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Kitabı oku: «He Will Find You», sayfa 2

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To: kaitlyn.best@newzmail.co.uk

From: alexanderriley9987@premiernet.co.uk

Sent: Mon, 01 Aug 2016 at 23:34

Subject: KISMET, KATE

Dear Katie,

I was thinking today how lucky I am that you sent me a friend request on Facebook. You can’t imagine how glad I am that we’ve reconnected after all this time. And speaking of Facebook, I was beginning to think I’d never get to see a photo of you other than with your family and friends on your wall. Thank you so much for your selfie! You’re beautiful!

I love you being part of my day. Thanks to all your emails and texts, it feels like you’re close even though you’re so far away. Plus I like to know what you’re doing and where you are. You’re very funny, and you made me laugh out loud this afternoon when I was in a boring meeting with my accountant.

Katie, you said this is moving too fast for you and you feel a bit overwhelmed, but I’ve never felt a connection like this before. We’ve only been in touch again for a month, but it’s as if I’ve known you for so much longer. Perhaps it’s because of all we have in common. At the same time, I have this urge to make up for lost time. Two decades! You understand, don’t you?

I don’t believe in fate or anything like that. But I do wonder if things sometimes happen for a reason, and I think that you coming back into my life at this moment in time was meant to be! It feels so right. You’re the real deal.

You said Kevin was going to the pub with his mates tomorrow evening. Would you like to FaceTime? I love hearing your voice on the phone, but it would be even lovelier to see you!

Sorry if I’ve come on a bit strong this evening. I’ve been on the single malt! I’ll say goodnight now and leave you in peace! You’ll be my last thought before I go to bed and my first thought when I wake up. And I’ll probably dream about you, too. Hope that’s all right with you.

Night,

Alexxx

Chapter 2

~

I’m desperate to get out of the house, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to go outside the next morning, either. The rain is still beating down, although, looking out through the bars of our bedroom window, I can see a tiny patch of clear sky over the lake. My mother used to say if there was enough blue to make a pair of trousers for a sailor, the weather would turn out fine. Wishing I’d inherited her optimism as I stare at the sky, I reflect that the seaman in question would have to be fairly small.

I sigh, and Alex pleads with me to get back into bed. He’s lying on his back, his hands clasped behind his head. He seems to be appraising my bare body. I kneel on the bed next to him.

‘Lie on your tummy,’ I order. He doesn’t move for a second or two, but then he turns over. I start to knead his shoulders. He groans – in pleasure, I hope, rather than pain, but just in case, I massage his muscles more softly.

‘Is this new?’ I ask, running my fingers over his right shoulder. ‘I haven’t seen it before.’

‘Is what new? Oh, the tattoo. Well, I had it done before Justin Bieber if that’s what you mean.’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘Bastard has the same tat. It’s Banksy.’

‘I know that,’ I say, admiring the artwork inked onto Alex’s skin. The picture is of a girl with her hand stretched out towards a red balloon. ‘My nephew Oscar is a big fan. We’ve taken him to Bristol a couple of times to see Banksy’s street art and some of his works on display at M Shed.’

‘Well, Girl with a Balloon appeared on a wall somewhere in London, not Bristol,’ Alex informs me. ‘I still haven’t decided if I want the caption inked on next to it.’

‘What is it?’

‘There is always hope,’ he says.

I examine it again. The balloon is heart-shaped. It’s not clear to me if the girl has let go of the balloon or if she’s trying to catch it. Either way, it’s out of her reach. Before I can ask Alex any more about it, he jumps out of bed.

‘Breakfast in bed,’ he says. ‘You wait here.’

I’m left for a while to muse on Alex’s choice of body art design. I would have thought he’d go for something more athletic, but I’m not sure what exactly. I suppose you wouldn’t have the five Olympic rings unless you’d actually competed in an Olympic Games. Or the Nike logo unless they sponsored you. And a slogan like “no pain, no gain” would be a bit trite. But something along those lines. I didn’t even know he had a tattoo. I’m surprised at this, although I’d only seen him naked once before coming here, and on that occasion the lights were dimmed.

I allow myself to reminisce about that night. It was four months ago. I close my eyes and can feel myself smiling. I remember Alex stripping off his clothes in a few seconds flat and then climbing into bed. He lay on his back, propped up on his elbows, watching me undress as he waited for me to join him. I’d been amused and turned on by how keen he seemed. Thinking about it now, it’s hardly surprising I didn’t see the tattoo on the back of his shoulder.

I noticed the scars, though. At the time, I didn’t dare ask him about those. Now, I’m burning with curiosity.

Alex comes back into the bedroom, carrying a tray. Smelling the toast, I’m conscious of how hungry I am. I plump the pillows up behind me and sit up straight as he puts the tray down carefully on my lap and gets into bed next to me.

‘Don’t get too used to this,’ he warns, twirling a strand of my red wavy hair between his fingers and then taking a mug from the tray.

At first I don’t understand what he’s referring to, but then I catch him looking down pointedly at my tummy.

‘Lie-ins will soon be nothing more than a distant memory,’ he adds. ‘Or is the plural lies-in?’ He slurps his tea.

‘No. You were right first time. Lie-ins.’

‘Ask the language expert,’ he says. He puts his mug down on the bedside table, and then he starts to fondle one of my breasts. ‘And is it my imagination, or have these already got a bit bigger?’

‘It’s wishful thinking on your part, I’d say,’ I reply, mirroring his grin. ‘Seeing as we’re on the subject of bodies …’ I begin in a more serious voice.

‘Ye-es?’

Gently, I take his arm and stroke his wrists. ‘Can I ask about your scars?’

‘OK,’ he says, but then there’s an awkward silence and I regret bringing it up. ‘Well, it’s not a big secret. I was nineteen,’ he says eventually. ‘I’d left school. I was supposedly on a gap year, but I ran out of money very early on, got dumped by my girlfriend when we were in Australia and came home. I started to hang out with the wrong crowd, we were taking drugs, I got depressed …’

‘Go on,’ I say when he pauses.

‘Long story short, one evening I decided to end it all. I was a stupid, self-absorbed teenager. I ran a hot bath, got in and slit my wrists.’

I’d only seen scars on his left wrist. I resist the urge to turn over his right arm, particularly as he’s holding his mug and I don’t want to scald him.

He sees me peering at his other hand, though, and adds, ‘Well, my wrist. I did it wrong. Used my right arm. Apparently if you’re right-handed, like I am, you should start by slitting your right wrist. That way, you can finish the job off better when you need to swap hands. And I managed to cut into a tendon in my left arm. I was in agony even though I hadn’t cut nearly deep enough to kill myself. So, it was a botched job.’

I can hear my own breathing. It has become shallow. I’m uncomfortable talking about his suicide attempt, so I don’t say the words that have just wormed their way into my head. There are more foolproof methods than slitting your wrists. Nor do I point out that he should have cut vertically rather than across his wrists. How do I even know that? ‘I’m so glad it was a botched job,’ I say instead, nuzzling in to him as much as I can without upsetting the breakfast tray on my lap or the mug in his hand.

‘So am I,’ he murmurs, kissing the top of my head.

And then it hits me like a punch to the stomach. If Alex was nineteen, I would have been seventeen. My chest tightens at that thought and I feel nauseous. I have a sudden vision of Alex throwing himself off a cliff and plummeting to his death.

I leap out of bed, making Alex cry out as I cause him to spill his tea. I make it to the bathroom just in time. Seconds later, he is next to me, holding back my hair with one hand and rubbing my back the other as I throw up into the toilet.

‘Morning sickness,’ he comments wryly when I’ve finished retching.

It’s not, but I don’t contradict him.

~

The sun comes out in the early afternoon and so Alex drives us the short distance into Grasmere. I’d rather walk, but I don’t protest; I’m just happy to get out of the house. There are lots of people out and about. From the car park, it’s a short walk to St Oswald’s church, where William Wordsworth is buried. We follow the path round to the back of the church, walking on paving stones with people’s names and hometowns engraved on them. From a much bigger paving slab, I read aloud the first verse of ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’, Wordsworth’s most famous poem.

After Alex has shown me the Wordsworth family’s tombstones, we go by foot to Dove Cottage, a little further up the road. The sign on the house says The loveliest spot that man hath ever found. ‘It is really beautiful here,’ I say. ‘I can see why the area inspired him to write his poetry.’

‘He lived in this cottage with his sister, Dorothy,’ Alex says informatively. ‘They were very close.’

Unbidden, tears well up in my eyes, and I brush them away with my sleeve before Alex can see. I miss Louisa terribly. When we were little, we swore we would live together in the same house, with our husbands. Being without her is like being without a part of myself. Even now, all sorts of things remind me of her. Smells, songs, phrases. Not for the first time, I wonder if one day the void in me can be filled.

By now I’m used to feeling I’m not quite complete, but I feel a very special bond with Alex, similar to the one I once had with my twin sister. Alex and I like the same music, the same activities, the same TV programmes. He often reads my mind, just like Louisa did.

‘There’s a walk that goes from here to Rydal Mount,’ Alex says, interrupting my thoughts. ‘That’s the house he bought once he became rich and famous.’

‘Ooh, can we go and see it?’

‘Well, it’s about five and a half miles altogether,’ Alex says, ‘and there’s a bit of a hill.’

‘I won’t break, Alex.’

‘Yes, but you’re supposed to be taking things easy, the doctor said.’

‘She also said it would do me good to walk.’

‘It’s a bit chilly, though. Wordsworth died because he caught a cold you know,’ he says, elbowing me playfully in the ribs.

‘That was in 1850,’ I say, pleased with myself for remembering the date on the tombstone. ‘Anyway, if you show me the way instead of standing around pretending to argue with me, we’ll soon warm up climbing that hill you mentioned.’

Alex chuckles. ‘Come on, then.’

He takes my hand and leads me along a country lane. He proves himself to be a great guide and he knows a lot about the area, its geography and its history. He points out Helm Crag, whose distinctive peak, according to Alex, has earned it the nickname the Lion and the Lamb. I stare at it, shielding my eyes, but I can’t see anything remotely resembling a large feline or a woolly ruminant.

‘That sounds more like the name of a pub than of a fell,’ I comment, but if Alex hears me, he doesn’t respond.

It’s a lovely walk and the sun stays with us the whole time. I’m so glad that the weather has brightened up and we weren’t stuck in the house all day today like we were yesterday, although after my journey up here, it was great to have a lazy day, too, especially as it was spent mostly in bed with Alex. I look at Alex and he smiles at me. A warm feeling of happiness engulfs me as I beam back.

‘This route is part of the Coffin Trail,’ Alex announces, a little further up the hill. That wipes the smile off my face for a moment.

‘The Coffin Trail?’

‘Yes. People used to carry the coffins down this hill to St Oswald’s church to bury their dead.’

We continue to walk up the hill and after a while, we arrive at the tiny village of Rydal. A dog barks as we walk around the grounds of Wordsworth’s home, and again as we walk away, down the hill. On our left is a large sloping field.

‘This is Dora’s field,’ Alex resumes. ‘Dora was Wordsworth’s favourite daughter and he was heartbroken when she died.’

‘What did she die of?’ I ask, intrigued.

He shrugs. ‘No idea,’ he says. ‘He lost all his children. Dora was the only one left but then she died, too. He planted hundreds of daffodils in this field as a memorial to her. It’s quite impressive in the spring when the flowers are in bloom.’

A line from the verse I read on the church paving stone echoes in my head.

A host of golden daffodils.

‘That’s so sad,’ I say.

‘Yes, it is,’ Alex agrees. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like for a father to lose his children.’

It crosses my mind that in a way Alex has lost his daughters. For the moment, at least. His ex-wife won’t let him see them. I wonder if that’s what is going through his head. Then my thoughts turn to my own father. And my mother. It seems to me that it’s somehow far worse for a mother to lose a child, but I keep this to myself.

Alex and I sit down on a wooden bench and admire the view over Rydal Water.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ Alex says, letting go of my hand and thrusting his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He brings out a small blue jewellery box.

I open it and gasp at the necklace inside. ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful,’ I say. And it is. It’s a red heart crystal pendant on a silver chain and I’m instantly reminded of his tattoo.

Alex puts it around my neck and I hold my hair up and bow my head so that he can do up the clasp.

‘Maybe you can wear it on the day,’ he suggests.

I tilt my head upwards to kiss his lips, suddenly aware that the sun has gone behind a cloud and the air has become cooler since we’ve been sitting on the bench. Alex must feel me shiver as he suggests we get on with our walk.

I take his hand as we get up from the bench, but he pulls it away to scratch his nose. I turn my head to follow his gaze and see a woman coming down the path towards us, chatting away to her little white dog. I’m not sure what breed it is. I sense Alex hesitate next to me before striding more purposefully up the path. I have to quicken my pace to keep up.

The woman widens her dark oval eyes, which seem to bore into me as she approaches. I think she’s about to say something as she opens her large mouth, revealing a rather prominent set of very white teeth. She has short dark brown hair with red highlights, and severely plucked eyebrows, which only serve to heighten the look of shock on her face. She brushes my arm as we pass.

‘Do you know her?’ I whisper.

‘Never seen her before in my life.’ He has answered me so loudly that I nudge him, certain that the woman has heard him.

But I can tell something is not quite right. I look at him askance.

He glances over his shoulder. ‘I’m just a bit wary of dogs,’ he admits in a much quieter voice than before.

This amuses me. That white dog is so small, after all, and Alex is tall and strong, and he doesn’t seem to be afraid of much.

Something else I didn’t know about him. Perhaps I don’t know him quite as well as I thought. This idea makes me a little uneasy, but that feeling is quickly dispelled as I imagine the fun we’ll have getting to know each other better.

To: kaitlyn.best@newzmail.co.uk

From: alexanderriley9987@premiernet.co.uk

Sent: Sat, 10 Sept 2016 at 22:56

Subject: SEE YOU!

Dearest Katie,

I’m sorry if my replies to your emails have been so brief lately. I’ve been really busy at work. I promise to make it up to you. Maybe I can do that very soon …

I’ve got a proposition for you: would you do me the honour of dining with me one evening? I have a supplier in Exeter and he has just brought out a whole new collection of sports clothing, which I’d like to go and see for myself. I’m planning to go down by train next month. If you’d like to meet up, I can time it so it’s on a day when you’re working at the university. I’d love to meet up with you again after all these years!

Now I know we’ve been getting kinky in our emails recently (I love it when you talk dirty – you’re so hot!) and I know you wanted to try and slow things down a bit, but I assure you that I can be the perfect gentleman and I’ll be on my best behaviour. I’m just asking you to let me take you … out for a meal.

If you don’t think this is a good idea, please say so. If I walked through the door of a restaurant with you on my arm (or at my side) I would probably burst with pride anyway, so you’ll be saving me from that fate if you turn me down.

What do you think?

See you soon, maybe?

Alexxx

Chapter 3

~

I’m panicking. Where on earth is it? I’m sure I put it in this drawer, but I can’t have because it’s not there now. ‘Shit!’ I open the other drawers and rummage around, but I can’t find it anywhere. ‘Bollocks!’

Julie and Hannah come into my bedroom to see what all the swearing is about. I fill them in. ‘But don’t tell Alex,’ I hiss at them. ‘He wants me to wear it tomorrow. He’ll be upset.’

I check my jewellery box again before giving up the hunt. With a sigh, I plop down on the bed, feeling a stab of guilt about misplacing his gift.

‘We’ll look for it later,’ Julie says. ‘It has to be here somewhere.’

‘Yeah, don’t worry, sweetie.’ Hannah puts one reassuring hand on my arm and pushes her dark frizzy hair away from her face with her other hand. ‘Wait until he’s out of the house this evening, then we’ll ransack it if we need to. We’ll find it.’

‘OK,’ I say. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

The three of us are keen to escape and do our last-minute shopping in Keswick, a local town, which I know my sister and my best friend will fall in love with, as I have. Before leaving, we pop into the kitchen, where Alex and my dad are talking, to say goodbye. Dad is sitting at the table, smiling and seemingly more carefree than I’ve seen him in a long time, and Alex is standing at the worktop, his hands covered in flour, making an apple crumble.

A mixture of love and pride suddenly surges inside me. Here are the two men I adore most, in my kitchen, chatting as if they’ve known each other for more than ten years instead of less than one day. I take six mugs out of the cupboard, stealing a glance at Alex. He looks incredibly attractive, even in an apron. And, evidently, he has made my dad feel welcome. Alex catches me staring at him and winks.

Jet, my dad’s black Labrador, is lying on the floor with his nose on his owner’s feet.

Alex kisses my cheek as he waits for me to fill up the kettle, and then he washes his hands at the sink.

‘All right, fella?’ he says, bending down to pat Jet on the head.

I turn away, hiding my grin from Alex, as he pulls out a chair and sits down at the table with Dad. Images flash before my eyes of our walk a few weeks ago and I remember Alex confessing that he was scared of that woman’s little dog. Yet here he is, making an effort to get on with my dad by making friends with Jet. A sure way to Dad’s heart.

Jet was Julie’s idea. A rescue dog, it was in fact Jet that rescued my dad. He was about two years old when we chose him from the RSPCA shelter seven or eight years ago. Julie’s sons had given Dad a reason to go on after Mum’s death, but although his smile was as permanent a feature on Dad’s face as his deep worry lines, it wasn’t until he had Jet that Dad’s smile reached his eyes.

Watching Alex, who is still stroking the dog, I feel very grateful to him for all he has done for my family since they arrived last night. He has gone to great lengths to impress them all and he has been punctilious in providing every comfort he can think of for our guests. Yesterday, he cooked a delicious dinner, topped up everyone’s glasses with wine throughout the meal, and was charming and witty the whole evening. He has even won over my best friend Hannah, who usually takes a while to warm to people she has just met, particularly men.

Julie saunters back into the kitchen after taking a mug of tea into the living room for Daniel, her husband, who is watching a DVD of Rogue One with their two sons. ‘What are you going to do while we’re out, Dad?’ she asks.

‘We men are all going for a walk,’ Alex answers for him. ‘I’d like to show everyone around Grasmere and we’ll all get some fresh air.’

‘Jet could do with some exercise,’ Dad adds. ‘He was stuck in the car for hours yesterday.’

Julie, Hannah and I finally speed away in my getaway Citroën C3, gravel flying up as I accelerate down the drive. Hannah has made me a playlist with Eighties and Nineties music as, like her, I grew up during those decades. She has plugged her iPod into the car stereo and all three of us are rocking the Casbah at the tops of our respective lungs. I am happy, excited, and, if I’m honest, a little anxious as well.

Twenty minutes later, Julie voices what is still niggling me as I pull into a space in the car park.

‘You’re certain about getting married, are you?’ she asks. I’ve always admired my elder sister for her frankness. She speaks her mind and sometimes it’s not easy to hear, but I appreciate her open honesty. ‘I know you want your child to grow up with both parents, but this isn’t just a shotgun wedding, is it?’

‘I’m nervous about the big day,’ I reply, ‘but I love Alex so much.’

It’s a bit more than pre-wedding nerves. I keep thinking I’m rushing into this marriage blindfolded, even though everything feels so right with Alex. Most of the time.

‘Hmm, I can understand why,’ my sister says, her eyes sparkling, and I can tell she’s satisfied with my answer.

‘He’s perfect for you,’ Hannah agrees. Her words move me because she’s always been very fond of Kevin and she gave me a hard time when I left him for Alex. I understood where she was coming from. Kevin is such a loving person; I can’t explain – to Hannah or even to myself – why I didn’t love him enough.

A lump comes to my throat and I give Hannah’s hand a quick squeeze, not trusting myself to speak. We all get out of the car and I head for the Pay & Display machine, putting an end to the conversation.

As I’d predicted, both my sister and my friend adore Keswick. It’s a shame they didn’t arrive earlier yesterday; they would have loved the market. A chocolate fountain in a shop window catches Hannah’s eye and she gives in to temptation and buys a box of chocolate fudge. Julie and I have a facial and get manicures while Hannah chatters away, her mouth full of her recent purchase. Hannah is a hairdresser, and although her hair is usually an unruly mess, her skin is flawless and her nails are always impeccable.

The beauty salon is not far from Alex’s shop, and it also happens to be opposite a pub, so we have a late lunch there. Afterwards, we wander around town a bit more, then decide to head back to the Old Vicarage.

As I open the front door, a wonderful smell floats towards us – a mixture of cinnamon and thyme. It’s not long before we’re sitting at the table eating again. I’m still full from lunch, but Alex has gone to a lot of trouble cooking and I eat as much of the roast dinner and crumble as I can. My round tummy has been protruding very noticeably for a couple of months now, so it’s not as if I was trying to keep slim for my wedding day.

After dinner, Alex gets his overnight bag ready and slings his suit, in a protective cover, over his shoulder. He has made arrangements to stay at his best man’s house.

‘You won’t change your mind?’ I ask hopefully.

‘A groom shouldn’t see his bride on the big day before she walks down the aisle – or, in our case, into the register office,’ he says. ‘It’s bad luck.’

I know he’s not superstitious, any more than I am, but I expect he’ll go out for a few drinks with his mates and enjoy his last few hours of bachelorhood.

‘As long as you don’t have too much fun, then,’ I say, pretending to pout.

He gives me a tender kiss and now I wish more than ever that he’d sleep next to me tonight. I tell myself that at least this way I’ll get some time alone with my family and my best friend. I haven’t seen them for about two months, and I’ve missed them.

As soon as he has gone, Julie and Hannah appear from the living room and usher me upstairs to my bedroom.

‘Right, let’s get to work,’ Hannah says, picking up books from my bedside table and checking under them.

The missing necklace has been crouching in the back of my mind all day, and I’m thankful that Julie and Hannah haven’t forgotten about it either.

We’ve been searching upstairs for a while when Daniel offers to help. He rallies together Oscar and Archie, who were starting to bicker over a board game, but a full hour later we give up. Upstairs, we’ve checked under the beds, in all the cupboards, drawers and bathroom cabinets. Hannah went as far as to search inside my shoes and in my coat pockets in the wardrobe. And downstairs, Daniel and the boys have looked under the sofas, in the built-in cupboards and on the bookcases. Daniel says he has even checked in the laundry basket, washing machine and tumble dryer.

We’ve looked everywhere. And at least twice in most places.

Well, nearly everywhere.

‘So, do you want to open that box?’ Julie asks.

We found a cardboard box in the wardrobe of the bedroom with the peach walls, where my sister and brother-in-law are sleeping. I know Julie wants to open it, not because she thinks the necklace might be in there, but out of simple curiosity about what actually is inside.

‘No. I can’t imagine where the necklace has got to, but it can’t possibly have got into the box,’ I say. ‘It’s all taped up.’

‘I wonder what’s in there,’ Hannah muses.

‘Maybe stuff belonging to Alex’s daughters,’ I say.

‘You’d think that would be stored in their room,’ Julie says.

My nephews are sleeping in Poppy and Violet’s bedroom. Alex wasn’t happy about it, but the other guestrooms were going to be taken by Hannah, Dad, and Julie and Daniel. So that only left Alex’s daughters’ room.

‘It’s not as if it’s used,’ I’d pointed out, regretting it instantly as Alex’s face clouded over.

For a second I thought he might get angry, although he has never raised his voice at me, but in the end, he said, ‘You’re right.’ And that was that.

Julie goes in there now. The boys are aged twelve and ten, but she still tucks them in. When she has finished, she joins Hannah and me in my bedroom.

‘It’s a creepy bedroom,’ she comments, thumbing over her shoulder towards the door.

‘Oh, yeah, those fairies flying around all over the walls would give anyone nightmares,’ Hannah quips.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask Julie, although I realise I’m not at all surprised at her observation.

‘Well, for a start, the bookcase has sharp angles and it’s shooting poison arrows directly at the bed on the right, which is aligned with the door.’

‘Why is that bad?’

‘It’s like lying in a coffin when you’re about to be carried out feet first.’

I shudder, even as I think how ridiculous that all sounds.

‘Then the headboards are partially blocking both windows,’ Julie continues. ‘That creates negative energy. And you sleep badly with your head under a window, anyway. There’s an awful lot of clutter in there, which doesn’t help. Far too much Sha Chi altogether.’

Until now, I’ve always been flippant about my sister’s firm belief in feng shui. To me, it seems out of character for her as she’s usually so sensible and rational. I want to ask her how to remove the negative energy, but Hannah changes the subject.

‘So, what are we going to do about the necklace? Have you got another one?’

‘The only other one I have was a present from Kevin. I can’t possibly wear that.’ I bite my lip, pushing away the feeling of guilt that accompanies every thought I have of my ex-boyfriend.

‘The one with the letters “K” and “K” entwined?’ Julie raises her eyebrows. ‘No, you certainly cannot.’ She strides out of the room without explanation and I wonder if I’ve upset her. I look at Hannah, who shrugs.

‘Here you are. Wear this,’ Julie says, appearing seconds later, holding out a gold chain with a diamond pendant. ‘It was Mum’s.’

Tears spring to my eyes. ‘Are you sure it’s OK?’

‘Of course I’m sure, Kaitlyn. I brought it here in case you wanted to wear it for your wedding day. I didn’t know Alex had given you a heart for the occasion.’ She pauses, clearly replaying her sentence in her head. Hannah snorts. ‘You know what I mean,’ Julie says.

She puts the chain around my neck and does up the clasp. ‘There. Now you won’t lose this one.’

‘Thank you,’ I say.

A few minutes later, when Dad, Julie and Daniel have all gone to bed, Hannah and I are both in our pyjamas and Hannah is waltzing around my bedroom trying to talk round the toothbrush in her mouth.

‘I can’t make out a word you’re saying.’ I start to giggle.

She goes into my en suite bathroom. I hear her gargle, and then she materialises in the doorway, her eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

‘Who do all those bottles belong to?’ she says.

‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, my tired brain conjuring up images of wine bottles, even though I haven’t drunk any alcohol for months.

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334 s. 7 illüstrasyon
ISBN:
9780008297602
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HarperCollins
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