Книга - Coming Home

Coming Home
Melanie Rose


Ever experienced deja vu? An enchanting and magical novel about reincarnation from the author of Could It Be Magic?A freak snowstorm leaves a young woman unconscious and stranded. Coming to, she has no recollection of who she is or how she happened to be stuck in the middle of unfamiliar countryside. All she recalls is the warm arms of a passing stranger coming to her rescue and carrying her to safety…She awakes in an idyllic country cottage, a cottage belonging to Vincent, a recently widowed city banker who uses it as his rural getaway. Dashing and polite, the woman can't think of a better knight in shining armour. While the housekeeper isn't best pleased abut her arrival, Vincent's 6 year-old daughter Jadie, can hardly contain her excitement, chattering away excitedly. Trouble is, she's been mute for the past two years…As she struggles with flashbacks to her past, memories come back to the woman which aren't her own, bringing with them a stream of questions. What secrets does Vincent hide? Why has Jadie being silent for so long? Why does Jadie feel such a connection with her? Will she ever discover her true identity? Or is she, as Jadie believes, an angel come to save them all?









Coming Home

Melanie Rose












This book is for James, with love.

And for Dave—my rock x.

It is also for Lyn and Sam, who will one day be reunited.

Special thanks to my beloved late grandmother Mima, whose childhood reminiscences provided much inspiration for this novel.




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#ub59ea6ef-f7e2-574d-b14d-ffe5764f9714)

Title Page (#u17560275-e91f-50ec-8d24-0a2d4d96f0ce)

Dedication (#u1b623c63-ab69-5ebe-892e-ce79470ee7f8)

Chapter One (#u6bc95812-4701-5567-80b9-88e4d8dc9ca4)

Chapter Two (#ubee17eca-3104-5cce-81cf-928bfc8b2358)

Chapter Three (#u2bd53b7f-1749-513d-9c63-c5a25f1811f8)

Chapter Four (#u47276712-e5c2-5149-ad85-e585a4f5afac)

Chapter Five (#uc9c62c1e-845d-56fe-a229-b6edc77f4e00)

Chapter Six (#u692494dc-60f8-5908-aac5-c6999c9969b4)

Chapter Seven (#uf9819495-a952-52c6-b69a-f25d6be6a048)

Chapter Eight (#u52b2046d-c4da-549d-ae86-0f98c7f6dd83)

Chapter Nine (#u89289cb5-ea1a-5c4f-a016-40713691963e)

Chapter Ten (#u6263c029-09b5-5e78-becc-e95e9537b1c6)

Chapter Eleven (#ufc618d47-d7e0-50b0-bd9d-c09c73c35c94)

Chapter Twelve (#ue6356607-d900-5596-a632-c0a4eb77da2c)

Chapter Thirteen (#uca100e55-7a8f-59e6-baea-42ba6e89067f)

Chapter Fourteen (#u892b4c78-7591-5e16-a781-3e3e4c15c24b)

Chapter Fifteen (#u07337856-0d72-5da4-b4fd-1e60c0d1bf73)

Chapter Sixteen (#ue97ccf1d-2876-588d-854a-fb396811a897)

Chapter Seventeen (#u0c3877a4-44b8-5aa9-a605-31008715fb88)

Chapter Eighteen (#ub9834606-91b4-5974-b2d8-be8dadb3139b)

Chapter Nineteen (#u8bdc2261-bb2d-561d-ab0d-a714e3246251)

Chapter Twenty (#uac3b4d9c-2a73-579e-8fb6-0589ff8628db)

Chapter Twenty-one (#ud26167db-c56f-5a97-82a3-291812b5a0da)

Chapter Twenty-two (#udd379bac-9a89-57e1-9f9a-35e1ceeda17b)

Chapter Twenty-three (#ue00a4224-fd4b-5718-817f-ac55083556d1)

Chapter Twenty-four (#ub4f44954-66f6-580c-9b8b-13a31bc80113)

Chapter Twenty-five (#u5fb827a2-7d84-5775-b292-0860ca901df5)

Chapter Twenty-six (#ue86007fb-4517-51bc-8a58-b5abf5855722)

Chapter Twenty-seven (#u67ed374b-5c8f-5dc6-b191-d41b93d1dc4f)

Chapter Twenty-eight (#ub3ceae85-00f2-5b3a-8817-aaeefa739ed5)

Chapter Twenty-nine (#u9c8156af-fd70-5c20-9056-bd10412b8487)

Chapter Thirty (#ub06636a8-bc3f-5b21-ba97-9d026d133255)

Chapter Thirty-one (#u71744d05-17b7-55e9-b684-e968a060ff2b)

Chapter Thirty-two (#ub7c7c1f2-3715-50a3-99b9-f9a612f2854e)

Chapter Thirty-three (#uce4d9fe1-8665-5881-8957-a08e9f8dc6a6)

Chapter Thirty-four (#u73a9a379-59f8-5c43-89da-6587f54d098b)

Chapter Thirty-five (#u04a42164-1c6e-57b9-a714-c431fcb51876)

Chapter Thirty-six (#u9f27929a-563a-559e-8dd1-77d182fd4fc9)

Chapter Thirty-seven (#ufa35a81e-916a-541f-92f8-e9de444c7281)

Chapter Thirty-eight (#ub1fa0bd2-38a7-53d0-b030-2d3901d02898)

Chapter Thirty-nine (#u2734e3d2-28c3-599f-9e59-7677d4fadcca)

Chapter Forty (#u9d994f4a-fef2-5bfa-9736-5a64edb8c404)

Chapter Forty-one (#uf5be7677-cf51-5701-8dd2-da997ba2734f)

Chapter Forty-two (#u7b55ba84-a1cc-53c6-bdf0-49e5f0102424)

Chapter Forty-three (#ub06d730d-a9c0-5793-8e34-3193b6b36dc2)

Chapter Forty-four (#uee8d1fa6-c94b-59c4-aad9-c2c0ea28cf62)

Chapter Forty-five (#ud44c8295-a1e1-5139-96b7-49d0f2c30336)

Chapter Forty-six (#u35088052-7f37-51d0-a974-79f8afb973a1)

Chapter Forty-seven (#u35df571f-5b22-5604-8aa4-c07bab06678e)

Chapter Forty-eight (#u5c5385e8-df74-5dad-b835-a09d19eae983)

Chapter Forty-nine (#uabbc8f85-6fbd-518e-99a2-a451e6bde882)

Chapter Fifty (#u23c3da51-1780-5141-aeba-f560c37d577d)

Two Years Later (#ucec0fc23-cc36-5525-8b3e-4c03b5ae314d)

Acknowledgements (#u0d9ea1df-7c44-56c1-9d60-6a1bbf64907f)

About The Author (#u0155e550-78c3-5132-946e-922a7f933862)

Other Books By (#u951b8550-cb2a-56ed-903a-8e8a4f27d88c)

Copyright (#u15fa7590-0fc8-5e9a-bbe7-6009135532ec)

About the Publisher (#u6f79f5a2-0f7c-50c5-aaad-e42caf9d46d6)




Chapter One (#ulink_50ca1a47-e23c-5aed-979e-ecb602830809)


The lay-by was small and muddy, with only one other car parked at the far end. Spray and grit from the road had all but obscured the car’s numberplate and left the paintwork a nondescript khaki grey. Even the bushes lining the lay-by’s boundary were a dull brackish brown.

Unscrewing the lid from the Thermos I poured myself a cupful of sludge-coloured coffee. It had the sickly aroma that only flask coffee has, but I closed my eyes and savoured the comforting warmth. It had been a long drive north towards Oxfordshire and the break was very welcome. When I opened my eyes again I stared wearily out at the lay-by through the rain-speckled windscreen, rolling my shoulders back to ease the tension several hours of driving had left in my arms and neck. I sipped at the insipid drink, realising that same lack of colour reflected my life of late. It had been far too easy to languish in a rut of my own making. This journey hadn’t come a moment too soon.

But as I peered out at the leaden sky I felt a pang of jittery nerves, uncertain whether I had made the right decision. The bubbly excitement I’d felt when I set out had gradually evaporated with the passing of the miles, leaving me feeling like a condemned woman awaiting the executioner’s block. I gave myself a mental shake, pushing aside the shivery premonition that I should simply turn the car around and head back the way I’d come. I swallowed the last of the coffee. It was probably the chill that had begun to steal up from the foot well and whisper across my shoulders since turning off the ignition that was causing my poor mood, or maybe it was simply the bleakness of the weather.

I started the engine again and left it running so that heat crept gradually back through my veins. A lorry sped past, throwing up sheets of filthy spray. The car rocked with a whoomp that made me tighten my grip on the plastic cup as I fixed it back onto the Thermos and glanced round to check that all was well. The car was loaded to the ceiling with everything I had ever owned that hadn’t been donated to charity or condemned to a skip. Boxes, suitcases, pot plants, bedding, bags and everything that had survived my ruthless cull from twenty-five years of accumulation lay behind me.

A plaintive mewing came from the seat beside me where the pet carrier containing my travelling companion, Mitsy the tabby cat, was sitting. I poked my fingers through the wire mesh and stroked what I could reach of her face, and she rubbed her furry cheek against my fingers with a purr. The touch of her warm body brought new confidence flooding into me. I could hardly believe I’d ever considered leaving her behind. Several times in the last few hours I think I might have turned back if not for her constant and uncomplaining company. Mitsy watched with huge soulful eyes as I withdrew my fingers and fumbled the road atlas open on the dashboard with renewed resolve.

‘Looks like we’ve got a fair way to go yet.’ I surveyed the map, following the route with my finger; tutting with irritation when I realised the A road I wanted went off over the page. I searched for the continuation of the route. ‘I knew I should have got a sat nav,’ I told Mitsy with a rueful grin.

When I looked up again, I realised that the rain had turned thin and sleety-looking, almost like snow and was driving hard against the windscreen at an angle. ‘Time to go.’ I slipped the atlas down beside my seat and turned the windscreen wipers on.

Nosing my car back onto the main road, heater humming, side lights on and wipers swishing back and forth, I found that the traffic had thinned out considerably. It was just as well, I thought, as the sleet was thickening into small flakes of snow and increasing in ferocity. Already the grubby grass verge was becoming blanketed in ice crystals, and the fields and woods that flashed by were speckled with white.

Half an hour later, the world outside the car had become a white blur. Thinking I might find a country pub in which to find shelter, I left the main road and took a smaller B road that wound between high hedges, which gave partial protection from the billowing snow. With headlights and wipers full on now, I inched forwards, hoping nothing would come careering from the opposite direction, but it seemed that all other traffic had already found refuge; I had the road worryingly to myself.

Minutes stretched into what seemed like hours. My doubts returned with a vengeance and I realised I was perspiring with anxiety, despite the cold outside. I came at last to a crossroads, but the open space exposed me completely to the elements and my car shuddered beneath the onslaught of heavily falling snow. The tyres slipped and slid as they fought to gain traction on the snow-covered road. The flakes that fell against the windscreen were huge, obscuring the signposts, disguising the countryside and distorting my sense of direction.

Trying not to panic, I leaned forwards, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, I looked at all the different directions on offer. Nothing seemed to have any bearing on the map I had studied back in the lay-by. Eventually I guided the protesting car left, down what looked like the wider of the turnings. I hadn’t got very far before I began to doubt my choice. The drifting snow was collecting in ditches on either side of the road, making it almost impassable; certainly too narrow to risk a three-point turn. For better or for worse it seemed I was stuck with my decision.

I came eventually to a stone bridge, which, if I hadn’t been lost in a snowstorm, might have been quite pretty. Directly after passing over the bridge the road began to climb quite steeply and the car’s wheels spun and whirred as I inched forwards.

‘This isn’t good,’ I told Mitsy through gritted teeth. ‘Not good at all.’

Despite the muffled slowness of my progress up the hill, it seemed to me that everything inside the claustrophobic confines of my car was gradually gathering momentum. By degrees everything intensified. The white noise that had started in my head spread into the car itself. I had the headlights full on, windscreen wipers battling away, the heater blasting a clear patch on the inside of the windscreen. The engine whined and protested as it laboured up the steep incline.

Desperation grew within me; if I could have thrust the car forward by sheer willpower alone, then we might have won through, but just below the summit the car faltered and began to slide backwards down the hill. I floored the accelerator in a desperate attempt to regain control but the wheels spun, the engine shrieked indignantly, the car lurched sideways as it continued its downhill slide, and after a few terrifying moments of gathering speed we slewed to an abrupt halt with one back wheel jammed against a sapling at the side of the snow-covered lane.

For a moment I sat there, frozen with shock. The car was at such an angle that I felt I was hanging backwards and to one side in my seat. Reaching forward, I killed the ignition and a sudden deathly silence ensued. Giant snowflakes fell softly against the windscreen, and then I heard a sharp crack followed by the tearing, grating sound of metal ripping wood.

Looking over my shoulder, I realised with horror that the spindly snow-covered tree that had stopped my car’s descent was splintering under the weight of the loaded vehicle. At any second it could give way completely and the car would continue its backward slide towards the bridge I’d crossed at the bottom of the hill, or worse, plunge towards the swollen river itself.

Mitsy broke the silence by howling piteously beside me. The couple of long heartfelt yowls from deep in her stomach jolted me back into action. I shifted carefully in the precariously wedged car, unclipped my seat belt and reached round for my coat, which was on top of the pile of possessions on the back seat, but the car groaned and trembled with the movement and I turned quickly back and sat very still, my hands clasped in my lap. The car stopped moving.

After a moment I resolved to try again, and inched my fingers towards my mobile phone, which was on the seat beside the cat box, but my shaking hands only succeeded in nudging it onto the floor, where it fell with a clunk and slid under the seat out of reach. Holding my breath, and very carefully so as not to upset the balance of the car, I reached sideways with my left hand and lifted the handle of the pet carrier, easing it over onto my lap. The change in weight caused the car to tremble and creak, but it didn’t move. With my other hand I tried slowly pushing open the driver’s door. It seemed incredibly heavy, as the angle of the car meant I had to push upwards and out at the same time.

With the carrier lodged between the steering wheel and my chest, I shoved harder at the door, using all the strength in my arm and shoulder. For a moment I thought I wasn’t going to be able to move it, but then it swung back; the car bucked against the tree with the sudden movement and immediately snow rushed in, stinging the right side of my face, my arm and leg. The tree creaked against the metal of the car, protesting and cracking under the weight and suddenly it gave way altogether and the car broke free.

For a split second the car seemed to teeter in mid-air. With a mighty heave, I dragged the plastic carrier off my chest and made a desperate leap from the vehicle just as the door swung down again. The crushing weight smacked heavily against my temple as I dived for safety, knocking me half senseless as I landed awkwardly in cold, deep snow. Somewhere in my befuddled brain, I was vaguely aware that the car was teetering backwards. It part-slid, part-rolled away from me down the hill, snapping small trees and twigs from the hedgerow as it went. I watched, stunned, as it slewed sideways, missing the narrow bridge, and launched itself backwards with a last suicidal plunge into the fast-flowing river below.




Chapter Two (#ulink_a7f50470-b731-5283-ae98-27b0eb8d35fb)


Full consciousness returned with the realisation that I was huddled in deep snow on the verge of an empty road with what sounded like a cat’s plaintive mewing ringing in my ears. My head hurt. Looking down, I saw that I was clad in jeans, which were wet through from lying in the snow, and I could barely feel my legs. Shivering uncontrollably in a soggy, snow-saturated sweater, a mixture of bewilderment and fright flooded through me; I had absolutely no idea who I was or how I had come to be here.

My mind felt sluggish and my stomach tightened involuntarily with fear as I sat up and stared round me, blinking through snowflakes that were landing thick and fast on my hair, face and lashes. Reaching up to brush the cold wetness from the long hair fringing my face, my hands came away sticky with red, clotting blood. So this body was injured, I thought numbly, but why, how? What was I doing way out here freezing slowly to death in the snow?

A cat miaowed again somewhere nearby. Looking round I saw a plastic pet carrier lying nearby. So I hadn’t imagined the sound; there really was a cat. But what had I been doing out in the middle of nowhere in such weather and with a cat in a box?

Blinking away the moisture that was collecting on my lashes, I peered round me through the billowing snow, looking for any possessions that might belong to me, but apart from the partially buried cat box the freshly fallen snow was empty of clues.

Snow beat against me, freezing on my face as I struggled unsteadily to my feet. I knew I had to get moving. Straining my eyes through the blizzard, I felt a momentary rush of hope. Could that be a cluster of buildings? I wasn’t sure, but…yes, wasn’t that smoke wreathing from a chimney in the distance? Drawing in a cold raggedy breath I swallowed hard, trying not to cry. Maybe the cat and I—whoever I was—were saved.

It was eerily silent in the snow; sort of muffled as if I had plugs in my ears and couldn’t clear them by shaking my head. Taking a deep icy breath, I tried to pull myself together. I couldn’t leave the cat to freeze, so I fumbled to pick up the carrier and started gingerly up the hill, slipping and sliding in inadequate boots until I reached a footpath, ankle-deep in snow.

Soon I could no longer feel my toes. My head was swimming, my breath coming in short gasps, clouding the air in front of me as the snow continued to batter me; little pinpricks of icy cold stinging my cheeks, eyes and hands like tiny bullets. Every so often an overhanging twig would snatch at me, unloading a torrent of fresh snow down my neck and adding to my misery. My nose was running, my eyes smarting and I was shivering so violently that my teeth were no longer chattering but crunched together in a permanent grimace. Every step was a challenge now, every breath an agony, and the weight of the cat seemed to be wrenching my arms from their sockets, creating a dull ache across my back.

And then, whilst trying to shift the weight of the carrier slightly, my frozen feet shot from under me and I pitched sideways into the snow, landing with a crash on my right side. The cat box rolled away from me into a bank of deep snow on the edge of the field. It hadn’t gone far, but I was too cold and too exhausted to do more than drag myself to where it lay on its side in the thick snow and hunch my body over it.

Snow hammered against my back. I simply didn’t have the strength to go on. I ran an icy finger along the mesh of the cage and I felt a wet nose press against me. I wondered vaguely if I should try to undo the catch on the carrier to let the animal go free; maybe then it would have a better chance of survival than it had trapped here with me. But I didn’t seem to have control of my hands any more and it was just too much trouble when all I wanted to do was rest my aching head on the pillow of cold white softness and sleep…

As I closed my eyes, a feeling of peace washed over me. I knew I shouldn’t sleep here in the snow, but it was so comfortable with my head resting on my arms across the top of the box; like floating on cotton wool. I couldn’t feel the cold any more, just a gentle emptiness washing through me. I dreamed that there was a tunnel ahead of me; somewhere I must go, somewhere where I would be safe and warm…warm and safe.

The emptiness swirled and I looked again, wondering if hypothermia was causing me to hallucinate, because there was a hazy figure floating towards me. I tried to call out to him, but no sound escaped my frozen lips. The shape came closer, swirling and swaying with the mist, and I saw that he was holding out his hands towards me.

Willing my arms to move, I reached for him. I still wasn’t sure if he was real, or some ethereal spirit, come to lead me into the place beyond, but as my frozen fingers connected with his, I felt a surge of pure joy run through my body. The figure pulled me forwards, lifting me, and I felt weightless in his embrace. Closing my eyes, I revelled in the closeness of him, the intoxicating feeling of belonging, of being part of something or someone bigger and better than myself. I wondered if I was dying or even already dead, but the thought brought no fear. If this was death, then I was ready; it was as if all my life I had been travelling alone and now in the white mist I had found my soul mate, the other half—the better half—of me.

The figure cradled me in strong arms and I turned my face into his shoulder, wanting nothing more than to float into him, to be one with him for the rest of time. The rough fabric of his coat grazed my frozen chin but I stretched my arms up and wound them round his neck, burying my face deeper, inhaling the scent of his skin, feeling my very being melt against him, into him, through him.

I felt him moving forwards, taking slow measured steps through the deep drifts, his breathing deep, and even while I clung to him, the warmth of him gradually brought my senses back to life. Though half conscious, I realised from the gentle rocking motion that he was wading through thick snow, his breathing becoming increasingly laboured as he battled against the blizzard with the weight of me in his arms.

Pinned against him, I tried to match his rhythm, to make my body weightless, to be one with his. He was strong; I could feel the muscles in his arms supporting me, his chest rising and falling methodically. My own breath mingled with his as he carried me steadily onwards.

I would have been happy to stay entwined like that for ever; my senses tingling, my body on fire with the intense cold, my body blending with his. But somewhere in the murky depths of the tunnel I heard voices calling, exclaiming, and then I was jostled and moved roughly about. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut I tried to feel him against me again, to savour once more that amazing connection of energy, but then I was being lowered down and I felt hands roughly dragging at my clothing, bundling me in something soft and heavy, and then the bright white light went out and I slipped into the lonely darkness of unconsciousness.




Chapter Three (#ulink_4a30f724-c052-56e8-85b5-3c723bd854c3)


‘Hello…’

Searing pain ran through my hands and feet. Struggling not to cry out, I opened one eye, and there before me stood an angel. She was small and slight, with a halo of golden hair tumbling round her shoulders, and she was surveying me with eyes of the deepest blue.

My first thought was that I was truly dead and had gone to the place some people called heaven, but my pain belied that myth and I wriggled my fingers and toes in an attempt to lessen the stinging discomfort. Seeing the movement, the angel leaned towards me, her hair cascading forward as she bent to whisper to me, her voice soft and slightly husky.

‘Hello,’ she breathed again, her lips brushing close to my ear. ‘Amber said you’d come.’

I opened both eyes and stared hazily at her. ‘Where am I?’ My voice seemed thin and reedy. The effort of speaking made me cough harshly, causing fresh pain in my chest and head. This surely couldn’t be heaven when I hurt so much; but if not heaven, then where?

The angel had stepped back when I’d coughed and was now surveying me anxiously.

‘Are you going to die?’ she asked.

I considered this question, stretching my aching fingers and wiggling my toes to assure myself that the pain was real enough.

‘No.’ I was relieved to find that I believed it. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’

‘Not ever?’ she pressed, coming closer again and staring so intently into my face that I wondered again for a fleeting moment if I was hallucinating. Something about the solemnity of her expression, however, made me cautious with my answer. I needed some answers myself, but it seemed that my questions would have to wait.

‘Well, I will die one day…we all will one day. But I’m certainly not going to die today, not if I can help it.’

Pushing myself up on one elbow, I looked round at my surroundings. I was lying on a couch in a sitting room with low wooden ceiling beams and leaded-light windows just visible behind partially closed curtains. There was a Persian rug on the polished wooden floor and a fire roaring in an inglenook fireplace; it seemed warm and peaceful, a sanctuary from the blizzard raging outside in the darkness.

The angel was smiling at me with a wondrous expression that made me feel slightly nervous. It was the sort of look a child might have when seeing Father Christmas actually emerging from the fireplace on Christmas Eve. I wondered if that was how I had been staring at her.

‘Where am I?’ I asked again, struggling into a sitting position so that the blankets I’d been cocooned in flopped down into my lap. I realised belatedly that I was wearing only underwear, and hastily pulled the blankets back up. ‘And who are you?’

‘I’m Jadie.’ The angel was dressed in a little tartan kilt with a cream jumper and thick woollen tights. ‘I’m six and a half years old.’ She paused for a moment then repeated softly, ‘Amber said you’d come.’

‘Who’s Amber?’

‘My sister.’ Jadie’s shrug intimated that I should know such a thing already.

‘Ah. And can you tell me where I am?’

‘You’re in our house. Daddy brought you in. You were all cold and covered in snow, so me and Tara, we pulled your wet things off and Tara sent me to get the blankets.’

‘Where is your daddy now?’ I asked, remembering suddenly the glorious feeling of being carried by the man in my dream. I felt myself blushing. Jadie was regarding me minutely. I felt quite guilty under her scrutiny, as if she could read my thoughts, which weren’t at all suitable for a child of six and a half years old.

‘He’s working.’ Jadie inclined her head somewhere behind me. She swallowed and cleared her throat slightly. ‘He only went out to clear a path to the road and he found you and now he’s working in his study again. Daddy’s always working.’

‘What about your mummy?’ I asked, looking round as I spoke. ‘Is she here too?’

Jadie looked down at her toes. ‘Mummy’s gone away. She was very sad and then she went on an aeroplane with Uncle Jack.’

Deciding not to pursue that little gem of information, I tried to get back onto more neutral ground. ‘Oh. And what about…er, Tara, wasn’t it?’

Jadie suddenly pressed her lips together as if afraid more words might tumble out. I looked at her quizzically, then realised from a movement of air in the room that a door had opened somewhere behind us.

‘You’re awake then.’ The voice came from behind me, making me jump. I turned to see a slim young woman with short, dark glossy hair emerging from a doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’m Tara, the housekeeper here. How are you feeling?’

She came round the couch to look at me and I couldn’t help noticing that she seemed to be sizing me up. Although she was dark, she had luminous aquamarine eyes that were as startling in their way as Jadie’s cornflower-blue ones.

‘Thawed out a bit, have you?’ she asked.

I nodded, trying not to stare at her. I swung my defrosting feet out from under the blankets to try to get up.

She put out a hand and pushed me down against the cushions. She was surprisingly strong and I fell back, looking up at her with some embarrassment.

‘You shouldn’t go getting up yet.’ It was an apology of sorts, as if realising she had overstepped the boundaries of propriety. ‘You were pretty far gone when Vince…Mr James brought you in. Give yourself a minute or two. I expect your hands and feet hurt. And that cut on your head is quite deep. It probably could have done with a stitch or two but I put a butterfly plaster on it, so hopefully it won’t leave a scar.’

My hand went to my temple and I felt the plaster gingerly before rubbing at my still tingling fingers. I nodded, totally confused. My lack of any sort of memory was terrifying. ‘I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused. I’m very grateful for your help. For a while out there in the snow I was afraid I’d had it.’

‘Another half-hour out in that blizzard and you might have done,’ she agreed. I had the fleeting impression she wouldn’t have minded too much if that had proven to be the case. She gave herself a little shake. ‘Still, nothing a nice warm fire and some blankets can’t put right. I’ve been making soup. I’ll bring you some, if you like.’

‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble…’

‘You’ve done that already, haven’t you? I’m stuck here for the night now, the road’s completely blocked and according to the news there is more of this weather to come. It looks like we’re both stranded here, so we’d better make the best of it, eh?’

Colour flooded my face at her candour.

Then she smiled and her face lit up. ‘I’ll go and tell Mr James you’re awake. After carrying you over the threshold like some hero out of a Jane Austen novel he vanished off to his study.’

She was about to retreat to the kitchen again when a thought struck me and I sat bolt upright in alarm. ‘When he brought me in, did Mr James say anything about finding a cat?’

Tara paused and looked back at me, shaking her head. ‘No, the boss didn’t say anything about a cat. Did you have one with you, then?’

‘I think so.’ I wondered how much of what had happened was real and how much was a dream. ‘It’ll freeze to death out there in the snow.’

‘Cats can look after themselves.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m sure it’ll be OK.’

‘It was locked in a plastic box. It won’t stand a chance.’

‘We can’t do anything about it now.’ Tara turned to look out through a chink in the curtains at the cold, dark night outside. ‘Maybe Mr James can go look in the morning.’

She left and I sat morosely, rubbing at my painfully thawing hands. Jadie came and stood next to me. She gave me a reassuring smile. ‘Amber says your little cat will be OK. And Amber is always right.’

‘Where is Amber?’ I looked round the room again for this all-knowing sister of hers.

Jadie peered at her shoes in much the same way she had when I’d asked her about her mother. ‘She’s not here.’

‘Where is she then?’ I was confused, wondering how Amber could have told her anything about the mystery cat. ‘Is she with your daddy?’

Jadie continued to study her feet but she shook her head infinitesimally.

Tara came in carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and what smelled like freshly baked bread wrapped in a cloth. ‘Here you are.’ She laid the tray across my lap. ‘I thought you’d better eat in here by the fire until you’ve thawed out properly.’ She held out a hand to the child. ‘Come on, Jadie, let’s go and have ours in the kitchen. I’ll give your father a shout.’

She paused as if sensing something was up; looked from Jadie to me with a puzzled half-smile. ‘Am I missing something here?’

‘I was just asking her where Amber was, that’s all.’

Tara’s mouth dropped open and her face paled. I thought for an awful moment she was going to faint, and then she squared her shoulders, grabbed hold of Jadie and marched her out of the room. A door slammed somewhere nearby and a moment later Tara returned alone and deposited herself between me and the fire. She gave me a hostile glare. ‘What’s your game?’ She had planted her hands on her hips, staring at me as if I had sprouted horns. ‘Who the hell are you, anyway?’

I wanted to say that I didn’t know who the hell I was, but this didn’t seem quite the right time to mention my lack of memory. ‘Jadie informed me her sister knew I was coming, that’s all. Amber told her the cat was going to be all right.’

Tara continued to stare at me as if I were some sort of rabid monster. An awkward silence yawned between us.

‘Amber was Jadie’s sister.’ She took her hands from her hips and crossed them tightly in front of her chest as if to protect herself from the pain of what she was going to say. ‘Amber passed away two years ago. Jadie’s mother couldn’t cope with the grief and walked out on them a few months later. Amber’s name hasn’t been mentioned since her mother left, and Jadie hasn’t uttered a single word since then. She’s what they call an elective mute; no one has been able to make her talk, not her teachers nor doctors or several different psychologists.’ Tara narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me. ‘So like I said: who the hell are you and what the devil do you think you’re playing at?’




Chapter Four (#ulink_a5a64416-0cdd-53d7-ba78-e81da9a90dca)


Tara’s eyes bored into me. I felt as if I’d been invited to participate in some gruesome game where everyone else knew the rules but me. I didn’t even know my own name. In the last few hours I had woken on a snow-filled roadside without any idea how I’d got there, nearly died from exposure and hypothermia, been rescued by a man with whom I’d felt a weird affinity, abandoned someone’s cat in a snow-covered field and gate-crashed a household where a supposedly mute child had informed me her long-dead sister had been expecting my arrival.

My hand went to the sticking plaster on my temple. I felt as if I had been sucked into that warm, beckoning tunnel I’d seen as I’d teetered on the brink and, like some sort of worm-hole meandering through space, it had coughed me out in an alternative universe. Tara’s question was fair enough, but it was annoying all the same.

I fought a desire to throw back the blankets, struggle to my feet and run crazily through the snow, back to my own life, whatever and wherever that was. I suddenly felt very lost and alone; as uncomfortable with throwing myself on the mercy of this stranger as she seemed discomfited by my presence. It was odd; I knew how to speak and how to act in a given circumstance. I felt sure I could still read and write and perform the normal functions of living, I just couldn’t remember who I was or how I’d got here. Resisting the temptation to thump my fists and scream, I decided instead to adhere to the time-honoured social conventions that prevented me from knocking the dinner tray to the floor, pushing past this angry sentinel and making a bolt for the door.

‘I don’t know why Jadie spoke to me.’ I summoned as much calm as I could muster. ‘I didn’t know she couldn’t.’

Tara continued to regard me with suspicion. I returned her scrutiny with what I hoped was an apologetic gaze and then, for want of a better idea, and because I was actually pretty damn hungry, I picked up the soup spoon and scooped up some of the delicious-smelling soup.

‘This looks lovely. I really am very grateful to you for bringing me into your home like this.’ It was true, I was grateful.

‘It’s not my home, I just work here.’ She stuck out her chin but the familiarity of the action had broken the spell of hostility; I was a guest again. ‘We’ll be in the kitchen; if you want anything just call.’

Tossing her head she retreated from my line of vision.

When she had gone I dropped the spoon onto the tray and lay back exhausted, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment. If the worm-hole theory wasn’t a realistic possibility, I thought with the stirrings of hysteria, then maybe I’d arrived in a madhouse—or perhaps I’d died out there in the blizzard after all and been brought to some strange testing place where my suitability for the world beyond was being measured. Neither possibility brought much comfort.

The awkward weight of the tray on my lap and the tantalising scent of the thick and hearty leek and potato soup suggested something much more down to earth. I picked up the spoon and raised it to my lips, sniffing the warm aroma appreciatively. The soup tasted as good as it smelled and I was soon wiping the bowl round with the bread. I hadn’t realised quite how hungry I was until I’d started eating. After popping the last hunk of bread into my mouth, I sensed someone standing behind me. The couch was facing the fireplace, with the heavy oak front door set back behind a curtain to one side of it and the rest of the room behind me. I craned my head round, still chewing, and found myself staring into a pair of blue eyes that left me in no doubt that this was Jadie’s father.

He was a handsome man in his early thirties. His features were nicely symmetrical; short blond hair framed a cleanshaven face with a small cleft in the centre of his chin. The stiff way in which he held himself brought to mind a Roman centurion—I decided he’d look pretty good in a short-skirted leather uniform—but I wished I didn’t have a mouth full of bread, because I was fairly sure it was about to choke me.

I chewed with a dry mouth and swallowed with difficulty as he walked directly into my line of vision. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue checked shirt over a white T-shirt, which on anyone else might have looked casual, but there was nothing casual about his demeanour; he seemed almost more ill at ease in his own house than I felt as a visitor. He came round to perch on the arm of the nearest chair and offered an embarrassed half-smile. I watched as he knotted his hands in his lap and leaned forward, his expression neutral.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘I’m much better now, thank you.’ I ignored the dull throbbing in the tips of my fingers and toes, and the ache in my head. ‘I can’t thank you enough for bringing me into your home like this. I hadn’t realised the weather was going to get so bad.’

He nodded, apparently reassured by my answer, but I noticed he avoided making direct eye contact with me. ‘I’m glad you don’t need to go to hospital because I don’t think we could have got you out. We’re completely snowed in and, according to the weather forecast, there’s more to come.’

‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’ Picking up the empty tray I leaned forward to try to deposit it on a nearby coffee table. I succeeded in sliding the tray onto the polished surface of the low table and sat back. Realising the blankets weren’t quite covering me, I gathered them quickly round me.

He seemed not to notice. ‘I’m Vincent James.’ He half rose out of the chair towards me, his hand outstretched to shake mine.

I kept my hand knotted tightly round the top of the blanket, whilst eyeing his nervously. What was I going to say? Should I confess I hadn’t the faintest idea who I was or what I was doing out there in the snow? Would he think I was a crazy woman and throw me back outside to take my chances in the blizzard?

He frowned at my hesitation and I realised I had no choice but to tell the truth. Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge.

‘I’m afraid I can’t remember who I am. The bump on my head has obviously given me some sort of amnesia…but I’m sure everything will come back to me soon.’

He let his hand drop onto his lap as he scrutinised me closely with a frown of surprise. ‘You can’t remember anything?’

I shook my head.

‘Umm,’ he murmured, obviously thinking things over. His eyes drifted over me and I watched his face as he came to a decision. ‘Well, whoever you are, you are welcome to stay here until the weather clears and we can find some proper help for you.’

Breathing a sigh of relief I began to relax. But then he seemed to remember his manners and reached his hand rather abruptly towards me again in welcome. Keeping the blanket in place with one hand I stretched the other hesitantly towards his. I found I was holding my breath as our hands met; this was my rescuer, the man who had carried me through the snow. I don’t know quite what I expected, but his handshake was dry, firm and unremarkable. Perhaps I had dreamed the whole thing. No flashing lights, ringing bells or electrical currents passed between us; nothing to indicate we were soul mates greeting one another. I felt something inside me plummet. I relinquished his hand and inwardly berated myself for my foolishness. It was just that after he had rescued me in the blizzard I had thought…what had I thought?

‘So you have no idea what you were doing out there in that snowstorm?’ he asked, intrigued now. He sank back onto the chair and glanced past me towards the kitchen. Was he looking for a means of exiting without giving offence, or watching for his ever-vigilant housekeeper?

‘I have no idea at all.’ I hauled my thoughts back. ‘I remember coming to at the side of a road and feeling the cold eating into me. I don’t know how I got there, but I do remember having a cat with me.’ The memory brought a new flood of anxiety rushing through me. ‘You don’t know what happened to it, do you? It was in a pet carrier. I was trying to carry it to safety, but it was so heavy and my hands were so cold I think I dropped the poor thing into the snow.’

‘I don’t know anything about a cat, but I’ll ring round some of the locals, see if anyone knows anything about one.’

‘It was in a plastic carrier,’ I persisted. ‘It’ll die out there in this weather.’

‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do now. It’s still snowing heavily and it’s pitch-dark outside. You should try to get some rest and not worry about it. And when the snow clears we should get you to a hospital.’ He rose to his feet.

Resting my head back against the arm of the couch, I found I was suddenly overwhelmed by the events of the day. My head was throbbing, my hands and feet still ached and I felt bone weary.

Vincent paused as if sensing my misery. ‘Look, you were huddled in the snow up on Adam Jenkins’ top field, next to the footpath. It’s possible the cat is still there so I’ll give the farmer a ring and ask if he could look for it in the morning, OK?’

I nodded resignedly.

He hesitated just before he left the room. ‘You can use the room my mother normally has when she stays with us. Tara will show you where it is. Get a good night’s sleep. Things never seem so bad in the morning.’

‘Thank you,’ I said quietly.

Listening to his footsteps receding on the polished wooden flooring, I took a great steadying breath. I was alone for the moment and had an opportunity to take in my surroundings. This felt and smelled like an old house, the faint aroma of the soup mixed with the more ingrained scents of wax polish and wood smoke from the fire. What I could see of it from the couch seemed warm and cosy, like a much-loved pair of old slippers. If it hadn’t been for my strange circumstances I was sure I would have felt quite at home here.

I closed my eyes and tried to force my mind back. Surely, I thought, I must be able to remember something of my past, anything at all that could give me a hint as to who I was or what I was doing in this place. But my mind remained obstinately blank as if there was a curtain drawn across it, sealing off my former life and keeping my memories elusively out of reach on the other side.

‘You’ve finished your soup, then.’ I jumped as Tara appeared to take my tray, her lips pursed in what I took to be disapproval. ‘Vincent said you could use the guest bedroom when you’re ready to go up.’

I noticed she was no longer referring to her employer by his surname and wondered if she’d been listening in on our conversation. Looking at my watch, I gasped to find it was almost nine o’clock in the evening. It had felt like some time in the early afternoon when I’d woken in the snow. Where had the rest of the day gone? I rubbed a hand over my eyes and tried not to feel too sorry for myself as the thought erupted from nowhere: where had the rest of my life gone?

My hands and feet felt defrosted now and I was about to offer to help Tara with the tray when I remembered I was still wrapped in a blanket. She must have seen my move.

‘You stay right there while I take this to the kitchen,’ she instructed, some of the earlier hostility returning to her voice. ‘I can bring you some magazines or you could watch TV, if you like, until you’re ready to go upstairs.’

I guessed she would have liked to add, ‘And think yourself lucky you’ve been allowed to stay here at all,’ but she contented herself with handing me the TV controls and opened a neat mahogany cupboard in the far recess beside the fireplace before hurrying off.

The TV showed pictures of raging blizzards, cars abandoned on motorways and a well-muffled news reporter being buffeted by the storm while snowploughs battled through the suburban roads behind her. My gaze drifted to the narrow shelf above the TV cabinet where a family photo stood in pride of place. Leaning forward, I made out Vincent with Jadie and Tara; all three of them smiling into the camera. I scanned the room and saw another photo of Tara, standing in what looked like a park, her hands resting on the handle of a pushchair out of which peeked a toddler wrapped up in blankets. Whether it was Jadie or her sister I couldn’t tell, but I did understand that Tara had been part of this family for a long time.

‘Could you tell me where the loo is?’ I called, hearing footsteps behind me.

‘Down the hall there at the very end, next to the room that’s full of boots and coats,’ she called back.

Getting awkwardly to my feet, I hugged one of the blankets round me and followed her directions. There was an ancient oak staircase behind the couch, which opened directly into the sitting room. Beyond that the rest of the house disappeared round a corner, the whole house appearing to be a huge reverse L shape. I padded through the wood-panelled sitting area, my bare feet slapping on the cold wood flooring as I passed the bottom of the staircase. The rest of the rooms led off the long arm with a boot room and downstairs toilet at the furthest end, opposite a back door, presumably opening on to a garden.

As soon as the loo door closed behind me, I turned to face the small mirror that hung over the washbasin and stared at my features for several long minutes. Running a hand over tawny shoulder-length hair, I peered into a stranger’s hazel eyes, trying to find something familiar in my reflection. My fingers traced the outline of the butterfly plaster Tara had used on my cut. It wasn’t too awful, despite the blossoming blue bruise surrounding it. It was an odd feeling looking at that face: I realised I hadn’t expected to look like this…Who was I and what was my name?

I crept back along the length of the L, tiptoeing past three doorways. The nearest door was open a crack, with light spilling out. I peeped in to see Vincent sitting at a wide desk, his features in profile, studying a computer screen; he had a telephone pressed to his ear. I tiptoed quickly past. The light in the passage spilled into the next darkened room where I glimpsed a formal dining table surrounded by elegant chairs. The last room, the one nearest the sitting room, was the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, I took in the warm domesticated scene. This was obviously the hub of the household. A modern cooker stood against the far wall with a huge pan resting on the hob, a soup ladle protruding. A cloth-covered table still showed signs of where the family had eaten their last meal. A doll with flaxen hair lay on a chair next to the table, but otherwise there wasn’t much to show that a six-year-old child lived here.

‘Will you come up and kiss me good night?’ asked a husky little voice from behind me.

I turned to see Jadie standing behind me, clad in a pair of pink pyjamas and fluffy animal slippers. She walked past me to collect her doll, then turned back into the hall, making for the stairs. She paused at the foot of the staircase and put her head on one side, studying my features. ‘Say you will,’ she pleaded.

‘Well, if Tara doesn’t mind…’ I was a bit dubious. It seemed an odd request of a virtual stranger but then everything about this little girl was baffling. ‘I don’t even know where your bedroom is.’

‘It’s next to Amber’s.’

‘Er, right.’ The child seemed to think I’d automatically know where her sister’s room was. ‘Well, maybe I’ll come up in a minute.’

‘I’ve got to have my physio first,’ Jadie said quietly.

‘Your physio?’ I repeated, mystified. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

Jadie smiled as if I’d made a joke. ‘No, silly, my back patting.’

Before I could question her further, Tara called from somewhere upstairs and Jadie tucked her doll under her arm and climbed up towards her.

Bemused, I returned to the comparative safety of the couch. Sitting staring into the crackling fire I wondered what twist of fate had brought me to this curious household. I sat for a long time, trying to recall something familiar, my mind eventually drifting.




Chapter Five (#ulink_504556b5-4415-593b-bc8e-29d2faccaefb)


‘I think Jadie wants you to go up to her.’ Tara’s voice made me jump for the second time that evening. ‘She’s hovering by her door with her favourite book and she won’t let me read it to her.’

I turned and saw Tara staring at me. She looked as uncomfortable as I felt. ‘I can’t imagine why, but she asked me to go up and kiss her good night,’ I explained apologetically.

‘She told you that?’

I nodded.

‘In actual words?’ She came round from behind the couch and seated herself next to me.

‘Yes. She asked me just now when she came down for her doll.’

‘I thought that might be what she wanted, because she wouldn’t let me turn off the light. She kept getting out of bed and standing by the door. I wasn’t sure I believed you before when you told me she’d spoken to you. I don’t understand it.’

‘Nor do I,’ I admitted. ‘Have you told her father she’s spoken to me?’

Tara shook her head. ‘I didn’t want to get his hopes up; the thought crossed my mind that you might be some sort of con artist, a trickster…I don’t know.’

I couldn’t say I blamed her. ‘Shall I go up to her?’ I asked.

I watched Tara struggle with herself. I could see she didn’t entirely trust me, but she obviously cared for Jadie and didn’t want to let her down. ‘I don’t see why not,’ she said at last. ‘But I’ll come up with you and wait on the landing where she can’t see me—if you don’t mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ I found myself responding immediately to the woman’s softer side. It was the first time she’d spoken to me with anything other than suspicion and distrust. Jadie was in her care: she was quite right not to leave her alone with a stranger.

Tara inclined her head in a gesture of thanks. We tiptoed up the stairs, the blanket draped about my shoulders like a thick cloak. Tara pointed out Jadie’s bedroom door. Jadie was sitting on the edge of her bed, apparently waiting for me.

‘Hi.’ I was feeling horribly self-conscious with Tara listening outside the door. The thought occurred to me that maybe I had a child of my own somewhere and I felt a further jolt of unease. But somehow I didn’t feel this was the case and I hoped my instincts could be relied upon as I perched next to Jadie on the edge of the pink quilted bedspread and looked down at her, unsure what she expected of me.

She held out the book, then climbed under her quilt and waited for me to pick it up.

‘You want me to read you a bedtime story?’ I willed her to talk so that Tara could hear her, but infuriatingly she just nodded. I picked up the book of fairy stories and I read out a story about a princess and a wicked witch, showing her the pictures as I went.

‘…And they all lived happily ever after,’ I finished, closing the book. ‘Now I’m going back downstairs and you must get to sleep. I’m staying in your grandma’s room tonight, so I’ll see you in the morning.’

She held out her arms for a hug and I only hesitated a moment before bending forwards and sliding my own arms round her slight form. As I held her I became aware of an ache deep in my chest. What was it about this child that made me feel so sad and yet so happy at the same time? I hugged her closely for a second or two, feeling the warmth of her body through the blanket. To my surprise she reached up, brought her face close to mine and planted a kiss on my cheek. ‘Night-night,’ she whispered.

‘Night-night, Jadie. See you tomorrow.’

Tara was waiting for me when I turned out the light and we crept back along the landing to the top of the stairs. I realised I was shaking.

‘Did you hear her?’ I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

Tara shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t hear her say anything. Did she speak to you again?’

‘Only to whisper good night.’

We returned to the sitting room, where Tara gave the fire a prod with the poker, sending red sparks flying up the chimney. I watched as she put a couple of small logs on the fire from a basket in the hearth and hung the tongs back on a brass stand. The activity seemed somehow familiar to me, as if I’d seen her do it before and I felt a shiver run down my spine in spite of the extra warmth.

Tara obviously felt something too. ‘Who are you?’ She leaned back on her haunches, studying me much as Jadie had done earlier. ‘What are you really doing here?’

‘I don’t know.’ I made an awkward grimace. ‘Did Vincent tell you that I’ve lost my memory?’

‘He did. I wasn’t sure I believed it, though, any more than I believed Jadie had spoken to you.’ She pulled herself up off the floor, came over to the sofa and sat beside me. She didn’t look at me while she absently picked at her nails. Her voice was lower when she spoke again, and full of misgivings. ‘It’s really odd. I mean, you don’t know who you are and Jadie’s treating you as if she already knows you.’ She paused, frowning. ‘And why has she decided to talk to you? I do believe she spoke to you because otherwise you couldn’t have known about Amber. I just don’t understand why, after all this time, she chose to break her silence with you.’

‘Maybe because I’m a stranger,’ I suggested. ‘I had no expectation that she couldn’t talk and therefore it was a natural thing to do.’ I yawned, belatedly covering my mouth with my hand. ‘I’m sorry; it’s been a heck of a day.’

‘Wherever you come from you should have listened to the forecast before setting out,’ Tara admonished, sounding confident again now that the conversation had returned to the mundane. ‘Vincent decided not to go in to work today after hearing the bad weather warnings this morning and it was only the second time he hasn’t made it to the office in all the time I’ve worked here. Usually he leaves as soon as I arrive at seven thirty, but they were warning of blizzards even then. You must have been crazy; when he brought you in you weren’t even wearing a coat!’

She was right, of course, and the knowledge sent fresh spurts of panic through me, rekindling the sick feeling in my stomach. I didn’t want to dwell on why I had found myself out in the snowstorm with no warm clothes and no belongings; it was just too much for my tired brain to cope with. I decided to concentrate instead on finding out about the owner of my sanctuary.

‘What does Vincent do?’

‘He works in the City, in banking. I don’t know the details exactly.’

‘Do he and Jadie live alone—apart from you, of course?’

‘I suppose you could say that, though I’m here more than he is. Vincent works long hours and he hands Jadie over to me Monday to Friday. He’s not usually back until after I’ve got Jadie into bed. I cook his dinner and then I go home.’

‘You don’t work weekends then?’

‘Not usually. Jadie’s grandmother comes every Friday evening or Saturday morning and stays until Monday when I arrive. She looks after Jadie when I’m not here.’

I yawned again and Tara stood up. ‘I’ll show you to your room, if you like.’

Her tone was friendlier now, and I responded in kind. ‘Thanks. I’m hoping that a good night’s sleep will clear my head and that my memory will be back by the morning.’ I had been trying to be brave and act normally but it was frightening not knowing who I was or where I belonged. I felt like a child, dependent on others for my most basic needs; hollow inside and horribly vulnerable.

Following Tara back up the staircase, the blankets still draped round me, I ran my hands up the polished wood banisters and felt a reassuring warmth creep through me. What was it about this house that seemed so familiar, so comforting? Whatever it was, it helped in some small way to dispel my feelings of helplessness.

We passed the closed door next to Jadie’s room, which I assumed must have been Amber’s, and Tara waved her hand at the next room along, telling me it was the bathroom. There was another short flight of steps at the end of the corridor, over the boot room, which Tara mentioned led to an attic room where she slept occasionally if she stayed over. The last room on the right was to be mine.

Tara flicked on the light and stood back to let me pass. I went into a well-furnished, old-fashioned room with a queen-size bed dominating the space.

‘Is there anything you need?’ she asked abruptly as she turned to leave.

I stood awkwardly, feeling even lonelier and more displaced than ever as I stared round the room. Despite Tara’s thinly veiled hostility I found I didn’t want her to leave but, not wanting to impose more than I already had, I merely murmured, ‘What happened to my clothes?’

‘I pulled your wet things off you when you were brought in,’ she replied. ‘Your boots are drying in the boot room and I’ve washed your clothes and hung them in the kitchen to dry. Do you want them now?’

I nodded and she went off to fetch them with a cluck of her tongue and an exasperated sigh, leaving me alone. After a moment I ventured forwards, half heartedly pulling out drawers and glancing through the contents. The room looked comfortable enough. I sat on the bed, bouncing slightly to test the springs and tried to think sensibly.

Surely I must have had a handbag with me when I’d set out. What about all the things one would normally take when going out? Surely I owned a mobile phone, purse, credit cards, driving licence…everything that gives a person their identity. I didn’t have so much as a hairbrush or lipstick to call my own.

Tara returned a few minutes later carrying a pair of denim jeans and a thin sage-green sweater with three-quarter-length sleeves.

‘The jeans are still a bit damp round the waistband.’ She handed them over to me. ‘You can hang them over the radiator in here and they’ll be dry by the morning.’

‘Thank you.’ I took them despondently and she left me alone. Where had I bought this sweater, I wondered as I held the unfamiliar clothes, and who had I been with? Where had I been going when I’d put it on this morning? Tears threatened at the corners of my eyes. More than ever I felt cast adrift—as if I’d been beamed here from another planet.

A floorboard creaked in the open doorway and I turned, expecting to see Tara return, but to my surprise I found Vincent leaning against the doorframe, contemplating me thoughtfully.

‘Tara’s just reminded me that you have nothing with you in the way of luggage. My wife left most of her things when she did her disappearing act a while back and I’ve never really got round to sorting through them.’ He paused awkwardly. ‘Would you like to come and see if there’s anything you could use?’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ I gave him a wan smile. ‘I’m so sorry to be such a nuisance.’

‘Not at all,’ he replied politely.

Clutching the blanket to me, I followed Vincent back along the landing to his own bedroom, ancient floorboards creaking under our feet. He turned on the lights and then stood back to let me pass in ahead of him. It was a beautiful room with a four-poster bed at its centre, elaborately draped with embroidered cream and red silk. The curtains at the window were made from the same material, with crimson tassels and tie-backs that matched the blood-red carpet. It looked like the king’s chamber in a medieval castle, or the interior of a sultan’s palace.

‘Here.’ He pulled open a cleverly concealed door fitted within a faded tapestry wall hanging, which ran the length of the room. ‘You’re welcome to borrow anything you want.’

I peered into a long walk-in cupboard containing a whole range of women’s clothes on hangers and in drawers, rows of shoes nestling tidily underneath at one end, and a man’s closet at the other. I glanced questioningly at Vincent, who was hanging back, watching me.

‘These would be useful, if you’re sure your wife wouldn’t mind.’ I pulled a pair of silk pyjamas and a dressing gown randomly from the first drawers. Picking through his absent wife’s belongings while he watched made me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

‘I’m quite sure she wouldn’t mind,’ he said shortly. ‘If she’d been interested in anything here she wouldn’t have been so quick to abandon us. You can keep them, for all I care.’

‘Thank you.’ At the pain in his voice I lowered my gaze, blushing with embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry if I sound harsh.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s not your fault…If you need anything else, please just take it.’ He turned away and walked towards the door. ‘I hope you find your room comfortable. Good night.’

Walking slowly back along the landing with the borrowed nightwear clutched in the folds of the blanket, I pondered this strange dysfunctional family and wondered if perhaps there was such a thing as fate. I paused outside Jadie’s room and listened to her slightly ragged breathing. Whether it was by chance or design I didn’t know, but I felt deep in my bones that there was some sort of inevitability to my being here where I had no identity and yet felt so strangely at home.

If I had known then how strange things were going to become, I might have wished I’d made a bolt for the front door when I’d had the chance.





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