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Chapter 3
Aunty Julia was my dad’s sister, the closest relative I had outside Elden. Since I was a little girl, when Dad and I had visited regularly to fish in the lake, I’d thought of the little whitewashed cottage and my aunty’s smiling presence as things that meant safety. It had always felt more like home than the stark, minimalist innards of my mum’s house.
I still made the trip up whenever I could and Aunty Julia, who had no kids of her own, always welcomed me with child-like excitement. Whether she’d do the same today, I wasn’t sure.
As I knocked at the door, a vivid picture of little me wading in the shallows of Wastwater with my jeans rolled to the knee, clutching a jam jar full of minnows while Dad did the grown-up fishing and Aunty Julia laid out a picnic on the bank, popped up in my mind. It made me smile in spite of everything. The fishing trips were my happiest memories, although since losing Dad they often came with a tear served on the side.
I waited impatiently for Aunty Julia to let me in. Even though I was a good hundred miles from Butterfield Farm where, if I was lucky, my family and friends were still enjoying a wedding reception they hadn’t noticed was now Kittyless, I felt paranoid being out in the open air, ultra-conspicuous in my daft bloody ballgown.
‘Hello, can I – oh my goodness!’ Aunty Julia said when she answered my knock, her eyes widening. ‘Kitty, look at you! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Hiya.’ I bent over her wheelchair to give her a kiss.
‘Is Ethan with you? I don’t understand, Kitty. Why aren’t you at the reception?’
‘Can I come in before we get into all that?’
‘Yes,’ she said, blinking. ‘Yes, of course, my love. Come through to the front room.’
I followed her in and took a seat on the sofa.
‘How did you get here, dear? Where’s Ethan? How will you get back?’ She didn’t seem to know which question to fire at me first.
‘Ethan’s at the reception. I got here in an orange campervan with an Irish children’s author and his pregnant karaoke-singing dog. And I’m not going back.’
‘What do you mean, you’re not going back?’
My stomach gave a growl, its way of reminding me that even fugitives needed to eat. I hadn’t had a bite since pre-wedding nerves had kicked in to hurl yesterday’s lunch down the loo the evening before. I’d been feeling pretty sick all day, first with nerves and then the shock I’d got at the reception, and my energy levels were drained.
‘Have you got any biscuits, Aunty J? Or a ham sandwich or something? I’m starved.’
‘Yes.’ She recovered herself slightly. ‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll make us some tea and see what I have in.’
She wheeled herself to the specially adapted open-plan kitchen, coming back ten minutes later with a plate of chocolate digestives, some finger sandwiches and a steaming mug of tea each. I tucked in ravenously.
‘Don’t wolf it down like that, Kitty. You’ll make yourself sick.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, gulping down a sandwich. ‘Not eaten for twenty-four hours.’
She scanned my crumpled clothes and tangled hair with concern. ‘No offence, dear, but you look like you’ve fallen out of a bird’s nest. What on earth have you been doing with yourself?’
I felt a wave of nausea as I gagged on the last bite of sandwich, but I forced it down.
‘I’ve been hitch-hiking,’ I said. ‘Bit of an experience. Still, one thing I can cross off my bucket list, eh?’
‘Don’t joke, Kitty. This is serious.’
‘You’ve got no idea,’ I said through a mouthful of digestive.
‘What did you mean when you said you weren’t going home?’
‘What I said. I can’t go back, Aunty.’ The mental picture of what I’d seen at the reception rose up in my mind, and I choked on a sob. ‘I’m never going back.’
‘But why?’
‘Something happened. At the wedding reception. Something… something really bad.’
‘With Ethan?’ Her eyes were round. ‘Did he hurt you, Kitty? He didn’t, did he? Surely not.’
In her free time, Aunty Julia volunteered at a women’s refuge, and she had her own bit of history in that department too – dear departed Uncle Ken, widely known among the family as ‘that bastard’. So it was no great surprise that violence was her first thought.
‘Nothing like that.’ I tried to push back my tears, but they wouldn’t stop coming.
‘Then what? Was there – you didn’t find him with someone else?’
I turned my face away to gaze out of the window. ‘I’d really rather not talk about it just yet. It’s… kind of raw.’
She stared at me for a moment, mouth open, as if she was struggling to take it all in.
‘But you can’t just run away,’ she said at last. ‘What about your mother? She’ll be worried sick.’
‘She’ll cope,’ I muttered.
‘Let me call her, dear. She can take you home, and if Ethan’s done something—’ Her brow lowered. ‘Well, never you mind about that. He won’t be able to hurt you, we’ll see to it.’
‘No,’ I said sharply. ‘No. I don’t want you to call her. Please.’
‘But she’ll be so anxious when she finds you’re gone. At least let me tell her you’re safe. Then you can stay here for a few days until you’re calmer and we can work out what to do when you get home.’
‘I told you, I’m not going home.’
‘Then where will you go?’
I flushed. ‘Well, I was hoping I could stay here. Just for a little while, until I can make a new start somewhere.’
She shook her head, bewildered. ‘A new start! Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? I mean, your job. Your friends, your family, your house…’
‘It’s Ethan’s house. And there’s nothing in that life I want to go back for now.’
‘You can’t let him chase you away, Kitty. Elden’s your home.’
‘Not any more.’ I finally surrendered and let the tears flow. ‘I can give up or I can start again, Aunty J. And really, I just want to give up. But something won’t let me.’
‘Oh, Kitty…’
She wheeled herself closer and put her arm around me. She had that comforting smell she always had, a combination of some floral perfume and the spicy aniseed tang of the cream she used for muscle pain.
‘Now, don’t you worry about a thing,’ she said gently. ‘What can I do for you, my love? Tell me what you need from me.’
‘Can I stay? Just for a bit.’
‘Of course you can, for as long as you want to. But I wish you’d let me call your mother. You need to be with your family.’
‘You’re my family.’
She smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose I am. Well, dear, how about you go upstairs and run yourself a bubble bath? Get out of that silly dress and into a nice fluffy bathrobe while I make us something yummy for tea? You need something a bit more substantial than ham sandwiches, I think. You’re looking very peaky.’
I sniffed, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘That sounds nice.’ I pecked her cheek. ‘Thanks, Aunty, I knew I could count on you. Love you.’
Upstairs in the bathroom, a huge corner bath gaped welcomingly. I turned on the hot tap, and watched as the steaming jet started to fill the tub. There was some lavender-fragranced bubble bath next to the tap, so I threw a bit in.
God, it was nice to feel safe again. Grounded.
I pulled off my wellies, then glanced down at my dress, which was a bit worse for wear by now.
I remembered the day I’d got it; how excited I’d been at the colour, the cut, the fit. Nan had been with me. I could picture her zipping me into it and the quaint little blessing she’d muttered in the accent that even after fifty years in Yorkshire, still had a trace of County Kerry about it – ‘health to wear it, strength to tear it, money to buy another’. Then she’d kissed me, told me I was beautiful. Told me how proud my dad would’ve been if he’d been around to see me.
I wished I could call her, just to hear her voice for five minutes.
I hunted around the bathroom for a towel, but there didn’t seem to be any. Opening the door, I went to ask Aunty Julia where she kept them these days.
At the top of the stairs, I stopped. I could hear muttered speech. Who was she talking to? Glancing down, I saw her on the phone in the hallway.
‘Yes, she’s here, safe and sound,’ she was saying in a low voice. ‘No, she won’t tell me. Ethan must really have done something terrible to get her into that state. Complete breakdown, it looks like.’
She paused while the person on the other end of the line said something.
‘No, you never trusted him, did you? I should’ve listened. But Kitty was so besotted with him, and he seemed such a nice boy, I did think… ah well. I suppose my record’s against me.’ She sighed. ‘Poor little girl. What can we do for her now?’
Another pause, then:
‘Are you sure? She seems quite adamant she doesn’t want to go home. Of course, she’ll calm down after a few days, but maybe she’s better off here until then?’
She paused again. ‘Okay, if you’re positive it’s for the best, you’d better come and fetch her. I’ll look after her till you get here. Bye, Petra.’
I stiffened, then dashed back into the bathroom to yank my wellies back on.
My stomach lurched painfully, and I threw myself over the toilet bowl as the sandwiches I’d just eaten came back up. When I’d retched out the entire contents of my gut, I flushed the loo and rinsed my mouth out over the sink, staring at the pale alien looking back at me from the mirror.
I couldn’t believe it! She’d only gone and called Mum, after I’d specifically asked her not to! Aunty Julia, the one person I’d really believed would be on my side; the person I loved and trusted most out of everyone.
But there was no time to reflect on my second sickening betrayal of the day. From the sounds of it, my mum was already heading this way to take me home.
I had to get out.
Quietly I turned the bathroom lock to shut myself in. Then I opened the window and looked down.
Yep. It was happening. I was going to do something I’d only ever seen in films, something that twenty-four hours ago I could never have imagined myself doing.
I was going to shin down a drainpipe. In my wedding dress and wellies, like some low-budget Yorkshire remake of Kill Bill.
I eyed the iron drainpipe with trepidation. I didn’t have much time: if Mum set off right away she could be here in two hours, and I wanted to be as far away as possible by then. But I’d never climbed down a drainpipe before, and although I asked myself how hard it could really be, the ground seemed a long way off.
‘Kitty! Do you need a towel?’ Aunty Julia’s voice sailed up.
‘Er, no,’ I called back. ‘Managed to find one, thanks.’
Okay, that settled it. I needed to get out, before she cottoned on that something was up.
I turned off the taps. It might take Aunty Julia a while to work out I was gone, and I didn’t want to end up flooding her house.
Clambering up onto the sink as quietly as possible, I leaned out of the window to grab the drainpipe with both hands, my enormous flared skirt billowing over the porcelain. With a huge effort and a barely suppressed squeal, I managed to manoeuvre myself out, supporting my weight as best I could.
Still, as I scrambled down the pipe, trying not to look at the ground, it was really less of a climb than a slide. When I got to the bottom, the skin of both hands was friction-burnt and painful, little pieces of black paint dotting the palms where they’d embedded themselves in my flesh. I’d managed to tear my dress too, but that was the least of my worries.
Health to wear it, strength to tear it, money to buy another…
Money. I patted my bosom, where the £50 Jack had lent me was stashed in my bra. Thank God I hadn’t talked him into taking it back. It was all that was standing between me and complete destitution right now.
I started walking towards the road. Once I was out of sight of the house, I broke into a sprint. My plan was to get as far away as possible on foot, out of sight of Aunty Julia and any of her neighbours and friends who might recognise me, before I tried hitching another lift. Christ only knew where I’d end up spending the night. Hopefully there’d be a youth hostel or something that wouldn’t dent my £50 too much. As for what would happen to me after that, I had no idea. All I knew was, I’d rather sleep rough than go back to the place that used to be my home.
Chapter 4
Once I was a good mile clear of the cottage, I had my second go at hitch-hiking. It took a lot longer to get a lift this time – I think I probably looked a bit scary, with make-up all down my face and a big rip in my dress. But eventually a kind elderly couple, who obviously thought I was some sort of eccentric debutante who’d fallen on hard times, picked me up. They were heading to Keswick in northern Lakeland, a reasonable distance away, and offered to drop me off.
‘Where do you want to be, my dear?’ the old lady asked gently when we were nearly there. She said everything gently, so as not to get the lunatic in the ballgown too excited.
‘Um… is there a pub near here? One that does cheap meals?’ After throwing up my sandwiches I was starving again, and I needed somewhere warm to hole up while I worked out where I was going to sleep. Hopefully the bar staff would know if there was a hostel nearby.
‘The Shepherd’s Rest,’ her husband said promptly. ‘Main meal and a pint for £8 on Thursdays. Great ale selection too.’
‘Trust you to know that.’ The woman rolled her eyes at me. ‘No drunk like an old drunk, I always say.’
I forced a smile.
Ten minutes later, they dropped me off outside and I waved them goodbye.
The Shepherd’s Rest was a sweet country pub, all whitewash and mock-Tudor. The sign over the half-timbered front showed a cloth-capped old gent slumbering near a flock of Herdwicks, and a chalkboard by the entrance declared ‘Well Behaved Dog’s & Badly Behaved Women Welcome!!!’
Through the door, I could see an unseasonal but welcoming log fire and a wealth of brass and mahogany. On the mantelpiece were the obligatory pair of china spaniels, beloved of nanas and country pub landlords the world over, with an old shotgun and a moth-eaten fox’s head mounted overhead. A brass plaque above the doorframe said, ‘Duck or grouse – mind your head!!’, while a mock specials board on the wall announced, ‘Soup of the Day: Beer!!!’ The landlord was clearly a man who liked his gags old-school and heavy on the exclamation marks.
There’s something about the pub after a day on the move, isn’t there? The way it glows with warmth and welcome, the door propped open invitingly. I think it calls out to the traveller in all of us, the one who longs to lay down his pack and rest away from the elements a while.
I ventured in, too cold and hungry to care what impression my bedraggled appearance was likely to make on the other customers. To his credit though, the young barman didn’t say a word when I approached him.
‘What can I get you, love?’ he asked politely.
‘Just a tap water.’ I didn’t want to waste the only cash I had in the world on alcohol, much as I could’ve murdered a glass of wine. ‘And a menu, please.’
‘Sorry. We stopped serving food half an hour ago.’
It was only a little thing. But it was the last little thing in a long day of pretty big things, and something inside me just broke.
I burst into tears.
‘Er, hey,’ the lad said, his eyes widening. Hysterical customers in ballgowns clearly hadn’t been part of barman basic training. ‘No need to take it so hard.’ He grabbed a packet of dry-roasted peanuts from behind him and slapped them down on the bar. ‘Here. On the house.’
‘Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve had a rough day.’
There was something cold and wet pressing against the sore palm dangling at my side. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and glanced down to find a chubby yellow mongrel with its nose against me, tail wagging like we were old friends.
I frowned. ‘Whose dog is this?’
‘Still mine,’ a voice behind me said. ‘And we really must stop meeting like this.’
The surge of relief at hearing Jack’s voice was so strong I could’ve hugged him. Yes, I’d only met him a few hours ago, but in that whole long day of betrayals and heartbreak, it felt like he was the one person who’d been unequivocally on my side.
‘Oh God, I’m glad to see you,’ I said with a shaky smile.
‘Me too. You owe me fifty quid.’ He nodded to the barman. ‘Another pint, Ryan, and whatever the lady’s having.’
‘I already ordered a tap water.’
‘Well now I’m buying. What do you really want?’
‘I’d commit mass murder for a glass of white wine,’ I admitted.
‘Then it’s yours. Can’t have you turning to crime.’ He glanced at the packet of peanuts on the bar. ‘That’s not your dinner, is it?’
‘It’ll have to be. They’ve stopped serving food.’
‘You can manage a little something, can’t you, Ry?’ Jack asked with a winning smile.
Ryan looked unsure. ‘Dunno, Jack. Dad’ll go spare if I start taking special orders after hours.’
‘He won’t, not if you tell him it’s for me. Go on, I’ll explain to your dad.’
‘Well… okay. Just this once then.’
‘Good lad. Cumberland sausage in a giant Yorkshire for Kitty then, please.’ He nodded to me. ‘If that’s okay by you. Best thing on the menu, I swear.’
‘Um, yeah,’ I said, blinking dazedly. ‘Anything.’
Jack tapped the lad’s arm as he turned to go to the kitchen. ‘And can you ask the chef to serve the gravy properly, not in one of those daft pipette things? She wants to eat, not perform animal husbandry.’
‘All right, no need to be a diva about it,’ Ryan muttered as he headed off to break the bad news to the chef.
‘Gentrification. You can’t get away from it,’ Jack said with a smile when Ryan had gone. ‘So you want to join me?’
‘Are you alone?’
‘Yep. Just me and Sandy.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
I followed him to a little table, a newspaper spread over it, and took a seat opposite. Jack folded up the paper and pushed it to one side.
‘Never thought I’d see you again,’ I said. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same question.’ He nodded at young Ryan behind the bar. ‘Ryan’s dad Matty is an old friend. Another Irishman from my neck of the woods. I always stop by when I’m in the area.’ He scanned me with a concerned gaze. ‘You look a bit more dishevelled than the last time I saw you.’
‘Mmm. Slid down a drainpipe. It wasn’t nearly as cool as it looks in Ghostbusters.’ I held up my hands to show him the red, tender skin, spots of blood standing out against it where the jagged old pipe had torn into the flesh.
‘Shit! What happened?’
‘My aunty, she… she bloody Landoed me, Jack. Called my mum to take me home when I’d told her I wouldn’t go back.’ I gave my head an angry shake. ‘I can’t believe she did that to me. Out of everyone, she was… God.’ I held back a sob. ‘I’m a total mess.’
Aunty Julia’s betrayal probably would’ve stung a lot harder if it wasn’t for everything else that’d happened that day. Still, it gnawed, with a dull but steady intensity. Since Dad had passed away, she’d been the one person I’d always believed I could rely on in a crisis.
‘So you ran away again then.’ Jack’s tone was concerned, but it was calm too. No nonsense, it said. I liked it.
‘Yeah. I’m getting pretty expert at it.’
‘Quite the adventure you’re having today.’ He took my hands in his to examine the palms. ‘These are really sore, Kitty. You should get something on them.’
‘Haven’t had time to think about that,’ I said, gingerly lifting my wine glass to my lips with my fingertips. On an empty stomach, the alcohol was going straight to my head, making my brain fluffy. Good.
‘They could use some antiseptic. You don’t want the cuts to get infected.’
‘Well, hopefully they’ll have something at the youth hostel.’
‘What youth hostel?’
‘There’s one near here, isn’t there?’
‘About ten miles away, but I doubt you’ll get a bed if you haven’t booked in. They fill up fast in the Lakes.’
‘Of course they do,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Why wouldn’t they? Perfect end to a perfect day.’
‘So was that your plan? Youth hostelling?’
‘Haven’t really got a plan. I just wanted a bed for a couple of days, till I could get something sorted.’
‘Such as?’
I sighed. ‘God knows. There’s a few old friends I could ring round. One of them must have a sofa I can kip on for a bit.’
‘And then what will you do?’
‘Start again.’ I tried to focus on the open fire, which had gone a bit blurry. ‘Suppose I’d need a job first. And then… well, one day at a time.’
‘Hmm.’
He looked concerned, but before we could discuss it any further, Ryan came over with a steaming plate of food.
The Cumberland sausage smelled amazing, the rich fragrance of red wine gravy and roast onions taunting my poor growling tummy. The pain in my palms forced me to eat slowly this time, and I savoured every mouthful. By the time I’d half-demolished an enormous, fluffy Yorkshire and nearly finished my wine, my emotional state felt ever so slightly more stable. Or it would’ve done, if it wasn’t for the nagging worry that in just a few hours I was going to officially join the ranks of Britain’s rough sleepers.
‘Thanks for this, Jack,’ I said through a mouthful of Yorkshire pud. ‘Don’t know what I would’ve done without you today.’
‘So where will you sleep?’
‘No idea,’ I admitted. ‘Can’t afford a B&B. Bus shelter, probably.’
‘Now come on.’ He glanced at my bare arms and shoulders. ‘You’d be a popsicle by morning.’
It was unseasonably chilly for May. I shuffled my chair ever so slightly closer to the open fire.
‘I’ll live,’ I muttered.
‘And what about tomorrow night? And the one after that?’
‘I’ll… something’ll turn up. Like I said, I’ve got a few friends I can try.’ I didn’t have a mobile, but there was bound to be a phone box somewhere in town.
‘You’re really positive you can’t go home?’ Jack asked.
‘I’m never going home.’ I glared at the Yorkshire pud, the symbol of my people, and ripped into it with my fork. ‘I’d rather sleep rough.’
‘I couldn’t let you do that.’
I glanced up at him. Concern was etched all over his features. It was reassuring, feeling there was someone looking out for me. Instinctively I started eating more slowly, fearing the inevitable moment when our impromptu dinner date would be over and the kind stranger who’d twice come to my rescue now would disappear out of my life for good.
‘Why’re you being so nice to me, Jack?’ I asked. ‘You only met me a few hours ago.’
He shrugged. ‘Always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.’ He jerked his head towards Sandy, spread-eagled at his feet like a dogskin rug – the best she could probably manage with a tummy full of puppies. ‘That’s how I ended up with her ladyship here. Isn’t it, eh, old girl?’ He leaned down to tickle her between the ears.
‘What, she was a damsel in distress?’
‘In her little doggy way. I picked her up as a stray pup, living rough on the streets of Leeds. Been mistreated, I’d guess from the state of her. Abandoned, or run away from home.’ He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Sound familiar?’
‘Heh. A bit.’
‘That’s more like it,’ Jack said as I mopped up my remaining gravy with the last mouthful of Yorkshire pud. ‘You look a bit more human now.’
‘Yeah, I feel a lot better. Thanks, Jack.’
‘Dessert?’
‘Kitchen’s closed, isn’t it?’
‘Ryan’ll sort it, long as I ask nicely. Sticky toffee pudding? Local delicacy, you know.’
‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘Ice cream on the side?’
‘No, Jack. It’s too naughty.’
‘Right so.’ He beckoned to Ryan. ‘I’ll just ask for my usual two portions then, at the risk of ruining my girlish figure. And if you change your mind, I’m sure I can spare one.’
He bloody did as well, he got two portions. Ten minutes later, he’d twisted my arm with no great effort and we were both tucking into a plateful of moist sponge bathed in caramel sauce.
‘My mum’d go spare if she saw me eating this,’ I told him, chasing a spoonful round my plate.
‘Aren’t you a bit big to have your mam telling you you’re not allowed afters?’
‘Mmm,’ I said, fork hovering halfway to my mouth. ‘She’s obsessed with calorie-counting. Always watching her figure.’
‘What, and yours?’
‘Yeah. She’s… well, you’d really have to meet her to get it.’ I swallowed a mouthful of pudding with a liberating feeling of defiance. ‘But let’s not talk about her.’
‘Okay, you pick a conversation topic.’
‘Tell me about you then, dark and mysterious man,’ I said, smiling. ‘Are you allowed to just drive around the country drawing? Thought you had to have a visa or something.’
‘Not for Ireland. Anyway, I’ve got British and Irish passports.’
‘Really? How come?’
‘My mam’s English.’ He glanced warily around the pub. ‘Although I like to keep it quiet, obviously.’
‘Cheekiness. Where’s she from?’
‘Hackney. She moved to Ireland when she was tiny though. Lives up in Scotland now.’
‘Ha!’
‘What do you mean, ha?’
‘You’re a cockney.’
He drew himself up. ‘How dare you. I am as full-blooded an Irishman as you’ll meet today.’
‘I knew it was all an act. I knew I’d seen you earlier at the bar.’
‘Seen me what?’
‘Doing the Lambeth walk.’
‘I don’t even know what the Lambeth walk is.’
‘I bet soon as you’re back in the camper, you’ll be guzzling jellied eels and having a knees-up round the old Joanna.’
‘The old what?’
‘And I spotted those Chas and Dave albums hidden in the sofa earlier, by the way.’
Jack grinned. ‘Okay, you’ve got me there. I do love Chas and Dave.’
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘See, I knew sticky toffee would do the trick,’ he said, laughing. ‘If you’re teasing me about East End folk duos, you must be feeling better.’
‘I am.’ I smiled at him. ‘You’re good at this, aren’t you? Cheering people up. After the day I’ve had, I never thought I’d be able to laugh again.’
‘When the stormclouds gather, pudding. Ancient Irish proverb.’
‘Ancient cockney proverb.’
‘Oi. Less of the backchat, my girl, or I might rethink my offer of a sleepover.’
I frowned. ‘Sleepover?’
‘Well, yeah. I’m not going to let you walk the streets, am I? You might get eaten by a feral Herdwick. Vicious feckers, the sheep round here.’
I hesitated. When he said sleepover, did he mean sleepover or did he mean, you know… sleepover? I mean, I did trust him, but… well, he was still a stranger. And a man.
He smiled, reading my expression. ‘No ulterior motive, I promise. I’ll put a camp bed up in the awning for me. And if you want to stay a few days while you make a plan, you can. I’ll look after you.’
‘Why though?’
‘Because you’ve got no money and nowhere to go and I’m not a complete bastard.’ He glanced at my sore palms. ‘And not to be personal, but I’m not sure your mental state’s any too stable right now either. I don’t want to leave you alone.’
‘I’m not your problem.’
‘I’m making you my problem. Just until you get back on your feet.’
The sense of relief that there was someone in my corner, someone who wanted to help, was palpable. The feeling that it wasn’t just me against the world any more surged through me like warm caramel.
‘Thank you,’ I said in a small voice. ‘I’ll pay you back for all this. Just as soon as… as something happens. I don’t know what, but something.’
‘Nothing happens but what we make happen.’ He pushed his plate away and stood up. ‘And tomorrow is the first day of making the rest of your life happen, superhero Kitty Clayton. Come on.’
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