as she picked out a blue summer dress from the wardrobe and lifted it up for Mrs Wilson’s approval, but she was already nose deep in her book again. ‘Now, back to the promise you made to me.’

Mrs Wilson looked up. ‘Whatever you think,’ she said, wafting her hand dismissively.

This time, when she tried to return to her reading, Rachel stared at her with silent disapproval. Eventually the protest worked and Mrs Wilson lifted her head. ‘I’m not in the mood for talking but by all means carry on the conversation for both of us. Tell me about your date last night if you must.’

‘Ah, you were listening yesterday. Well, it went very well, thank you for asking,’ Rachel said, trying not to notice how Mrs Wilson’s eyes were already glazing over. ‘It was lovely having that much more time together. We’ve had a few dinner dates but normally we make do with meeting up at the end of my shift; we spend an hour together before I go to collect Hope from school, going to a cafe for a quick cup of coffee or the park to feed the ducks. Martin’s a software developer so his hours are quite flexible. He’s designing a new appointments system for a local dentist at the moment.’

‘How fascinating,’ Mrs Wilson said dryly, as Rachel helped her to the side of the bed so they could begin the complex manoeuvre of getting her dressed. Her legs, or at least the one that wasn’t encased in plaster, was scrawny and had a network of dark blue veins threaded beneath pale, almost translucent skin.

‘Okay, so it’s not exactly working for NASA but his mum has left him enough to set up his own business. In fact, we were up half the night talking about it. A friend of his has suggested they go into partnership together.’

Rachel was helping Mrs Wilson take off her nightdress and when her face re-emerged from the folds of cotton, her eyes had narrowed as if she was actually taking an interest in Rachel’s love life. ‘But you’re not happy about that, are you?’

‘Rob lives in Liverpool and from what Martin’s said, it would make more sense to set up there – and he wants me to go with him. I was playing with the idea of doing an accountancy course anyway, so he thinks I’d be perfect to do all the business admin … It’s just all so daunting.’ Rachel’s voice had trailed off and she had to clear her throat.

‘I thought you were a straight-A student?’

Rachel was shaking her head. ‘It’s not the training that worries me, it’s the whole new life Martin’s offering, especially while our relationship is still so new,’ she said, thinking of her mum’s cautionary advice rather than the web of dreams she and Martin had been spinning. ‘Three months is no time at all to get to know someone. I knew my last boyfriend, correction, my ex-fiancé for two years and he promised me the world too. It was no one’s fault when it didn’t work out, we just fell out of love, but if it can happen once it can happen again.’ There was a pause before Rachel was able to voice her biggest fear. ‘And I’ve yet to see how Martin copes with a ready-made family.’

‘If he has any sense he’ll realise how privileged he is,’ Mrs Wilson said.

‘I think he’ll make a good dad,’ Rachel said, as she tried to recapture some of the enthusiasm from the night before. ‘He was certainly a devoted son. He misses his mum of course, but he put his life on hold for such a long time. He’s twenty-nine now and has a lot of catching up to do. It’s such an exciting time for him and if his plans come off then it’ll be an amazing legacy for his mum to have left behind.’

The old lady’s eyes fixed on her. ‘Then I envy her.’

‘You can’t tell me you haven’t already made an impression on this world,’ Rachel said, slipping the blue dress over Mrs Wilson’s head.

‘I have a couple of nieces who will probably be grateful for the estate I’ll leave them but I can’t claim to have influenced their lives in any way.’

Rachel looked furtively at the family photograph on the windowsill, focusing on the faces of the two people who had not factored in the brief summation Mrs Wilson’s had given of her life. ‘The little boy, what happened to him?’

It wasn’t so much that Mrs Wilson froze but rather that time stopped as she too looked over at the photograph. When she drew her gaze away, she made sure the focus of the conversation changed. ‘I suppose there are people whose lives I’ve touched. All those boisterous schoolchildren you mentioned, but it’s not the same. Other than bumping into one or two on the high street occasionally, I wouldn’t know what became of any of them. Who’s to say they didn’t all throw away their education to spend their lives wiping the noses of silly old ladies like me?’ There was a look of reproach in her eyes as she held Rachel’s gaze.

‘Maybe that is my fate,’ Rachel replied, no longer buoyed by Martin’s enthusiasm but dragged down by yet another dose of reality. ‘I really do want to believe that I can make something of myself. It feels like Martin has entered my life at the right time, but what if it’s wishful thinking? What if moving to Liverpool is a step too far?’ She shook her head as if to free herself from a tangle of emotions. ‘At least it’s not a decision we have to take until next year, and who knows where we’ll all be by then?’

‘If there’s one thing you can’t take for granted, it’s the future,’ Mrs Wilson said. As she set about straightening her dress, her eyes swept across the room like a lighthouse beacon, lighting up briefly as she caught sight of the photograph on the windowsill, only to dim again as her gaze settled on the calendar hanging on the wall.

‘Once I’ve done your hair, how about we get you out of here?’ Rachel offered. ‘I could introduce you to some of the other residents if you like?’

Mrs Wilson was still staring at the calendar. ‘I don’t intend being around long enough to make new friends.’

Rachel took hold of the old lady’s hand which felt cold and papery, her grip tightening as if that alone could stop Mrs Wilson’s relentless withdrawal from life. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, you already have.’

There was the merest hint of a curve to Mrs Wilson’s mouth which Rachel took to be a smile. Taking a step back, Rachel waited for the old lady to fasten the buttons on her dress. She had to accept that Mrs Wilson was in control of her own destiny and she willed her to make the right choice.

‘I suppose I could take a look at that rose garden you’ve been droning on about,’ Mrs Wilson said.




2 (#ulink_428a5528-0df6-59d1-95a6-c9d0ec6c5c7f)


After being dropped off at Hope’s school, Rachel could hear an audible groan as Martin’s ancient Volvo turned the corner. When the car had disappeared out of sight, she felt her heart tug a little but then smiled. At some point in the last month their dreams had been transformed into an actual plan – perhaps not the definite, written-in-stone kind – but one that inexorably linked their lives together and that had been made apparent today when, without thinking, Martin had said, ‘when we’re married …’ They had both blushed and pretended not to notice but his words still rang in her ears like the peal of a church bell. Her smile broadened as she stepped through the school gates. It might be clichéd but she really did feel as if she was walking on air.

There were of course some major obstacles to overcome before their lives could be merged and their future assured. She still only got to see Martin for a snatched hour at the end of her shift and then one blissful night together each week. This week she had found a bright pink toothbrush waiting for her in his bathroom and a new red silk nightdress and dressing gown hanging on the bedroom door. It was certainly progress, but more dramatic changes were required and that notion filled her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation in equal measure.

Hope didn’t yet understand why her Mummy had changed her routine and had continued to complain, but in spite of the inevitable challenges Rachel’s new relationship would bring, they were heavily outweighed by the positives: that feeling of walking on air for one.

The school bell had already sounded by the time Rachel reached the playground but she didn’t panic. She had her routine planned to perfection and arrived in time to see the side door open and Hope’s teacher step out, eager to hand her excitable charges back to their parents. As she joined the throng, a couple of other mums smiled and Rachel did her best to pretend the grin on her face had been directed at them all along. Half a dozen children, laden with lunchboxes, school bags and precious works of art, were discharged before Mrs Carnegie looked over to Rachel. Rather than call Hope to the door, the teacher beckoned Rachel over. Like a naughty schoolgirl, she dropped her head as she approached, her cheeks flushed with guilt although she didn’t know what for.

‘Hope needed a little quiet time today,’ the teacher began in a hushed tone so they wouldn’t be overheard.

‘Oh,’ Rachel said in dismay. Hope had never been in trouble at school before but it was clear by the way Mrs Carnegie emphasised the words that ‘quiet time’ wasn’t a good thing.

‘Hopefully it was just a storm in a teacup, but she did become quite upset.’

‘I’ll have a word with her,’ Rachel said as, on cue, a small face peered around the door. Hope’s long lashes brushed against her cheeks as she fluttered her eyes at her mother. She was the picture of innocence but Rachel didn’t doubt for a moment that her daughter had heard the exchange between teacher and parent.

As they began the short walk home, Hope slipped her small hand into Rachel’s and began to skip.

‘So,’ Rachel said, ‘what have you been up to today?’

‘Michael Jones threw up after lunch. He went blurgh, all over the floor,’ Hope said dramatically, ‘and splashed Tasha’s shoes. It was disgusting!’

‘It sounds it.’

‘What are we having for tea? Can we have fish fingers and chips please, Mummy?’

‘I was going to make Spaghetti Bolognese as a surprise for Nana. It’s her favourite,’ Rachel said. She wanted to have a serious talk with her mum and although pasta wasn’t going to make what she had to say more palatable, it was worth a try.

‘Fish fingers are her favourite too,’ Hope told her helpfully.

The little girl was looking to her mum for a response but Rachel was momentarily distracted by the battered Volvo parked at the top of the road.

‘Martin?’ Rachel said, greeting him as if they were practical strangers.

He smiled softly and winked at her. ‘Fancy meeting you here. I was just on the phone to one of my clients,’ he said waving his mobile at her. ‘He was wondering where I’ve been for the last couple of hours when I was scheduled to be on site.’

‘Oh,’ she said, still none the wiser. Martin hadn’t objected to holding off from meeting her daughter until they were both sure of their feelings for each other, so she was at a loss to explain why he would contrive a meeting and there was no doubt in her mind it was contrived. Had his slip up today made him think again? Was he eager to meet the girl who might one day become his step-daughter? While those thoughts only fuelled Rachel’s excitement about the future, she needed more time to prepare Hope for a proper introduction. If Martin wanted a glimpse at the family he might one day inherit, it was going to be just that.

Hope pulled at Rachel’s hand as she stared at the man with neatly trimmed dark hair and hazel eyes which hadn’t left her mum’s face. ‘Sorry,’ Rachel said, ‘this is my daughter, Hope. Hope, say hello to Martin.’

‘Hello,’ she mumbled with another tug at her mum’s hand.

‘Hello, Hope. It’s nice to meet you. Have you had a good day at school?’

Hope shrugged.

‘What’s your teacher’s name?’

The little girl mumbled, ‘Mrs Carnegie,’ before turning to Rachel. ‘Can we go now, Mummy?’

‘In a minute,’ Rachel said a little too brightly. She was standing stock still, trying to disguise the fact that her daughter was dragging on her arm.

She had known Martin’s people skills weren’t the best but it looked as if children would be a new challenge entirely. He appeared even more nervous than Hope. ‘What’s your favourite subject?’ he tried again. ‘Mine was chemistry.’

Silence.

Rachel gave Martin a smile of encouragement which he latched onto like a life buoy. ‘I suppose I’d better get going but I’ll see you again soon. Both of you,’ he added, more as an afterthought.

After watching Martin’s car recede into the distance for the second time that day, Rachel no longer felt as if she was walking on air but wading through a mire.

‘You shouldn’t talk to strangers,’ Hope said.

‘Martin isn’t a stranger, sweetheart. He’s a very nice man.’

‘Nope,’ the little girl corrected, ‘he’s a bad man.’

‘Hope, that’s not a very nice thing to say!’ Rachel said, only just stopping herself from saying more. She didn’t want to open up a discussion about what the future might hold and the role Martin might play, and so they carried on their journey in silence.

After a few minutes, they crossed over Sedgefield High Street and slipped down a side road crowded with redbrick terraced houses, one of which was where they lived with Rachel’s mum. It had tiny gardens front and back which were pretty enough but offered little appeal to a child growing up – Rachel could testify to that. She wanted more for Hope; a family home with large rooms and a garden big enough for a little girl to roam free. But after her daughter’s recent encounter with the man who could provide that perfect life, Rachel was only too aware that those dreams weren’t yet within touching distance.

Standing at the garden gate, Rachel brought her thoughts back to the realities of the present. ‘Did anything else happen today? Anything that Mrs Carnegie might want you to talk to me about?’ She swept a hand over her little girl’s glossy brown hair before cupping her chin and turning her face upwards. ‘What happened, sweetheart?’

‘We were colouring in numbers and there were no green crayons on our table. The Red Table were using them all and they wouldn’t share.’

‘And?’

‘I tried to tell them that I needed it for my number eight but they still wouldn’t let me have one,’ Hope said. ‘And then Mrs Carnegie said I didn’t have to use green!’ Hope’s chin pushed against Rachel’s hand as she tried to lower her head, only managing to lower her voice. ‘I don’t think she knows what she’s talking about.’





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