Contents

Title Page

About the Book

PART ONE: A Summer Surprise

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

About the Author

Copyright

About the Book

This is part one in a heartwarming four-part serial from Helen Rolfe, author of The Little Village Library.

A little kindness can go a long way …

Veronica’s cottage is the neatest house on Mapleberry Lane. A place for everything, and everything in its place – that’s her motto. But within her wisteria-covered walls, Veronica has a secret: she’s hardly left her perfect home in years.

Then her teenage granddaughter, Audrey, arrives on her doorstep, and Veronica’s orderly life is turned upside down. With a little help from the residents of Mapleberry Lane, Audrey forms a plan to help her gran reconnect with the community: a kindness club, carrying out one generous action a day to make their world a better place – and perhaps help each other at the same time.

As their small acts of kindness begin to ripple through the village, both Veronica and Audrey find that with each passing day, they feel a little braver. There’s just one task left before the end of the year: to make Veronica’s own secret wish come true …

The Kindness Club on Mapleberry Lane is an uplifting story with community at its heart, about the little kindnesses that make the world a better place. This is Part One.

PART ONE

A Summer Surprise

Chapter One

Veronica

A knock on the door would once have had the power to turn her legs to jelly, make her palms clammy and root her feet to the spot. But not anymore. And that, Veronica Bentley guessed, was what you called ‘progress’.

She put down the knife she was using to butter her sandwich and went to see who it was. As always, she peeked through the sitting-room shutters – the tilt of the wooden slats was a great invention, letting you spy without being seen – but when she saw it was little Layla from number twenty-five, she rushed to answer the dove-white front door to her home.

Through the open door came the smell of summer – freshly cut lawns, floral scent from the flowerbeds, birdsong – and the chirpy voice of Layla, an eight-year-old filled with more confidence than Veronica had been able to muster for years. ‘It’s me!’ said Layla from behind an enormous box.

‘I’m only seventy-one – my eyesight isn’t failing me just yet, thank you.’ Veronica ushered her inside. ‘And what do we have here?’

‘I’ve brought you carrots, onions, a lettuce and tomatoes. All grown at home,’ Layla added proudly. She rarely waited before she launched into colourful conversation.

Veronica took the wooden vegetable crate with VEG stamped onto the side. ‘It’s heavy – how did you carry this all the way?’ She went through to the kitchen and set it onto the round wooden table.

‘I’m stronger than I look.’

She was so serious, Veronica had to stifle a laugh. If there was one thing this girl brought to her life, it was her effervescent personality. ‘What’s your dad up to today?’ Veronica knew Charlie would have stood at his front door, watching his daughter walk all the way along the pavement to the garden gate of number nine Mapleberry Lane, and waited for her to go inside to know she was safe. It was the usual arrangement.

‘He has to fix my wardrobe door, which came off its hinges again.’ She added a theatrical eye roll.

Veronica was already inspecting the produce. ‘You should be proud of yourself for growing all these. Veggie patches aren’t always easy – I had a terrible time trying to grow lettuces over the years, they’d never work. And when they did, the butterflies got to them before I did.’

‘I looked after the carrots mostly, onions too, but Daddy took charge of growing the traffic-light tomatoes in his greenhouse.’

‘I don’t think I’ve heard of that variety.’

She pointed to a collection of rich red tomatoes. ‘They’re the red ones,’ she pulled out orangey heirloom tomatoes, ‘then we have amber…and finally, green.’ Beaming, she pulled out a couple of questionable-looking varieties that Veronica thought she’d have to ask Charlie about when she saw him to make sure they were fine to eat.

‘I have something else to show you,’ Layla grinned, the bottom of her dark ginger bobbed hair that wasn’t fixed in place with an Alice band swinging to and fro as she jumped on the spot in her excitement.

‘And what might that be?’

‘This!’ She proudly held out the curled-up fabric diamond she’d been clutching in her palm. With a purple background and a little pot plant embroidered on the front, along with the words ‘Grow Your Own’, it was another Brownie badge to add to her collection.

Veronica enveloped Layla in a hug. It felt like the right thing to do, even though until now she’d never held the little girl close. The feeling it gave her took Veronica quite by surprise. She hadn’t had affection like this in a long while. But Layla seemed to simply go with the flow.

Pulling herself together, she told Layla, ‘You worked hard, well done you.’ It was moments like this she should have cherished more with her own family before it was too late, before she pushed everyone away. Having Layla in her life felt like a blessing, the second chance she wasn’t sure she deserved. She’d become a surrogate granny without even realising, but that was fine by her. It somehow lessened the pain of not seeing much of her own daughter and granddaughter.

‘Brown Owl was impressed with the different things we’ve grown,’ Layla carried on. ‘She said she still hasn’t managed to grow carrots successfully. She called them her ne-me-sis.’

‘Is that right?’ She swore the little girl’s maturity and vocabulary came from all those books she read. She’d already plucked anything remotely suitable from Veronica’s bookshelves and devoured them at home before returning them to the shelves lining one wall of the lounge and another at the end of the kitchen diner. She’d raced through classics like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and one of Veronica’s favourites, The Secret Garden. For Christmas last year, after Veronica had seen The Chronicles of Narnia collection advertised on the internet, she’d phoned to place an order that same day, knowing it was the perfect gift for Layla. And she’d been right. Layla had started with The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe on Christmas Day and made her way through all seven books, devouring each one.

‘I had to show Brown Owl photographs of me planting carrot seeds and onion seeds, and of me watering the patch after school each day. Daddy took a picture of me picking tomatoes in the greenhouse too. He did most of the work but I watered them every single day. He has cucumbers growing too but they’re not quite ready.’

‘Well, I’ll look forward to trying those. And your dad sent me all the photographs on email, so I haven’t missed out.’ She wished she’d been able to go over there and see it for herself, but email pictures were the next best thing; they kept her a part of it all.

‘Everyone clapped when I was given my badge.’ Layla’s chest puffed with pride and she couldn’t stop smiling.

‘I can sew it on like the last badge, if you like?’

‘Would you?’

‘Of course, I’d be honoured. And I’m very proud of you. I will think of you when I eat my carrots, my lettuce, my onions and tomatoes.’

‘Even the green ones…Dad says just because things are green, it doesn’t make them evil.’

‘I think he’s only talking about your green vegetables,’ Veronica smiled. This kid was too cheeky and clever for her own good. Those emerald eyes were full of intellect and mischief; a perfect combination, and one Veronica was thankful for every day. Layla popped around whenever she could and the pair had formed a tight bond as though they really were gran and granddaughter, even though there was nothing tying them together other than the simple geography of living on Mapleberry Lane.

Layla shrugged off her backpack and shuffled onto one of the wooden chairs at the small round table next to the kitchen area, making herself at home. ‘Me and Daddy had scrambled eggs on toast for our lunch. What are you having?’ She’d spotted the bread.

‘Nothing adventurous. Ham and cheese sandwich for me.’ Same as most days. Lunch tended to be basic, but Veronica loved to cook for other people if she got the chance. She carried on buttering her bread.

Layla plucked a tomato – luckily in traffic-light red, as Veronica still wasn’t sure about those green ones and she didn’t want to get sick and need a doctor’s appointment – and passed it over to her. ‘Put this in, it’ll make it nice.’ Next, she leaned over to pull out the lettuce. ‘And some of this.’

‘I tell you what, I’ll deal with the tomato if you could wash some of those lettuce leaves for me. In fact, wash them all and I’ll have a salad for my tea tonight.’ She had cajun chicken marinating in the fridge and it would go perfectly sliced on top, perhaps with some homemade croutons scattered through.

‘Can I use the funny spinny thing?’

‘The salad spinner is in the cupboard to the side of the sink.’ Layla had seen her use it a week or so back and was fascinated by how the lettuce could be soaking wet and after a few turns with the plastic contraption it came out dry. But she had to remind Layla not to get to carried away with the spinner and yank it so hard that the cord came off the disc inside and had to be wound on again.

When the lettuce was washed and spun, the tomatoes sliced and the sandwich made, Veronica sat down to eat with Layla for company. Yesterday she’d read in the newspaper that lack of social connections and living alone could be as bad for you as smoking and that loneliness was worse for you than obesity. Smoking and being overweight weren’t worries for Veronica; she’d never lit up a cigarette and she was as slim as the day she got married – not that she liked to walk down that particular memory lane very often, given the way things had turned out – and thanks to Layla and Charlie, she wasn’t as isolated as some of the people she’d read about in the article. One woman said the only voices she heard were cold callers or the television, so Veronica knew in some ways she was rather lucky to have the company she did, especially when her own family were nowhere to be seen.

‘Are you looking forward to the summer holidays?’ she asked Layla, who was busying herself emptying the surplus water from the plastic bowl of the spinner as Veronica ate.

‘I can’t wait. Daddy always lets me stay up later than on school nights.’

‘But you’ll miss school.’ She knew, because Layla was a kid who thrived in a learning environment where she could devour the information at her fingertips.

‘I’ll miss it, but not maths. Maths is hard, I can’t do it.’

‘Now I doubt that, a clever girl like you?’

‘Daddy says we can’t all be good at everything. He says I’m very good at English, but as long as I try my best in all my lessons, then that’s OK. I really like art too. We did weather fenomins yesterday.’

‘Fenomins?’

‘Yes, you know, weird things that happen with the weather.’

‘Ah, phenomena.’ She pulled over the notepad and pen that were neatly sitting beside the telephone and she wrote out the word in big letters. ‘There, another one to add to your vocabulary.’

‘I’ll learn it.’

‘And I’ll test you in a few days, when you least expect it.’ She finished the last of her sandwich and brushed a stray crumb that had escaped onto the table top back onto the plate. ‘Tell me, what does art have to do with weather?’

Layla explained how they’d learned about different climates and weather changes and then they’d been charged in art class to work on a mural for the wall.

‘I really wanted to paint the rainbow. Did you know, rainbows are made when light is reflected through raindrops and that sunlight is made up of lots of colours?’

‘I did know that.’ Veronica might not get out much, but you could learn a lot from reading; books took you to different worlds, gave you a sneaky peek into others’ lives. The television did that too and both mediums had been her saviour. She would’ve been lost without them. ‘So did you get to paint the beautiful colours of the rainbow?’

With a sad shake of the head Layla told her, ‘Kelsie got to do that. She sits next to me most days, I like her, so I didn’t mind and I said I’d do something else. She broke her leg last term and missed out on our trip to the science museum, so I told Mrs Haines that Kelsie should do the rainbow.’

‘That was very kind of you.’

‘It got my name on the kindness calendar too,’ she beamed.

‘What’s a kindness calendar?’

‘We’re doing it at school. I’ll show you.’ From her backpack she pulled out a folded-in-half piece of paper and opened it out on the table. It was for the current month, July, and on every day it had something written already.

‘Mrs Haines had written for next Thursday that someone in the class had to give someone else something that meant a lot to them. She said it meant a lot to Kelsie to do the rainbow and because I’d wanted to do it so much too, I’d fulfilled the task. It means my name goes first on the calendar for that one.’

‘Does the whole class take it in turns?’

‘Some tasks have one child’s name on there, others have a few names because they’re easier.’ She pointed to a square for 1stJuly, which had ‘Smile at a Stranger’ written on it.

‘I didn’t think children were supposed to talk to strangers.’

‘We’re not supposed to talk or go with them, but Mrs Haines said that shouldn’t stop us being friendly. I smiled at the bin man when he took our rubbish away; I made Daddy do it too. Archie in my class stood at the school gate and smiled at every parent who dropped off at the gate. Mr Barnaby, who teaches the other class, had to go and tell him to stop in the end.’

Veronica chuckled. ‘I bet a few parents wondered what was going on.’

‘He’s odd anyway.’

‘Archie?’

‘He never talks to anyone.’

‘It doesn’t mean he’s odd. Maybe he’s shy? So it was extra brave to stand at the gate smiling at people.’ Veronica’s mouth went dry at the thought of being surrounded by all those parents and children, part of a crowd she couldn’t get away from quickly. ‘How does your teacher fit all your names on the calendar?’ The squares were so small she’d have a job fitting five names on, let alone an entire class.

‘The calendar on the wall of our classroom is much bigger than this one. We all have our own copy because we have to think about different tasks and we talk about them in class. And then we have to make sure we do the weekend acts of kindness.’ Once Layla got going, she could hold an audience captive for hours. She pointed to Saturday and Sunday. ‘We all have to do both of those things at home. See, Saturday, today, is to visit a neighbour.’ She delved into her backpack again and took out a fluffy green pencil case from which she pulled a red felt-tip and neatly put a line through today’s date square from corner to corner. ‘I’m seeing you, so I get to cross it off. Easy peasy. Then when I show this to the teacher, my name will go up on her calendar.’

Veronica read Sunday’s instruction. ‘Tomorrow you have to give someone a compliment. Any idea what you’ll do?’

Layla shrugged. ‘Daddy’s having his hair cut later, I could not mention it today and then say something nice about it tomorrow.’

‘Or say it today and cross it off tomorrow’s.’ She nudged Layla. ‘I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.’ She giggled, enjoying the conspiracy. ‘But if you didn’t get to do the rainbow, what weather phenomenon did you do?’

‘I got snow. I did a big snowflake. Thank goodness I didn’t get fog. Fog’s boring.’

‘Layla, you have more words in your brain than that. Boring is a boring word. Come on, I want at least three adjectives to describe fog: go.’

With a deep breath she thought hard. ‘Grey…thick…’

‘One more,’ Veronica prompted. ‘Think about how it makes you feel.’

‘A bit trapped.’

‘Yes, I suppose it does.’ Trapped. It wasn’t a nice word but it fitted some of Veronica’s experiences perfectly. Still, not here, not in this house.

‘Will you come and see the finished mural at school?’ Layla asked. ‘It’s really good! There’s the rainbow, snow, fog, heatwave, hurricane, a tornado that Jimmy Jones did and which looks a bit of a mess, but he told Mrs Haines that was the point.’

Veronica looked at the calendar again and wished they were still talking about the details instead. ‘I’m afraid I can’t, Layla.’

‘For the same reason you couldn’t see my veggie patch?’ She nodded sadly. ‘I understand.’

‘I knew you would.’ She reached out and put a hand to Layla’s beautifully soft hair. Her own at that age had been blonde but styled much the same way. Like everything else, her hair had changed over the years; it had been grey for the last fifteen and was long. Too long. It reached down between her shoulder blades when she took it out of the bun she wound it into every day until bedtime. She never went to the hairdressers – that was something else she’d given up.

‘Why don’t you ask Daddy to take a photograph of the mural for me? Then I’m not missing out.’ Veronica poured them both a glass of orange juice. ‘What time is he coming here to get you?’ It was always the arrangement. Layla could walk here from their house but he’d come to meet her at the end of her visit. As a single dad he didn’t get a lot of time to himself, but Veronica was only too happy to help him out.

‘He said two o’clock.’ It was a sure thing Veronica would not only be in but that she wouldn’t have to nip out on errands or for an appointment. That simply didn’t happen. ‘Can we play a game until then?’

‘A game sounds like a lovely idea.’

They decided Monopoly would take too long, Layla didn’t want to play Ludo or Scrabble, no way was Veronica risking her life playing Twister, and so they settled on Uno. They managed almost ten games, both taking it as seriously as each other, before Charlie knocked on the door.

‘I think you have something of mine,’ he said, the little scar above his top lip visible after he’d had a shave. He didn’t always shave, favouring a bit of stubble, which suited him. Rich brown eyes suggested a man you could depend upon and trust, and his smile had a way of putting you at ease.

‘I do, come in.’ To an onlooker who didn’t know any better, Veronica was like any regular granny, if there was such a thing, but sometimes people gave her little house a strange look when they passed by, and she knew what they were thinking. There’s that weird lady from number nine. She’d had similar insults yelled through her letterbox one day. ‘You’re a freak!’ the first voice had taunted; ‘Weirdo!’ followed a different voice laced with laughter. She had no idea of the culprits – kids who’d heard rumours on the grapevine, probably, and had decided to terrorise her in whatever way they could. But the insults had stuck in Veronica’s mind because some days they felt like appropriate labels. She was only glad Charlie didn’t think so. He’d always been kind to her and she’d valued his friendship right from the start.

‘Who’s winning?’ Charlie looked at Layla’s cards.

‘Five games to four in my favour,’ Veronica told him, although it quickly became a tie when Layla lay down her last card after saying Uno. ‘Looks like it’s a draw,’ Veronica smiled, shaking Layla’s hand. As usual Layla was in no rush to leave, which suited Veronica, as there were too many hours she was on her own as it was. She tidied the pile of cards and wrapped them in an elastic band once, twice, a third time to keep them all together.

Layla frowned at Charlie. ‘Didn’t you bring it?’

‘Of course I did,’ he answered with a grin. And off he went. Veronica heard the front door open and close, and after a couple of minutes during which Layla looked like she had ants in her pants, she was fidgeting so much, Charlie returned with a cake on a board, one of his hands shielding the burning candles as he came towards them.

Layla’s face lit up and she launched into singing ‘Happy Birthday’, along with her dad.

‘For me?’ Veronica’s eyes fell to the chocolate cake decorated with white and dark chocolate curls, a few candles in the centre, still flickering away.

‘Seeing as we didn’t get to celebrate last week because you had your cold, we thought we’d do it this week.’ Charlie set the cake down on the table.

‘You didn’t have to do this.’ Although choked at the gesture, Veronica was thrilled to bits. Last week on her birthday she’d had a terrible sore throat and a runny nose. She’d been thoroughly miserable, but in no way selfish enough to have either of them visit, even though Charlie had insisted on checking up on her, delivering some cold remedies from the local chemist and a pot of hearty chicken soup. With only a brief visit compared to usual, it had been a lonely few days for Veronica and she hadn’t liked it one bit.

‘Make a wish!’ Layla ordered. ‘You have to.’

It wasn’t hard to know what to wish for, but she didn’t tell anyone. It wouldn’t come true then would it?

At Layla’s insistence Veronica blew out her candles. ‘What happened, couldn’t fit seventy-one on?’ she teased Charlie.

‘Didn’t sell that many in the shop.’

‘Cheeky thing.’ She laughed as she dug out plates and forks and a cake slice she used to cut generous portions.

Another year, another celebration. Lots to be thankful for, lots she wanted to forget.

Charlie smiled at his daughter, who had chocolate smeared below her lip and another streak down the side of her hand. ‘You’re a messy thing, you need a tissue.’

Layla ran her tongue all the way around the outside of her mouth to get the most she could and went so cross-eyed she had Charlie and Veronica laughing.

‘How have I done?’ Veronica asked. ‘Any on my face?’

Charlie pretended to inspect closely as he handed Layla a tissue to wipe her hand. ‘You’re a professional, I’d never even know you’d had chocolate.’

‘See Layla, I could teach you a thing or two, one being how to eat chocolate without anyone realising. It’s a life skill.’

‘Hey, no teaching her naughty things.’

‘Would I do that?’ Veronica asked innocently, sharing a conspiratorial look with Layla.

‘Yes, I believe you would.’ Charlie’s rakish grin and unexpected smile where his mouth turned up at one side ever so slightly more than the other somehow kept him looking younger than his forty years. He’d celebrated his birthday a couple of months ago and in much the same style as now, they’d gathered here at the same table to eat the lamingtons – his favourite – that Layla and Veronica had baked together. Layla had given him three lamingtons in all, telling him he worked too hard and deserved it. And she was right. As well as looking after Layla on his own, he had a challenging career as a paramedic where he was often among the first on the scene, having to make life-saving decisions. Occasionally he talked about making a change, no longer working shifts, fitting in with Layla more, but he loved his job and was good at it, and Veronica knew exactly what that was like. Or at least she had.

Veronica thanked them both again for the cake. ‘With that and the veggies, you’ve made an old lady very happy.’

‘Less of the old,’ Charlie instructed before he turned to his daughter. ‘Are you ready to go, sweetheart?’ He took charge of the plates and cleaning the cake slice before Veronica stopped him. Clearing up would give her something to do when they left; it wasn’t always easy to fill the days. Sometimes they stretched out endlessly in front of her, and not in a good way.

‘Do I have to come with you while you get your hair cut?’ Layla whined.

‘Yes, because you’re getting yours cut too. Now put your shoes on – you can come again later, if it’s all right with Veronica.’

It was always all right with Veronica. And Charlie knew it, but he was so polite he always asked first. ‘I’ll look forward to it, and if the sun stays out and the heavens open and it rains, then who knows, we might see a rainbow.’

When Layla picked up her pen and ran her finger across the date squares of the kindness calendar rather than putting everything into her backpack, Charlie warned, ‘Stop stalling.’

Layla found what she was looking for. ‘Bake something for a neighbour,’ she read out loud before striking a line right through it. ‘We baked you a cake,’ she smiled at Veronica. ‘And I can tell Mrs Haines on Monday so I’ll get my name on the big calendar in class. Anyone who does more than twenty acts of kindness in a month gets a special prize at the end. Last month Elliot Bainbridge got Golden Time, ten minutes extra of play time while the rest of us had to clear up after art class.’

‘Sounds like the top prize.’ Charlie winked at Veronica. Kids at this age were easily impressed. Unfortunately this stage didn’t last anywhere near long enough. Perhaps Charlie realised that and had already decided to make the most of it. And he was never going to be a bad parent – he didn’t have it in him to fail. Not like Veronica.

‘And don’t forget, Daddy,’ Layla went on, ‘I have to get someone else involved with the calendar – it’s a way of spreading the kindness.’

‘We’ll see, I’ve got a job remember, a busy one at that.’ With a sigh and a wave, he led his daughter out of the door and in the direction of home.

Veronica watched them go from behind the shutters until Layla’s bright pink backpack was out of sight.

When Layla had mentioned needing another person to help with the kindness calendar, Veronica had almost leapt in to volunteer. Helping other people was one of the things she missed, but she supposed it made more sense for Layla to ask for Charlie’s help rather than an old lady who might end up letting her down.

Alone again, she went over to the Welsh dresser next to the bookshelves in the kitchen diner. She took out the framed photograph that had once stood on the mantelpiece with others: a family, the people she’d once had around her. But not anymore. Apart from the occasional Christmas and birthday card or the odd terse phone call, her family had more or less given up on her.

But Layla and Charlie hadn’t.

She bit back the tears that threatened to come, jammed the photograph back in the drawer, and began the countdown to when her favourite visitors, the neighbours who felt more like her family than her own, would come back later this afternoon.

Chapter Two

Sam

Someone had once told Sam that if she wanted to make God laugh, then she should tell him her plans.

Well, he must be rolling around the floor right now, because just when she thought life couldn’t get any harder, she’d been thrown another curveball.

Over the last decade she’d gone from a stay-at-home married mum to a divorced parent of one, and fought her way from being a customer service assistant to a customer services manager. Today she’d tumbled right back down the career ladder to unemployment after being made redundant. For years Sam had thrown all her efforts into her job, given that her personal life and family life were, for want of a better phrase, absolute shit, and she’d been thrilled to finally land the managerial position. But unfortunately the retail giant wasn’t a big enough company to hold onto its eight hundred employees when it merged with a competitor.

She edged her way out of the revolving door to the office, a cardboard box filled with her things. Inside lay a photograph of her and her daughter Audrey standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, smiling away as though things between them were perfect; a plant that looked so sorry for itself Sam suspected she’d throw it out when she got home; her favourite floral mug that held enough coffee to get her through a morning; a spare jumper she kept in her drawer in case the office air-conditioning was overzealous; and the nine packets of Post-its she’d taken from the supply cupboard not because she needed them, but because she could. Nobody in the office had really spoken as those dealt the raw deal had packed up and left. Anyone in the same boat was too angry or upset, and those who got to stay probably felt guilty about their colleagues and an enormous sense of relief that it hadn’t happened to them.

The only silver lining that Sam could see to this was that the ones on the receiving end got to leave work straight away – company policy – and wouldn’t be penalised for doing so. And her redundancy payout wasn’t bad, she supposed. It would keep her going for a while, but for how long was anyone’s guess; she had a fifteen-year-old daughter, a mortgage to pay, and an ex-husband who had put them both out of sight and out of mind by fleeing to New Zealand with his new wife who was, as he’d so tactfully put it once, the love of his life.

Shame he hadn’t realised that person wasn’t Sam when they’d married almost seventeen years ago.

Sam climbed into the driver’s seat of her car, ignoring her phone when it rang the second she pulled out of her parking space. Whoever it was would have to wait; she had plenty to deal with right now. She wished she had someone to run to, a boyfriend who could console her for the crappy day she was having. But all her efforts at injecting romance into her life since her marriage broke down had fallen flat on their face. Not that there had been many opportunities over the years, and even when there were, Sam tended to put Audrey first and soon lost focus on anyone else coming into their lives, and she had a certain reluctance to risk getting close to a man who might simply change his mind the way her ex-husband had. Nobody deserved that kind of hurt, and certainly not twice in a lifetime.

She drove the thirty-five minute commute for the last time, taking her from the office to the smart detached residence she shared with Audrey in a small village in Cheshire, an area of the country far enough away from her home childhood home in Mapleberry that she’d felt like she was starting over when she first moved up here and got married at the age of twenty-two. Mapleberry hadn’t held too many good memories in the end, and Sam had been almost as desperate to get out of the village she grew up in as she had her family home.

She pulled up on the drive, struggled up to the porch with the box in her arms and fumbled her attempt to put her keys in the front door to open up. ‘Damn it!’ she yelled when she dropped the entire lot as Audrey pulled the door open from the other side.

‘Not my fault, I was trying to help. You shouldn’t be so clumsy.’ Audrey’s voice was as harsh as the pixie cut she’d had done recently. The haircut had no doubt been an act of rebellion but it rather suited her, with her dark eyes, high cheekbones and button nose, traits she’d got from her father rather than Sam, who was blue-eyed with blonde hair touched up with subtle copper highlights. Audrey’s hair had once had the same big waves that Sam’s had now, sitting on her collar bones – but not anymore. Sam had complimented her daughter after she returned home from the hairdresser that day, but even if she hated the new look, she would’ve still said the same, because Sam was pretty sure Audrey had only had it done to get under her skin. Maybe Sam wouldn’t mention how much she hated those slug-like eyebrows the girls all seemed to paint on nowadays. If she did, that would be the next thing Audrey altered about her appearance.

Sam wondered whether it was a teenage thing, the rebellion against anything your mum approved of or liked? Or was it just a symptom that her and Audrey’s relationship wasn’t far from breaking point?

When she’d had a little girl, Sam had been overjoyed. She didn’t mind what sex the baby was when she was pregnant, she would’ve been happy with either, but as soon as she knew, she began to plan for their future. Her imagination had gone into fast-forward, picturing dressing Audrey in the cutest outfits – OshKosh B’gosh, Gymboree, Baby Gap – then when she was a little older, playing tea sets and dolls houses, teaching her how to ride a bike, one of those with the streamers flying out from the handlebars in the wind. She’d pictured the cosy chats they could have as Audrey got older, confiding with her about boys, the best friend Audrey had, the relationship being one that Sam had never been able to form with her own mother.

What had happened to those dreams? she wondered as she gathered the detritus to put it back into the single box that was all that was left of her job.

‘You been stealing Post-its?’ Audrey, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen with a bowl of cereal balancing on one palm, her other hand operating the spoon, noticed the packets scattered over the floor – one near the bottom stair, the other by the radiator, one further down the shiny wooden floorboards of the hallway, some at her feet.

Sam ignored the jibe. ‘What are you doing home?’

She’d been so preoccupied with doing household maths all the way home, fathoming how to pay bills when her redundancy money dried up, she hadn’t thought about what time it was. But now she could see the kitchen clock and it was well before four o’clock, the usual time Audrey got home from school – five o’clock if she dawdled and hung out with her friends – and the way Audrey was acting so casually, as though it was a Saturday rather than a Monday.

Audrey tilted her bowl to get the last of the milk, turned her back and went out to the kitchen, ignoring Sam.

‘Audrey, I asked what you’re doing home.’ Sam stepped over the box. She’d deal with it later. She flapped the front of her silk blouse; the house was always stifling from early summer until autumn, and then freezing in the winter. ‘Are you sick?’

‘Nope.’ Audrey put her bowl in the dishwasher and flipped the door shut before she turned around and leaned on it. ‘Here’s the thing, Mum. A friend and I, well, we played a bit of a joke.’

‘On who?’

‘The school.’

‘That narrows it down.’ Sam filled a glass of water and downed it in one. Packing up her desk and trying to take in the fact she’d gone into the office with a job and was leaving without one, had already caused a knot of anxiety to lodge itself in her chest. ‘Audrey, spit it out, I need details.’

Audrey inspected her nails rather than meet Sam’s gaze. ‘Me and Sid sent a hoax letter from the Head – to all nine hundred and seventy-one parents.’

Oh dear God, don’t let them have created a bomb hoax. She had visions of Audrey being led away in handcuffs. Then again, if that was what it took to separate her daughter from troublemaker Sid, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing. Trying to stay level-headed, she asked, ‘What was in this letter?’

‘It was just a joke. We said that the school was closed until further notice because there’d been an outbreak of infectious diarrhoea caused by a fungus found in the classrooms.’ Her voice wobbled with amusement but clocking her mum’s hard stare, she soon stopped smiling. ‘How were we supposed to know people would take it seriously?’

‘How seriously are we talking?’

The corners of her mouth twitched. ‘Over half the school didn’t turn up.’

‘Audrey.’ Sam covered her face with her hands. ‘I don’t need this.’

‘Of course,’ she snapped, ‘I forgot it’s all about you. It’s always about you.’

Sam grabbed her daughter’s arm before she could stalk away. ‘I just lost my job and come home to find my daughter, what, at home for the rest of the day or longer?’

‘Suspended,’ she snapped, yanking her arm back. ‘You’ll get an email to tell you officially.’

‘Hang on a minute…Surely they didn’t send you home – they should wait until a parent collects you or at least gives permission.’ She felt her hackles rise; she wasn’t sure who she was more annoyed at – Audrey or the school.

‘I walked out.’

‘You did what?’

‘I left, and you know something? I’m glad I don’t have to go to that hellhole for two weeks. Which means I’m free from it until September. Thank god!’

‘Audrey, come back here.’ But this time she made no effort to stop her daughter stomping up the stairs. Slam, went her door. If Sam tried to talk to her now she’d have no chance, and she had a headache brewing, right behind her eyes, creeping up to her entire head. All she wanted to do was lie down in a dark room, fall asleep and wake up as though today had never happened.

She took a couple of headache tablets but going for a lie down wasn’t an option, not with her mind doing overtime. She checked her phone and sure enough the call she’d ignored was from the school. She fired up her laptop in the study, unsurprised to find their email waiting. Reading through it, the suspension would stand for two weeks, and judging by the tone, Audrey should think herself lucky it wasn’t more severe after she walked out of school today. The school suggested both she and Audrey go in for a meeting early next week to discuss a way forward. Sam knew that there wouldn’t be much point appealing the decision to exclude her either; the last time Audrey had messed up, shouting at a teacher when she was told off for not handing in her homework on time, she’d had a warning that anything else would be dealt with more harshly. Sam guessed this was the ‘anything else’.

Despite the hopelessness she felt, Sam couldn’t sit there and do nothing until a meeting next week. Audrey was supposed to be sitting her GCSEs next June so this year was important. She didn’t throw herself into her schoolwork as it was, and this latest development would only give her the go-ahead to slack off even more.

She tried to call Audrey’s form tutor but he was in a meeting; she attempted to speak to the head of year but she wasn’t available, so she resorted to an email asking whether there was any way the school would reconsider the punishment given the importance of Year Ten. Even if they lessened it to one week perhaps.

She doubted her correspondence would make any dent in their decision. She thought of all those kids and parents inconvenienced by the hoax letter and knew there would be outrage if Audrey wasn’t punished for her part in the debacle. Last term a girl had kicked another student at the top of a flight of stairs and when confronted by staff, the girl cried and was let off the looming punishment. The parent of the child who was kicked was furious; she took to social media to vent and it all got very nasty. Sam would do anything to support Audrey, but she didn’t want Audrey’s business plastered everywhere; she didn’t want her daughter judged by those who didn’t know her. Sam wanted, somehow, to find the girl she suspected was in there somewhere, the daughter who had once smiled and laughed and loved hot buttered crumpets by the fire on a winter’s evening, the six-year-old girl who’d cried when Sam told her that she’d probably want to move out of home one day and into her own house. Back then Audrey had never wanted to be apart from Sam.

Times had changed.

Audrey had never accepted her dad leaving them behind and starting a new life on the other side of the world. She blamed Sam for everything, made comments and had digs whenever she could that told Sam exactly who she thought at fault. Simon could do no wrong in Audrey’s eyes, and because he wasn’t in his daughter’s life in a big way, Sam had let the blame settle on her shoulders. She held back criticisms of Simon because she wanted Audrey to have a relationship with her dad. She never wanted to be the person who came between them because if she was, she had a funny feeling it would be her who was seen to be in the wrong and ended up losing out.

Audrey didn’t appear until well after seven o’clock that evening, lured by the smell of chilli con carne drifting up from the pot on the stove. Sam’s headache had gone, her practical coping attitude had come into play and she’d made the dinner as usual. She had a plan – eat, try to talk to Audrey without one or other of them shouting at the other, then sit down and do her finances.

It was always Audrey’s job to set the table. She did so without prompting this evening, but threatened to bring back Sam’s headache every time she plonked something down on the table – the cutlery, the bowls, the side plates for the garlic bread.

Damn, the garlic bread. She’d forgotten all about it. And when Audrey noticed her oversight, she uttered her first words in three hours, swear words Sam was pretty sure her own father never would’ve stood for under his roof.

‘Watch your language, Audrey,’ Sam bristled, all plans not to clash with her daughter impossible to execute when Sam found herself the only disciplinarian. At least if someone else set the rules sometimes, it wouldn’t all be her fault. ‘I’ve been at work, come home and cooked a meal – don’t you dare swear at me for forgetting one simple thing.’

‘Yeah, well, you won’t be able to say that tomorrow will you.’

So she had heard her say she lost her job. But it hadn’t exactly elicited sympathy. ‘No, I won’t. And have you thought about what me having no job will mean to you?’ She was met with a shrug. ‘No, you haven’t.’ She cursed when she knocked the wooden spoon onto the floor and tomatoey liquid splashed across the tiles. She swiped a piece of kitchen towel across the spill.

‘It means you’ll be home all day,’ Audrey said, as though that would be the biggest obstacle. Mind you, she kind of had a point.

‘It does mean that. But it also means I have to watch finances. Which means no more allowance.’ She shoved the soiled kitchen towel into the bin and slammed the lid shut.

‘You can’t do that.’

‘Call it punishment for getting suspended.’ Allowance was due tomorrow and Sam hadn’t intended to withdraw it quite so soon, at least not until Audrey had caused her even more stress to add to her day.

‘Seriously!’

‘We’ll need to tighten our belts until I find something else.’ And stopping the allowance would mean Audrey wouldn’t flit off so much at the weekends or in the evenings when Sam had no idea what she got up to. ‘It’s not up for discussion, Audrey.’

Her announcement was met with a steely gaze before Audrey put the oven on and found the garlic bread from the freezer. She must be extra hungry or a revelation like No Allowance would’ve sent her storming out again.

Sam washed the spoon, dried it and gave the chilli another stir.

‘You’ll get another job though, right?’

Sometimes it was like living with two people when it came to Audrey: the one who yelled at her that everything was unfair and everything was Sam’s fault, then the Audrey who took a step back and looked at a situation with a different eye. Sam had to admit the latter didn’t happen all that often but when it did, she grabbed onto it with both hands.

‘I could leave school early, get a job myself,’ Audrey suggested.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’ The sympathetic Audrey moved over and bolshie teen took her place.

‘Because you’re fifteen!’ She almost added that she shouldn’t be so stupid, but insulting Audrey when she was in this mood was like pouring brandy onto a Christmas pudding and setting it alight.

‘I could get a part-time job.’

‘We’ve talked about this.’

‘No, we haven’t.’

‘Audrey, we have.’

‘No, you talked, you didn’t let me have a turn.’ Her voice softened. ‘Loads of kids my age have a part-time job.’

‘And as I said before, when your school work improves, go for it. Until then, your focus has to be on that.’

Audrey toyed with the pieces of frozen garlic bread as she waited for the oven to preheat.

Sam turned the gas off beneath the pot of chilli. She’d learnt to read her daughter’s moods through looks, words, tone and body language, and she sensed Audrey was at least willing to enter a discussion now rather than closing her off. ‘Are you worried about your school work?’ Probably not the smartest thing to be involved in a prank if she was.

‘Not really. But I have thought about my future, much as you think I don’t give a —’ She stopped when Sam gave her a look that suggested foul language wouldn’t be tolerated a second time. ‘I do care about my life. And I still want to be a make-up artist.’

And there it was. The career choice Sam tried to gloss over whenever Audrey brought it up because it wasn’t what Sam thought of as a reliable career path. She wanted Audrey to have job security, a future. ‘You still need qualifications. In the long run you won’t regret it.’

‘I’ve looked into it. I could get a college diploma – there’s no need for me to go on to do A levels.’

‘I want you to have options, that’s all,’ Sam insisted, doing her best to remain calm.

No response. Her sweet, kind, loving daughter was in there somewhere, hidden beneath this firm shell, this exterior that gave off warning signals if she tried to get too close. But Sam was rarely sure how to crack open the surface unless it was on Audrey’s terms. Some of it was the usual mix of teen emotions, the egocentric perspective on life that was par for the course at this age, but her father leaving had stolen a part of Audrey’s childhood, which seemed to have manifested itself in her defensive attitude when it came to anything Sam might have the audacity to suggest or approve of. Sam felt on tenterhooks with her daughter the whole time. She never knew what to expect from day to day, and without realising it, Sam had slowly become more and more stressed. Her best friend Jilly had suggested she go to a doctor but Sam didn’t want to go down that road. They’d likely write a prescription for antidepressants just to get rid of her and move on to the next patient, and Sam didn’t want to admit she was at that point yet. Some days Sam wondered what had happened to her. Even when she was going through her divorce, grappling with the legalities and the practicalities, she’d handled one day at a time and managed to miraculously keep a clear head, telling herself it would all work out in the end. She didn’t seem to be able to do that anymore. With Audrey it was a whole new ball game and one she wasn’t sure if she could win, or even be a front runner in for that matter.

She watched Audrey slide the garlic bread into the oven and poured herself a glass of crisp sauvignon blanc. She may not have a job but she had wine and tonight she needed it. She felt the welcome effect of the alcohol make her shoulders relax instantly.

‘There are a lot of options in make-up artistry you know,’ Audrey announced. ‘I could work with a theatre company or on a television drama. I wouldn’t mind working on something like Poldark.’

Whether it was the wine or the relief at having a conversation, Sam didn’t know, but she was going with it for now. ‘Hey, get in line,’ she laughed. ‘We’d all like more of Poldark.’

Between them they served up the dinner and avoided talk of Sam’s work – past and future – or any discussion of Audrey’s suspension. Perhaps she was being irresponsible by doing so, by not issuing her punishment or lecture right now, but just for this evening Sam wanted a moment of calm.

‘We could make a deal you know,’ Audrey suggested as she shook her head at the offer of the last piece of garlic bread. ‘I could finish school, study hard to get good GCSE grades but you let me skip A levels as long as I have a place at a college.’

Leaving school at sixteen had never been an option for Sam; she’d never had a choice about following anything other than an academic path. ‘We can think about it,’ she told Audrey. ‘But you would have to knuckle down and get your GCSEs. That’s the first thing. And before you tell me you don’t necessarily need qualifications to be a make-up artist, I want to you get some so that you have a back-up plan. You never know if you’ll change your mind and I’d hate for you to find you were limited.’ Her words came out as a diatribe, without Audrey interrupting. She braced herself for fallout, topped up her wine and slotted the bottle back into the fridge. She never drank during the week but seeing as she no longer had a job to get up for in the morning, she let up with her own rules for once.

‘OK.’ When Sam looked at her in disbelief, she repeated herself, ‘I said OK, let’s do it your way, Mum.’

‘To do what I’m asking, you’d need to be in school, Audrey.’

‘Which I will be in September.’

‘And how much will you have missed?’

‘Not a lot happens in the last two weeks of term, believe me.’ Her nonchalance didn’t last when she saw Sam’s expression. ‘I’ll make sure I’ve caught up with everything by the time we go back after the summer holidays.’

She was saying all the right things, but Sam knew from experience that talk and the follow-through were two very different things to Audrey. Last month she’d gone on and on about how she’d cook the dinner every night for a week after she’d been given a detention for not handing in her homework. That had lasted all of one evening until she looked so stressed with her studies that Sam had given in.

Sam began to load the dishwasher as Audrey handed her scraped plates one by one before she emptied the leftover chilli into a plastic container.

‘I know I’m a disappointment.’

Her words took Sam by surprise. ‘Is that what you really think?’

‘I can see it when you look at me. You’re disappointed I’m not more like you, that I don’t work hard enough.’

‘Audrey, I don’t need you to be like me, and I’m not disappointed in you.’ How could she explain how disappointed she was in herself? Disappointed she couldn’t keep her marriage together enough for her child, ashamed she never had best worked out the way to manage solo parenting and keeping your teen on side when they blamed you for everything. Sam sometimes wondered if she wasn’t hard enough on her daughter, if overcompensating for Simon’s absence was half the problem.

‘I’m disappointed you got suspended,’ Sam braved saying. Talking to Audrey was like doing a tentative dance where if you put your foot down too hard then you threatened to shake up the entire floor. ‘I didn’t expect it and you’ve got to admit that what you did was wrong.’

‘I didn’t think anyone would take it seriously – I honestly didn’t.’

‘How did you get the email to everyone anyway? You wouldn’t know their email addresses.’

‘Sid hacked into the school’s computer system.’

Sid. The boy Sam had never met face-to-face but who she suspected was a bad influence. ‘How on earth did he manage that?’

‘He’s clever.’

‘Not so clever he didn’t get suspended. I’m assuming he did too.’

‘He did, and his dad went ballistic.’

‘Then you got off lightly with me,’ Sam barked.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. I really am.’

With the food, the apology, the tablets and the wine, her head and her stress levels had at least begun to simmer and she pulled Audrey into a hug and kissed the top of her head. ‘It’ll all be fine, I promise. We’ll be OK.’ It’s what she’d wanted to say to her daughter, to herself, for years, as though the repetition inside her head would be a way to make it come true. ‘I’m going for a bubble bath. Could I leave you to wipe the table for me?’

‘Sure.’

Sam trudged up the stairs and ten minutes later sank down into warm water laced with her favourite Diptyque bath oil. She didn’t care that it was summer and already warm inside; she needed this, and she soon shut her eyes to let the aroma of the oil take away her heavy thoughts. The hardest thing about being a single parent had to be this: having the whole weight of responsibility resting on your shoulders and nobody else’s. Simon was off on the other side of the world doing whatever he was doing, he had brief flurries of contact with his daughter and when he did, his stories were full of excitement; tantalising tales of a foreign land Audrey had never been to, a lifestyle she wasn’t a part of. Whereas Sam… Well, she got the day-to-day grind, the pushing her daughter to get out of bed on a school morning, the nagging over homework, the snippy attitude and mood swings, the constant attempt to find a window into her child’s life.

Sam lay in the bath so long she’d begun to drift off when she heard the front door bang. She hoped it wasn’t anyone to see her; not only wasn’t she dressed, she didn’t want to have to talk to anyone. She understood why some people didn’t let it slip about losing their job. There were people who continued to put on a suit every day and look as though they were driving to the office when really they were hiding out in a coffee shop until they could return home as usual. She got it. Admitting to failure wasn’t something she liked to do and it definitely wasn’t something she wanted to share.

She hurried to get out of the bath, wrapping herself in a towel while she waited for Audrey’s holler up the stairs to tell her who was waiting. She hoped it wasn’t Sharon, her neighbour; she’d been over three times last week trying to get Sam to sign up for the bloody park run. The whole street was in on it, going en masse down to the local park in their Lycra and brightly coloured trainers. Sharon saw it as a good way to get to know your neighbours. Sam saw it as her idea of hell. She wasn’t a runner and she definitely wasn’t one to mingle with the neighbours. She had her friends and at home she liked a bit of anonymity. She wanted to be able to come and go and have an escape in her own space without interruptions.

Maybe she wasn’t all that different to her mother.

‘Audrey,’ she called out from the bathroom door. If it was Sharon, she’d go down in her towel and pretend she was rushing to get ready to go out.

When there was no answer, she went downstairs and called her daughter’s name a second time, went into the lounge, the dining room, back up to Audrey’s bedroom and then downstairs again. And when she realised the bang of the door had been Audrey leaving, she picked up her phone from the kitchen bench and bashed out a message to her daughter demanding to know where she was.

When she got no response, she lost her temper and typed an angry, ‘You’re grounded!’ The get-home-now implication was in those words without even trying.

She slammed her phone down again and when she saw her bag open on the floor by the stairs where she’d left it, her heart sank. She pulled out her purse and sure enough the twenty-pound note from the back section had gone.

Sam called Audrey this time and left an irate message. Audrey didn’t call back but Sam’s phone pinged with a text message moments later: Gone to the cinema with Sid. Won’t be late.

Just like that, as though she hadn’t stolen money, as if their earlier conversation hadn’t even taken place, as if she hadn’t been suspended from school. And never mind the rule that Audrey didn’t go out after seven on a school night. She spent most of her evenings on her damn phone scrolling through Instagram posts so it wasn’t a real hardship, but it was a rule that had been broken tonight on top of everything else.

Sam had been the complete opposite of Audrey at the same age. Holed up in her bedroom every night, partly because her father was always drumming it into her that she needed an education if she wanted a good life, Sam had studied hard to make him proud. Even after he died, his approval followed her everywhere she went. When she passed her driving test only months after he passed away, she pictured his smile; when she graduated, she imagined him in the audience watching her dressed in her robes and being presented with her degree certificate. When she got her job as a customer services manager, she could hear his congratulations and pride; when she got divorced, she felt his disapproval. But as well as wanting to please her father, Sam had realised very quickly that the harder she worked and the more secure job she landed, the better chance she had to escape the prison of the home her mother had made unbearable to live in. And after she met Simon it became even easier. They got together, married in a whirlwind and moved to a different part of the country to start over.

Thinking of how her relationship was with Audrey, Sam knew she’d messed up just as much as her own mother had. Maybe for different reasons, but the end result was the same. They’d both ended up with a daughter who didn’t want to spend time with them, a daughter who wanted to get away. The Veronica Bentley Sam knew from her late teens, and for every year since, wasn’t the mum Sam remembered from when she was little. Something had changed along the way, and Sam had no idea what. All she knew was the mum who had once been there for her, laughed with her, shown a sense of pride in everything Sam did, had all but disappeared. And now, history was repeating itself with Sam and Audrey.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t often cry but with everything she’d had to contend with today, she couldn’t stop it. Still wrapped in her towel, she called her best friend Jilly, who lived a five-minute walk away. The pair had been friends since they met when Jilly’s son and Audrey had been in the same playgroup. Jilly had been there to pick up the pieces when Simon left, she’d babysat enough times so Sam could meet with her lawyer, she’d listened to Sam bitch and moan when Simon emigrated to New Zealand with someone else. Tonight Jilly let Sam vent over the phone, she listened, spoke in all the right places and was able to calm Sam down. Good friends, their lives were very different. Jilly had two sisters and two brothers who all lived within a twenty-mile radius, as well as hands-on parents who regularly visited the grandkids and interacted with them in a way Sam could only dream of. And she had a husband who worked hard but never neglected his family. A husband who was by her side every step of the way. What Sam would give for that kind of simplicity.

Sam went upstairs and got dressed. She sat on the end of the bed, the silence in the house almost too much to bear. When Simon left, one of the big things Sam had wanted was to keep her home, the bricks and mortar that gave her and Audrey stability. Audrey had had enough upset without having to shift schools, move into a new home, leaving behind the bedroom that had transitioned with her from the days of pale blue walls and fluffy white clouds to the black and white phase she’d gone through aged eleven and now, the metallic silver-dotted wallpaper she’d chosen for one feature wall along with three others in white with a hint of grey. Sam hadn’t wanted to take anything else away from Audrey and with hard work at her job, it was possible to stay in the house until Audrey finished her education. Then, when the dust settled, when Audrey was a grown-up and perhaps able to see and understand that it took two people to make a marriage work, Sam was planning to look for somewhere smaller and ease the financial pressure on herself. But now, redundancy had thrown everything up into the air.

Thoughts of her finances niggled Sam enough that in the end, she knew that if she didn’t look at them right now she’d go crazy waiting for Audrey, and so with a pen and pad, and her laptop open so she could bring up her bank account, she wrote out calculations on how long the redundancy money was going to tide her over.

As she suspected, it wouldn’t last long.

It was blindingly obvious she’d have to sell the house. Even if she landed a job in the next few months, the risk of keeping hold of this place was too high. Instead, she’d have to rent somewhere far smaller and in a different area for a while, to at least get rid of this one noose around her neck. She should’ve done it back when Simon left and Audrey’s life had fallen into pieces anyway, then they’d be settled somewhere else already, the mortgage a fraction of what it was now, the stress a fraction of what it was.

Sam moved from her calculations to looking at estate agent websites and rentals. Three bedrooms would be ideal and a garden, preferably detached with a driveway, but after half an hour of finding prices were astronomical, she’d narrowed her criteria to two bedrooms, semi-detached or terraced, anywhere within a five-mile radius of Audrey’s school. There was one, perhaps two, options and she sent off queries to both if only to have a look around while she organised the sale of this place. She couldn’t afford to be sentimental any longer; she had to be realistic. So before she could change her mind, she fired off two requests to estate agents to come and value her house, the home she loved.

Her head aching from so much time staring at the screen, she made a hot chocolate and moved back to the lounge where she stayed in the same chair until she heard the front door click open and shut quietly, and footsteps creep along the hallway. Audrey was halfway up the stairs before she turned and saw her mum sitting in silence.

‘I haven’t got school. I figured being late wouldn’t matter.’ She shrugged as though it was any other ordinary day, their conversation earlier hadn’t happened, and she and Sid hadn’t done something so stupid Sam wanted to wring both of their necks.

Finally Sam reached the end of her tether. ‘You’re grounded, for two weeks!’ she yelled. ‘You will not leave this house in that time, do you hear me, Audrey?’

Audrey was shocked but stood her ground and soon went back to acting like she didn’t care. ‘I figured you’d do that.’ She turned and took another step up towards the solace of her bedroom.

‘And no phone either,’ Sam hollered after her. That had her attention.

‘You can’t do that!’

‘I can and I will. And where have you been?’

‘I told you, the cinema.’

‘Do you want to tell me why you stole money from my purse?’

‘It’s my allowance.’ Audrey’s voice wobbled.

‘I told you, without my job, that has to stop for a while. And do you really think you deserve it this month? And who is Sid? I’ve no idea who this boy is and you go out with him until this time of night.’

‘He’s my friend.’ She pulled out her phone and showed Sam a photo of him, a selfie with the both of them, sitting on a slide in the local park eating ice-creams. ‘There, that’s him, a bit taller than me, blue eyes, Yorkshire accent, not much more you need to know.’

‘Sid’s a bad influence – you never used to get into this much trouble.’

With a hard stare, Audrey retaliated. ‘Yeah, well, we used to be a family – things change.’

‘I’m still your mother – you don’t get to be rude to me.’

‘I’m not surprised Dad left you!’ she shrieked, her voice shaky.

Sam shook her head in despair. ‘I can’t even look at you right now.’

‘Fine by me, I don’t want to look at you either!’

And that was how the night ended, door slamming, swearing, but Sam couldn’t face any of it. She crawled into bed hoping that by the next morning she could somehow wake and find it had all been a terrible nightmare.

Sam woke the next morning and for one blissful moment forgot the night before. But it all came flooding back to her when she looked at the time and realised her body clock hadn’t got the memo about her redundancy. It was six o’clock and she was wide awake.

In the kitchen Sam boiled the kettle for tea. Jilly had texted her to ask whether Audrey had got home safely, ask how Sam was coping, but even her best friend’s constant support didn’t work to lift Sam out of her mood this morning. She stood looking out of the kitchen window, the morning rain shrouding the garden in a dismal cloak of misery.

Sam’s desperation over what to do about Audrey had been mounting up for a while, particularly since yesterday. She thought about how other people coped with family life’s ups and downs. The time Jilly had a stomach bug and her husband was away on business, Jilly had called her mum to come and look after the kids for an entire week, letting Jilly rest up and get back to normal. Sam’s colleague Marcus had struggled with his kids – he’d sent his wayward son off to stay with his grandad, who had been so strict when Marcus was growing up that he credited him with teaching him how to live in the real world. Sam had never really been sure what that meant – or whether it was entirely a good thing – but it seemed to have worked. Marcus’s son had come back with an entirely different attitude and all Sam knew was that now he was a lawyer, working in London and on his way to making partner. So something must have gone right.

When Sam tipped away the cold dregs of tea, the warm liquid not working any of its usual morning magic, her desperation about Audrey gave way to practicality and before she knew what she was doing, she found herself making a decision even she couldn’t have foreseen.

Sam had never asked anything from her own mother, certainly not since she moved away from the family home in Mapleberry, but what alternatives did she have?

All Sam knew was that if she didn’t do something, she wasn’t sure her relationship with Audrey would survive.

Chapter Three

Veronica

Veronica opened up the shutters in the sitting room so the sunshine as well as the floral scents from the garden could spill in through the windows. She wiped the windowsill, a favourite place for the dust to gather. She didn’t mind cleaning much at all. Some people moaned about it; on television this morning had been a feature about cleaning your home in only fifteen minutes each day, but to Veronica that seemed pointless. Cleaning and keeping things ship-shape was a way to fill her time when it was school term and Layla couldn’t visit whenever she liked, or when Charlie was on shifts and times for him to visit didn’t line up either.

Once she’d mopped the kitchen floor, Veronica made the gardener, Trevor, a tea, which she left on the front doorstep along with a couple of Bourbon biscuits for when he was ready. Trevor had been coming to the house, modest in size like most homes on the street apart from a couple of bigger residences at the end, for almost eleven years now. He kept everything looking marvellous, weeding the beds below the sitting-room window where passionate red geraniums flourished at the end of their cycle, mowing the lawn and trimming its edges, pruning bushes that overhung windows or the path, keeping the privet hedge on either side of the front gate a neat welcome for those who ever came to number nine Mapleberry Lane. A quiet chap not much younger than her, Trevor was very polite and if Veronica wasn’t in the mood to talk he’d simply tip his cap in greeting or farewell. She’d made an effort to chat with him this morning though and he respected some days she could manage more conversation than others. Layla told her she was unique and quirky, although Veronica thought those adjectives were perhaps a bit generous as she really wasn’t all that interesting.

With her own cuppa on the table beside her in the sitting room, Veronica took out her needle and thread to sew on Layla’s Grow Your Own badge to the sash she wore for Brownies. While she stitched, she thought about her next knitting project. She hadn’t picked up her needles in a few days, but it was halfway through the year already and she knew it was time to put in a phone order with the wool supplier and make a start on another cardigan for winter. She didn’t get to shop on the high street for new things so this was her way of treating herself. Perhaps she’d even go for something luxurious this time: a chunky wool in winterberry or a crocus-blue cashmere, or a rich plum colour she’d seen last time she looked on the website.

Just after four o’clock, after Trevor had packed up and gone home, Layla went past with her childminder, Bea, and as usual held up both hands so Veronica could see as she looked out of the window. She held up ten fingers, clenched them into fists, then flashed another ten, scrunched them again and did it a third time. That meant she’d be over in thirty minutes. Veronica put up a thumb and went into the kitchen. She’d got some chocolate milk delivered as a treat for Layla as well as the Bourbon biscuits that were her all-time favourite. Her late husband Herman had disapproved of treats, so Veronica used to prepare vegetable sticks with homemade dips for after-school snacks, but when Herman was away she would make pancakes sprinkled with sugar and drizzled with lemon juice. She knew the importance of healthy eating – she’d been a nurse once upon a time before she’d been forced to leave the career she loved – but Herman had always thought he knew best and Veronica had done her best to keep the peace as much as possible. Now she was free to do as she liked, so she set out a few chocolate biscuits on a plate in readiness for Layla. Everything in moderation, she thought.

‘How was your day?’ she asked when Layla finally joined her.

‘Fun.’ The little girl smiled, skipping inside with the usual pink backpack on. ‘And Bea says I can stay for an hour before we have to go to my swimming lesson.’

‘Then you’d better eat quickly so you can digest them and not have your tummy too full. You’ll sink otherwise.’ Veronica ushered her towards the table and the awaiting plate of biscuits.

Veronica approved of Bea, at least from everything Layla and Charlie had told her. She was living at home with her parents while she studied through the Open University and so she was flexible when it came to Charlie’s shifts, an essential job requirement for whoever he hired. He’d been caught out once and it was the reason Veronica had met the pair of them. Charlie and Layla hadn’t been living in Mapleberry for long when Charlie came to the front door. Veronica had peeked through the shutters in the lounge and seen a stranger, and so she ignored the knocks at first, hoping he’d go away. But when she looked again and saw how frantic the man was and that he had a small child in tow who was sobbing by that point, she unlocked the door and opened it with the chain on. Charlie’s account of the problem had come out garbled in his panic. His phone line still hadn’t been sorted, he was late for his shift at work and he was desperate to get hold of the childminding agency to tell them that his regular childminder was sick and couldn’t make it today. Charlie had asked to use Veronica’s telephone and she’d let them in to do so. Layla had been so upset, clutching at her daddy’s leg as he made the call, but it was easy to see that this was a man managing the best he could. He made his frantic call, Layla begged him not to leave her, and he briefly explained to Veronica that their lives had been chaotic for a while, that his wife had died when Layla was a baby and so now it was just him, and Layla sometimes took a while to trust anyone new.

They hadn’t stayed long, but the following day Layla knocked on Veronica’s door clutching a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies to say thank you. Charlie was with her and had noticed Veronica’s front gate still didn’t shut properly. He’d offered to fix it there and then, they’d had a cup of tea, and rather than counting the time until they’d leave her alone, Veronica had found herself warming to the pair. Ever since that day, the three of them had formed a friendship that felt like family, and now, when Charlie had childcare problems, Layla came to Veronica’s. She even stayed for the odd sleepover if Charlie was working a night and Veronica thrived on the company.

Layla slurped her chocolate milk sitting at Veronica’s table, her legs swinging from the chair as she drank. ‘My teacher showed us how to smash up a plate today,’ Layla beamed, wiping away her chocolate moustache.

‘You smashed up a plate?’

‘Yes, it’s for the community flower wall.’

‘Ah, that makes sense now. I read about the flower wall on the local news website this morning.’ The community centre past the big field in Mapleberry had a wall separating it from the road and the council had given their approval for a community project to add flower mosaics as though it was an upright garden. To do this, they’d need lots of coloured china smashed into pieces.

How Veronica wished she could be a part of something so significant in Mapleberry. Once upon a time she might have been.

‘It’s on the kindness calendar,’ Layla smiled. ‘We can do it as part of the class in a group or with family or friends outside school. Our teacher says it will make people who don’t normally talk to each other, more friendly.’

‘I can see how that would work.’

‘The class is having an after-school club to come up with a flower design for those who want to.’ She shrugged as though unsure.

‘And you don’t want to do it?’

‘The club is on a day I have Brownies.’ Her spirits fell. ‘I can’t be a part of it.’

Veronica almost blurted out that she’d do it, she’d form a club with Layla instead. But how could she?

‘Daddy said he’ll go to some second-hand shops and see if he can find some colourful old plates or china for me to break up, but he doesn’t know when he’ll have enough time to work on the wall with me. He says he doesn’t have a creative bone in his body. Is it true? Do we have a creative bone? And where is it?’

Veronica grinned. ‘We don’t have a special bone, no. It’s a figure of speech.’ Poor Charlie. He did his best, juggling work with parenting. And while she wouldn’t be able to help with the wall, she could take part in a different way perhaps. ‘I have some crockery you could smash into pieces if you liked.’ She went into the kitchen and foraged in the back of the corner cupboard where an old teapot and a couple of mismatched cups and saucers sat. She’d kept them as spares, never had got around to getting rid of them. She pulled them out and handed them to Layla. ‘You can have these.’ The teapot was duck-egg blue, the cups an off-white, perfect for making mosaic pieces. ‘And if you reach even further back in the cupboard, there are a few cups that’ll be perfect.’

Layla’s tiny body almost disappeared into the cupboard as she got the items Veronica couldn’t reach. She pulled out three white cups with a gold rim, perfect to add a bit of shine in a mosaic pattern.

Layla, satisfied with her new collection, began to talk about the teddy bear drive, another item on the kindness calendar. ‘We all had to bring in teddy bears that we don’t want or need anymore.’ She looked down at the floor. ‘I took in Boris.’

‘The bear I knitted you for Christmas?’

Layla nodded.

‘Now you look sad. What’s wrong?’

‘It was a special present – I shouldn’t have given it away.’ She’d knitted the bear with green trousers and red braces, and the December Layla and Charlie were first in Mapleberry, she’d given it as a gift to Layla when she invited her and Charlie over for supper one evening. She knew Layla hated her dad leaving her and working nights and Veronica wanted her to have the bear for a bit of extra security, something to remind her that she was loved and thought of. ‘When you gave me the bear you told me whenever I’m sad that Daddy has to go to work, I’m to hug the bear tight and remember all the people he’s helping.’

‘I remember,’ said Veronica. ‘And I also remember your daddy telling me that Boris the bear helped you a lot.’

‘He really did.’ Happier now, Layla told her, ‘I slept with him every night and I didn’t cry once. Boris is special … but I think it’s time he helped somebody else now.’

‘Well then, that’s incredibly kind, Layla.’

‘You knitted me another two bears, so I have enough.’ She had too. And those bears had been over to Veronica’s house for several tea parties, all three of them perched on the floor, bent at the waist, with Layla serving them pretend food on plastic plates, pouring imaginary cups of tea for them.

‘We used to get teddy bear donations to the hospital when I worked as a nurse. And it was never the bears that looked brand new or expensive that produced the most smiles, it was the well-loved bears a child had clutched for years and parted with because they were thinking about someone else. It really made a difference to some of those children.’

‘Daddy told me that sometimes if a child has to go on an ambulance ride, they might be a bit scared and a toy could help.’

Veronica smiled. ‘You know, the more I hear about this kindness calendar, the more I love it.’

‘I want to do everything on it.’ Her broad smile faded after the next biscuit was demolished. ‘But I can’t.’

‘Why not? The things you showed me the other day looked simple enough.’

Layla took out the calendar from her backpack. She pointed to one of the squares on the calendar and Veronica grabbed her reading glasses to look more closely at the text. ‘Learn a musical instrument. How is that kind? You know, it might be kinder not to learn one. I played recorder when I was your age and my neighbours weren’t very happy about it, let me tell you.’

‘Mrs Haines says that as well as being kind to others, we need to remember to be kind to ourselves.’

‘Your teacher sounds wise to me.’

‘She is,’ Layla responded as though it were obvious. ‘She says she’s starting recorder lessons for the whole class next week.’

‘Well there you go, mission accomplished. I don’t see what the problem is, Layla. You can easily cross off the item on the calendar and I’m sure I can order you a recorder online.’

‘I wanted to learn something new. I don’t like the recorder.’

‘Neither did my neighbours,’ Veronica sighed. ‘What instrument do you have in mind?’

‘I’ve always wanted to learn piano.’ She looked down into her lap. ‘Mummy used to play. She played Christmas carols every December at my grandparents’ house in Wales, on their grand piano. I’ve seen her on Daddy’s old video camera tape.’

‘Then that’s a special memory for you to treasure always.’

‘She had the same hair as me,’ Layla smiled. ‘Daddy says hers was more the colour of Tizer. I don’t even know what that is.’

‘A funny fizzy drink.’ She pulled a face that should ensure Layla didn’t try it any time soon. If they even sold it anymore. Veronica wouldn’t have any idea; it was a long while since she’d set foot in a shop to find out.

‘Do you think my fingers are long enough to play the piano?’ Layla wondered. ‘My mummy’s were and she always had nice nails.’

‘I’m sure your hands are perfectly suited to the piano. Would you really like to learn like she did?’

‘We can’t afford lessons and we don’t have a piano at home and school doesn’t have any either.’ Something occurred to her and her face brightened. ‘They have them at the high school though.’

‘High school is a long time to wait.’

‘Three years and three months.’

It was a long time since she’d heard the sounds of the piano within these walls, but Veronica knew what she said next would be an incredible surprise for Layla. ‘If you follow me, I may be able to help you.’

Excited to share in a bit of mystery, Layla followed Veronica towards the study, the room where the door was always shut. No matter how comfortable they were with one another, Layla knew boundaries and she didn’t go into rooms without Veronica’s permission, the study included. It was only a small room and full of files and things that could probably be cleared out, but it was the only room Veronica didn’t spend a lot of time cleaning. In fact, she avoided it. Because sitting inside was the piano she’d had as a little girl, handed down to her from her parents who’d loved the instrument and taught her to play when she was younger than Layla. She’d loved to run her fingers over those keys and as soon as Sam was old enough, she’d taught her how to play too, until Herman had convinced Sam that her studies were far more important than messing around playing a musical instrument. No matter how many times Veronica argued that learning an instrument was good for brain development, hand–eye coordination, the memory, he refused to have any of it. And eventually Veronica stopped playing too because he’d complain it gave him a headache when he tried to work, or it disturbed him. He’d battered all of the enjoyment away for Veronica with his complaining, but now, with Layla, was she really ready to find the magic again? If anyone could help her do it, it was this bubbly little girl.

When Layla saw what was waiting on the other side of the door to the study, her eyes widened. She stepped forward at Veronica’s approval and lifted the polished wooden lid of the mahogany instrument. The brass pedals matched the shiny brand name on the underside of the lid now that it was open, the keys had lost their brightness in colour but the piano was as intact as Veronica remembered.

Layla tentatively touched a key and giggled when a sound rang out. She hit another and another. ‘Can you play?’ she asked.

‘I used to play, a long time ago.’

Veronica watched a lot of television for company, and a recent documentary had looked into children who played musical instruments and how it benefited them. They’d moved on to discussing adults who kept up with learning and playing and Veronica had found her jealousy mounting. She’d gone and stood by the piano, eventually sitting down on the stool, but still she hadn’t played anything. What she did do was slam her hands down on the keys and swear out loud, something she never did, berating Herman for the control he’d had over her and the way she’d never fought to be her own person. Everyone deserved that surely. And as his wife, she’d deserved his support. For better or for worse, they’d said those vows, but Herman hadn’t supported her when she was at her worst; he’d tried to pretend it wasn’t happening and his way of doing that was to make her feel small and worthless.

‘You have a play,’ she told Layla, ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’

Layla didn’t need telling twice and sat down on the piano stool, which was still filled with all the old music Veronica had once used.

Veronica stopped before she passed through the doorway. ‘I forgot to ask. How do you spell phenomenon?’

Layla grinned, eyes upwards as she thought, teeth biting down lightly on the skin beneath her lower lip until she said, ‘P-h-e-n-o …’ She hesitated. ‘m-e-n-o-n.’

Veronica gave her a round of applause. ‘I knew you could learn it.’

‘Do you think I’ll be able to learn how to play the piano as quickly?’ Layla’s voice followed after her as Veronica went to the downstairs bathroom for a breather. It wasn’t often Layla gave her cause to do it, but unveiling the piano and knowing there was no going back – Layla would be persistent after today – it took her a few moments to accept the change. But she didn’t mind the din already coming from the study, it filled the quiet and she’d get used to it. Maybe she could grow to love it.

Back in the dining room, she had Layla shuffle over so she could sit on the stool too. It was a long time since she’d taught Sam to play and she’d forgotten how to instruct someone on the basics. Already she could feel her fingers twitching; she knew she’d be able to remember the notes. A bit like riding a bike, except this could be done in the comfort of her own home.

‘There are so many keys.’ Layla looked daunted as her eyes drifted from one end of the piano to the other. ‘I’ll never remember them.’

‘How many do you think there are?’ Layla’s mind ticked over, counting, until Veronica said, ‘All you need to remember for now is that while there are a lot of keys there are only seven names of notes for you to learn.’

‘There are way more than seven.’

Veronica explained exactly what she meant before getting a piece of paper and a pen to draw the keys and write the notes on each of them in a group of seven. ‘You can take this home so you can learn them.’

‘What do the black keys do?’

And as Veronica explained about sharps and flats, octaves and where to position your hands, letting Layla have a play around each time, she found herself enjoying this in the same way she’d been rewarded in her job as a nurse. Looking out for others, nurturing, helping, being kind, was what she missed the most now. Sometimes she got so angry that she’d given it all up. All that time she could’ve still been working at the hospital whether full or part time as she got older, the daily interactions and busyness the very things she loved.

With Layla here now still enthusiastically hammering out the worst din in history, it kickstarted her spiritedness. She went online and ordered a beginner’s book for learning to play the piano, with exercises Layla could make her way through each time she came, which could be as little or as much as she liked.

‘You’ve stopped,’ Veronica said, putting the iPad away. Charlie had helped her order an iPad last year and she’d never looked back. She had a laptop too and used it often, but after some basic lessons from Charlie, she now found this an absolute gem to get things done quickly, especially when she couldn’t get out to the shops – you could buy anything online these days, everything from electronic items to loo rolls.

Layla shifted from the piano stool. ‘Play something else, Veronica, please.’

‘I’m not really sure what to play.’

Layla lifted up the lid to the piano stool and began rifling through the music in there. ‘These two are Christmas tunes,’ she said, discarding the top two music books. ‘What about this? Who are the Beatles?’

Veronica let out a chuckle. ‘In my opinion, the best band in the whole world.’

‘I’ve never heard them on the radio.’

‘Before your time dear, but you will as you get older, I’m sure.’ She nodded for Layla to go ahead and open up the well-thumbed Beatles Collection that Veronica had had since she was first married.

The music book evoked an avalanche of memories. Back in those Beatle-loving days, everything between her and Herman had been perfect, they were giddy and head-over-heels in love. Back then he’d enjoyed listening to her play music or sing. They hadn’t been able to afford to go to a Beatles concert but he’d had a record player at his house and lazy summer evenings in the garden with the windows to his upstairs bedroom open, they’d listened to track after track, singing along. Herman wasn’t musical at all. When he sang in the shower, it was as though two cats were outside being tortured in the alleyway, but she’d loved listening to it anyway. And he loved how she had perfect pitch if she sang and could rattle out tune after tune on the piano.

Veronica opened the music book up to one of her favourites, ‘Hey Jude’, and with a deep breath she began. She had a false start and started again, then it began to flow from her fingertips as though she hadn’t neglected the beautiful instrument for years on end as it stood feeling sorry for itself and gathering dust. Her life had changed incredibly since she last enjoyed playing this instrument. She’d gone from being sociable and happy to a woman who shrank away from nearly everything. And now she had a sad measure of daily interactions with only a handful of people – Charlie, Layla, Trevor the gardener, and Ian the mailman, who sometimes hung around for a bit of conversation on the doorstep if Veronica was in the mood.

Veronica had a problem but she was too scared to do anything about it. Her existence had become sad, contained, like nothing she’d ever imagined.

She was still playing, her fingers moving deftly along the keys. The piano was well and truly out of tune, but not enough that the song didn’t shine through and the longer Veronica played, the more the sound washed over her like a balm she couldn’t explain. And the more she played, the more she wanted to. Layla was swaying in time with the music, a smile on her face that Veronica returned again and again.

‘Another,’ Layla demanded when the tune came to an end.

She’d have to look up a piano tuner, it would give her something to do when Layla left. But for now, in tune or not, she was on a roll with the piano. It was on to ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’, which brought some more lively moves from Layla, followed by ‘Yellow Submarine, which Layla joined in with. One of the teachers at her school had taught them the song and she remembered most of the words. Veronica was so enthused by the end of the rendition and playing the piano with such vigour that she almost didn’t hear the phone ringing.

‘One day I want to learn to play like you,’ Layla announced as Veronica vacated the seat and she jumped right in her place.

‘You will,’ Veronica called back over her shoulder, shutting the door behind her or she’d never be able to hear who was calling.

In the kitchen she picked up the wall-mounted phone. ‘Mapleberry 459.’ She’d always answered in the same way: the village and the last three digits of her number, never her name. You got so many nuisance calls these days and if they didn’t know her name already, it was a red flag. There were a few of those – requests for bank details, telling you you’d been in a car crash, for goodness’ sake. Funnily enough they hung up when she told them she hadn’t left the house in years, let alone run amok on Britain’s roads.

‘Mapleberry 459,’ she repeated when she got no response. She’d been tempted by these nuisance calls to have a whistle handy and blow it down the phone. She would’ve done as well if part of her didn’t know she’d then lay awake for weeks stressing that she’d ruined the eardrums of the scam artist. Probably no less than they deserved but she didn’t have it in her.

‘Mum…’ came a voice from the other end.

Her heart thumped. ‘Sam? Is that you?’ It wasn’t Veronica’s birthday, or Easter, or Christmas, and Sam rarely called unless it was one of those dates. They weren’t close, not by a long shot, but something in the timid way her daughter had said ‘Mum’ had Veronica worrying.

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and then it all poured out: the loss of Sam’s job, the teenage daughter she didn’t seem able to reach. Veronica knew first-hand about that particular dilemma. She listened as her daughter’s voice wobbled. Veronica wondered: was she crying? As a child Sam had never fallen apart or ended up in tears unless she’d really hurt herself. She’d always had a strong character and rarely let her weaknesses show through, but there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice now and if Veronica wasn’t mistaken, she was doing her best to hold back a sob.

‘Sam, I can’t come up there and help. You know that.’ Her meek reply sounded weak even to her own ears. Her daughter was in crisis and as usual, she couldn’t save the day. By the sound of it, Audrey, the granddaughter she’d not been allowed to get to know apart from a quick hello on their brief visits, had got into trouble and been excluded from school, and according to Sam, that was the tip of the iceberg.

‘I don’t expect you to come here,’ said Sam as though it were obvious. Silence hovered between them until Sam spoke up again. ‘I need you to do something for me.’

Veronica almost spoke but any words dried up before she could say them.

‘I don’t ask for much…’ Sam went on.

She never asked for anything. And Veronica had never been able to help her before. Sam had never once asked her to babysit Audrey or even to step in when one of them was unwell, which must have happened somewhere down the line. Even when Sam got divorced from Simon, she hadn’t reached out to Veronica. The divorce had been revealed on a rare visit by Sam and Audrey when they came to Mapleberry for Auntie Dotty’s funeral, a farewell Veronica had no intention of participating in herself. But it was different for Sam. She’d got close to Auntie Dotty over the years. Dotty, Herman’s sister, had always looked down at Veronica, never approved of her brother’s new wife, and when Veronica showed weakness and could no longer hide her problems, Dotty always had one of those told-you-she-was-crazy looks on her face whenever she stopped by. She’d stepped in to help with Sam though and taken her to after-school clubs, out to the shops so she could buy something before she went out with her friends. Veronica had never been able to begrudge their relationship.

‘Mum, are you there?’ Sam was getting impatient now, adopting the same frustrated tone she often used with Veronica when she couldn’t be the mother she wanted her to be.

Veronica, leaning against the kitchen bench, cleared her throat. ‘I’m here.’

Sam’s voice juddered again, irritation replaced by worry. ‘I don’t know what to do with Audrey. I’m worried, about me, about her… If I don’t make a change, I’m scared I’ll lose her for good.’

Veronica held her breath, hoping her daughter had a plan, that she wouldn’t make the same mistakes as she had and drive a permanent wedge between herself and her daughter. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I want to send her to you,’ said Sam all of a sudden.

Veronica heard a big exhale down the phone. She knew how hard those words would’ve been for Sam to say, to admit she needed help from the one person she never thought she’d ever have to ask.

‘Mum, say something…’

Unsure of the reaction she’d get, she braved speaking up. ‘Surely you can’t think sending her here would be better than having her with you.’ They never spoke about it but Sam’s childhood hadn’t been a happy one and Veronica had played the starring role. ‘I barely know Audrey.’

‘Then maybe it’s about time you got to know her.’ Sam’s anger must have been brewing beneath the surface of all the other emotions she was feeling and now it was unleashed in a voice that said, you owe me, you can’t let me down again. ‘I’m begging you, Mum, I don’t know which way to turn.’ She garbled on about all the turmoil over the years since Simon had left. Veronica had never much liked him but now wasn’t the time to share her opinions.

By the time Veronica had finished on the phone with Sam, Layla’s inquisitiveness had seen her abandon the piano and come into the kitchen to find Veronica looking out of the kitchen window, wringing her hands in the tea towel she’d left lying on the draining board.

‘Can we keep this a secret from my daddy?’

Veronica turned and smiled, trying to get back to the girl who was here right now. ‘Keep what a secret?’

‘The piano playing. I want to come here and learn and then surprise him.’

‘I’m not sure I like keeping secrets, but I think on this occasion I can make an exception. Any special reason you want to surprise him?’

‘I just think it will make him happy. Like Mummy did when she played.’

When Bea knocked on the door, Layla winked at her and put a finger to her lips. Veronica repeated the action and sent Layla on her way.

In the quiet of her house and her own space, Veronica wondered how she was going to cope with having her teenage granddaughter come to stay with her. If she messed it up in any way, she’d fail Sam yet again and push her even further away.

But if she got it right, maybe – just maybe – she could put their fragile relationship back together again.

Chapter Four

Audrey

Audrey stomped down the stairs to ask her mother where the bigger suitcase was hiding. She still needed to pack before being sent to her gran’s in the middle of nowhere, like an evacuee being sent away for safety. Ridiculous. Sid was one of the few friends she had, and just because he knew how to have a laugh and joke, her mum thought they needed to be separated by more than one hundred and fifty miles. She’d at least had the decency to let Audrey send him a text message to tell him she was leaving.

Sid was a friend, nothing more. In fact, Sid was gay, the whole school knew. But her mum didn’t, so Audrey wasn’t going to be the one to enlighten her. Where was the fun in that?

‘Where were you anyway?’ Audrey called when Sam finally came back inside with a whole load of cardboard from the car. ‘What are they for?’

‘Packing. I’ll help you make up the boxes. I got four, that should do for now.’

‘Mum, I only need a suitcase, that’s way over the top.’ In the kitchen she opened the fridge and pulled out the bottle of orange juice.

‘A suitcase isn’t enough.’ With a huff of frustration, she added, ‘You need to spend some time away from here.’

Audrey set down the bottle of juice and reached for a glass. Maybe this was about more than Sid. ‘You said that already and I’ve agreed. I’m going to Gran’s for a couple of weeks, I get it.’ Her mum had dragged her up to the school for a meeting and they refused to budge on the suspension, saying she’d had enough warnings about her behaviour and the punishment fit the crime. Mr Burgess’s eyes had twinkled when he’d said that word, as though he loved nothing more than to set an example by dishing out punishments. But whatever, it didn’t bother Audrey all that much; she could use the online portal to keep up with her schoolwork for the next two weeks and she didn’t plan to spend that many hours cooped up with her gran anyway. She planned to get out and about, find the nearest town, hopefully somewhere with a bit of life.

‘Audrey, it’s not only for the rest of this term.’

‘Then how long is it for?’ She supposed she was getting off lightly going to a village to hang around instead of here. Sid was being hauled into his dad’s office every day, doing boring things like photocopying and making cups of tea for people, although he said it was marginally better than school apart from the fact nobody in the office really spoke. He said one day he did an experiment: he held a pin up high above his dad’s desk and asked the lady sitting at the desk next to him if she heard anything. When she said she did and he announced it was a pin dropping, she failed to see the funny side. All that happened was that he got told by his dad to stop clowning around.

And her mum wondered why she didn’t want an office job?

‘It’s for the two weeks and the summer holidays,’ Sam announced.

‘Please tell me you’re kidding.’ What was she supposed to do in a village all summer? Sit around and watch the flowers grow and the sun set later in the day?

Sam was busy trying to make the folded-down boxes lean against the wall without slipping down until she gave up and shoved them out in the hall. ‘Audrey, I’ve thought long and hard about this. It’s a temporary solution I think might help us both. We need some time away from each other.’

She’d been right to think Sid was only part of the problem. ‘You want to get rid of me, more like.’

‘I never said that.’

‘You didn’t have to.’

‘Audrey, I love you, you’re my daughter. But let’s use this time to turn things around. You’ll have the summer holidays in Mapleberry and then you can come back ready to knuckle down in Year Eleven. And we’ll talk about what happens after that at a later date.’

Audrey pulled a hand through her hair, tugging the wisps of fringe usually artfully separated on her forehead out of the way. She didn’t have many friends, but she had Sid. And one friend, a single ally, was better than none. She’d have nobody in Mapleberry except for her gran and the murmurings she’d heard about her over the years, not to mention the awkward couple of visits she’d been subjected to, hadn’t exacted filled her with warmth and love. She wasn’t surprised Mum didn’t talk about her that often and now here she was, going to stay with her.

‘Audrey, do you understand what I’m saying?’ Sam pulled one of the boxes into the kitchen and began to fold it along the creases already made until the bottom was formed. She flipped it up the right way and frowned Audrey’s way.

‘Of course I do, I’m not stupid.’ And actually, not having to go to school for a fortnight was already a blessing. At least she wouldn’t have to face the Wotsits – the gang who went around lording it over everyone else including Audrey and made her daily life a misery – they’d earned their name because of their overuse of fake tan, which made them look orange. And they all wore tons of make-up too, and one day one of them fell on the trampoline in P.E. wiping off one of the eyebrows she’d carefully coloured in, leaving a big black smudge above one eye. Sid and Audrey had laughed so much they’d both been crying. But usually Audrey wasn’t laughing; she was facing the spite and the daggers and the nasty online messages or posts that came her way. The picking on Audrey was never physical, it was hidden, they did it all from behind their phones. Part of Audrey wanted to tell the teachers but she did that once and after that, worse came her way because she’d told tales.

Audrey had never shared how miserable school was; her mum was always so stressed and busy trying to make their lives perfect, setting ground rules, refusing to listen when Audrey told her she didn’t want a desk job, not ever. But there was nothing her mum could say or do to bring back her dad who had left when he couldn’t stand it anymore. Perhaps she’d done the same to him, fussed around him, always worried about what he was thinking and doing until he couldn’t take it anymore and walked away. There was nothing her mum could do to make up for the fact that her dad wasn’t in her life much anymore, that he now had children with his new wife and they had all become his focus. Well one day, before too long, that would change. Audrey was his first child and he’d never turn his back on her.

Sam had stopped folding the next box to gauge her daughter’s reaction. ‘I thought you’d be furious I was making you leave here.’ She looked suspicious, her default look.

‘I don’t exactly have a choice – no point getting annoyed.’ She was only happy that sending her away meant she got her phone back because Sam couldn’t stand the thought of her daughter being so far away yet not able to communicate with her. She liked to stay in control, and without a phone, Audrey would be free to float around wherever the wind took her.

‘I think this will do us both good,’ said Sam.

‘Whatever.’

‘See, this is what I mean.’ She wrestled with the last box, the flaps refusing to bend the way she wanted. ‘One minute you talk to me, the next you’re rude. I don’t know where I stand half the time.’

‘Welcome to parenting.’ If the doorway wasn’t blocked with these cardboard boxes, she’d go shut herself in her room. It was bad enough she was going to have to sit in a car for more than three hours with her mum this afternoon. ‘When am I coming back here then?’ Audrey asked. ‘At the end of the summer break? Mum?’ She knew that look, there was something she wasn’t telling her.

‘I’ve got no choice but to sell this house, Audrey. The mortgage is crippling, which was one thing when I had a job but totally another when I don’t.’

‘But you’ll buy another one, right?’ She wasn’t sure she could handle living with an old lady she didn’t even know indefinitely.

‘I might rent for a while.’

‘Rent?’

‘Yes, Audrey. Plenty of people do it,’ she snapped.

Audrey dragged the boxes upstairs, refusing any help from her mum. She’d go away for the summer, then come back up here to whatever pit her mum found for them to stay in, but deep down she couldn’t wait to put her own plans into action as soon as she could, then she’d be free from this; she’d do things on her own terms.

‘Mum, please, you have to go back,’ Audrey insisted. They’d only gone ten minutes down the road.

‘Why? What did you forget?’

‘One of my books, I’m in the middle of reading it.’

‘We’re already late – I told your gran when we’d be there and I still have to get petrol. I’ll send it on to you, I really don’t mind, or read something else and you can come back to it when you’re home again.’

‘No, I want to go back and get it.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Audrey. Tell me where it is, I’ll post it.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she grumped. There was no way she was going to tell her mum what the book was.

The journey took a little over three hours and Audrey swung between being annoyed they hadn’t gone back as she’d asked, talking about Mapleberry to pass the time – it didn’t sound all that exciting a place but at least it had a café and a few shops – and shutting her eyes to be with her own thoughts. She wondered what Sid was up to now. She hoped he would lie low over the summer and not run into the mean girls from school who liked to go to the local bowling alley as much as Audrey and Sid did. The Wotsits sounded tame, but they were nasty. She hoped they wouldn’t up the ante with Sid; they laughed at him with his dyslexia and taunted him when he got extra time in school tests, and the last time they’d gone bowling and Sid slipped on the shiny floor and banged his head, that had made their day.

As they got closer and followed the signs into Mapleberry, Audrey sat up and took interest. Mapleberry was pretty, she supposed, albeit in a dull sort of way. As you drove in at one end of the village, there were rolling fields on either side of the road that narrowed and went into single lane over a bridge with walls low enough to see a winding stream below. A thatched-roofed house with enormous gates came next, then a pub, then shops on either side of a street with black iron lampposts dotted at intervals, each with a garden bed at the base, full of colourful flowers.

They drove past a playground, two kids on a seesaw, and then the road bent back round and passed it in the opposite direction before they pulled up outside Gran’s house.

The house was well kept with its cute front garden and prim flowerbeds. Audrey had a vague memory of the inside being clean too, not a thing out of place. At least her gran wasn’t living in squalor or was one of those hoarders you saw on the news – imagine trying to add in those big boxes on the back seat and in the boot if she was – although from what her mum had mentioned, Audrey deduced she was somewhat of a recluse. Loosely translated, that meant she didn’t like people and didn’t have any friends. What a fun summer this was going to be.

‘Come on, Mum,’ Audrey urged, but Sam couldn’t seem to bring herself to get out of the car.

Audrey got fed up waiting and went to ring the doorbell herself. If she waited for her mum to get herself together, she could be standing there until the summer was over.

The front door opened slowly and her gran smiled, although it looked a little forced. ‘Audrey, so lovely to see you again, come in.’ Very formal. Her eyes darted to the car and then down the street and again in the opposite direction as though she suspected someone was lurking waiting to pounce.

Audrey couldn’t remember her gran being much of a hugger so she didn’t even try. ‘Mum’s coming, she must be on the phone or something.’ She wasn’t, but it felt rude to imply that perhaps Sam simply didn’t want to see her own mum, or that it was taking a lot of courage to do so.

‘No doubt your mum will follow when she’s ready.’ Gran walked away towards the kitchen. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘I’m not a tea drinker. Do you have anything cold? Anything fizzy?’

‘I’m afraid not – all those bubbles don’t agree with me. But I can get some in,’ she added as an afterthought as though it might be enough for Audrey to want to stay here.

‘I’ll just have a water then, please.’ Audrey hoped they’d get into their groove soon, that they wouldn’t have to be quite this polite for the entire duration of her stay, or it was going to be the least fun summer ever.

Audrey took the glass of water as the front door opened and Sam finally came in.

‘Sam, lovely to see you,’ said Gran, although Audrey picked up on the undercurrent of tension, the same feeling she got the last time she’d seen them both within the same four walls. They didn’t hug either and Audrey wondered what it took to drive such a wedge between the pair. Although maybe she didn’t need to wonder – it was the way things were heading between her and her mum too; perhaps it was a family trait.

Sam accepted the cup of tea, Audrey busied herself bringing in all of the boxes, although by the time they’d all been taken up to the room that was to be hers until the end of August, the atmosphere was still just as stilted as before. Anyone would think they didn’t know each other at all. Her mum was rambling on about the storm last week, Gran told her about a magnificent rainbow she’d shown to one of the neighbours, and then talk moved to the vegetable curry Gran was making for dinner. Audrey was impressed; curry didn’t sound like a gran thing. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad staying here after all.

Audrey grabbed a chocolate biscuit from the tin in the kitchen and headed back to her bedroom. She wanted to make it as homely as possible to survive this exile.

‘Audrey,’ came Gran’s voice, intercepting her. ‘Please eat that in the kitchen, it’s the place for food, nowhere else.’

Jeez, even her mum wasn’t this strict.

Audrey returned down the three stairs she’d progressed up, scoffed the biscuit and then charged up the stairs before anyone could stop her again. She opened up her boxes: onto the white table along one wall went a stack of books, all thrillers. She plugged her phone charger in and got that going, she put out her Hollywood make-up mirror with its lights up each side, she put her make-up bags beside it and her hair accessories on one of the shelves beneath. There was a second table in the room and onto that she dumped her schoolwork. She positioned her laptop there, too, in front of the little window that looked out over the playground opposite.

The bedding was at least a nice purple rather than the swirly browns or greens you’d expect in an old person’s house, and the bed was a double rather than the single she had at home. And so Audrey put in her earphones, lay back on her bed and blasted out her Billie Eilish album.

She could get used to this. Away from school, not sharing space with her mum – this was going to be like a holiday in comparison to being at home. Apart from not being allowed to even enjoy a biscuit in her bedroom, that was.

The next day Audrey had a completely different perspective. It seemed Sam had briefed Gran before she left to travel home, and so rather than Audrey schlepping off to a local shopping centre with the paltry allowance her mum had finally caved in to giving her so she wasn’t a burden to her gran, Audrey was to be at her desk by nine o’clock every morning. Gran checked on her too so she daren’t not abide by the rules. This was Gran’s home, after all, and she was doing her a favour by having her here. It was a pretty sad state of affairs though, that Gran had so much time on her hands that she could spend so long obsessing about where her granddaughter was at any given moment of the day. Didn’t she have her own life to deal with? Mind you, the saving grace in all of this was that Gran could cook and she kept Audrey topped up with delicious meals, cakes and treats. You name it, she made it. Her mum rarely cooked unless it was a necessary meal, so it was a novelty that Audrey was pretty sure wouldn’t wear off.

On day four of her stay, Audrey was faced with a new rule. Keeping her door open while she did her schoolwork. This came when Gran caught her sitting opposite her mirror experimenting with make-up when she was supposed to be studying. And it hadn’t gone down well.

‘You look like you’ve got war paint on,’ Veronica told her.

‘I haven’t finished yet. I’ve got to blend it all in.’ Even her mum never came into her room without knocking. She picked up her beauty blender sponge to go over the concealer she’d dotted on areas she wanted to contour.

‘Whatever are you trying to do?’

At least Gran was taking an interest, that was a positive. ‘I’m enhancing the structure of my face. I want to highlight the tops of my cheekbones; I want to shadow my jawline to give a better shape.’

Veronica shook her head. ‘Nothing wrong with the shape of your face – wait till you get to my age and then you’ll know all about losing shape.’

Audrey smiled, but her grin faded when Gran told her that from now on, she’d have to work with the door open. She didn’t come up here often, but when she did, she expected Audrey to be beavering away with school work, not doing her make-up.

Audrey wondered how many of these rules had been set by her mum, or whether these were exactly the types of rules and regulations that had driven her mum away from Mapleberry. As far as Audrey understood it, Sam had got on better with her auntie than her own mother – that’s why they’d come down for her funeral. But Audrey had long since given up trying to work out what was going on in this family, certainly on her mum’s side. Her dad’s side was totally different. It was only him for a start. He was an only child; his parents were long gone and now he was in New Zealand. And his life looked amazing. When he’d written to Audrey a couple of weeks ago, he’d sent photographs of a holiday to somewhere called the Bay of Islands. He’d been scuba diving and sailing, and shared stunning pics of the landscape that Audrey yearned to see for herself.

Two weeks of this. Two weeks and the rules would have to relax when term finished.

‘What do you think about this colour?’ Veronica turned round the iPad to show her granddaughter the wool website she was browsing.

Audrey shrugged and instead went into the kitchen to cut a piece of the lemon drizzle covered by a plastic cloche.

‘Not that,’ Veronica called out, the sound of the cloche lifting enough to alert her. The woman didn’t suffer from hearing problems, that was for sure.

Audrey went over to where Veronica had taken out her sewing kit. ‘Why not?’

‘There’s not much left.’

‘There’s quite a bit.’ Audrey had seen three generous slices. ‘Expecting company?’

‘As a matter of fact, I am.’

Finally. ‘Who’s coming?’ Since she and her mum had arrived and Sam had subsequently left, not a soul – unless you counted the gardener who knocked on the door or the mailman who came this morning – had stepped over the threshold of the Bentley residence. Audrey was beginning to wonder whether Veronica actually had any friends – or wasn’t it a thing when you got to her age?

‘My friend, Layla.’

‘Then there’s one piece each.’ With less of a defensive attitude, she got her way when Veronica told her to help herself. ‘Thanks, Gran. All the studying makes me hungry.’

‘How much more is there to do?’ she called through to the kitchen where Audrey was lifting a slice onto a plate. ‘It must be wrapping up with the end of the school year.’

‘It’s starting to, thank goodness. After next week I’ll be free as a bird.’ When there was a knock at the door, Audrey headed off to answer it. She left her cake in the kitchen of course; she knew better than to run the risk of dropping crumbs. And now she was craving company and she wanted to meet this Layla, see what she was like; perhaps she’d inject a bit of life into the house. There certainly wasn’t much atmosphere here since she’d arrived.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t anyone with grey hair or wrinkles, it was a little girl with a bright pink backpack. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m Layla.’ She held out her hand to shake.

‘Audrey.’ Stunned, she shook her hand and stood back to let her inside. Gran’s only friend wasn’t what Audrey had expected at all.

Audrey went back to her cake and listened to Gran give Layla a warm welcome, nattering on about a funny calendar of sorts.

‘Audrey, bring in the other two slices, would you.’ Veronica’s demeanour had lifted a notch, as though she wasn’t the same woman who’d done housework for the last few days, watched television, cooked and pottered about as though she had no place to be in the near future and was solely responsible for making sure Audrey didn’t get up to no good.

Audrey delivered a slice of lemon drizzle to Layla and one to Veronica. So they ate at the table or in the kitchen – unless Layla was involved. Favouritism ruled. Audrey would’ve found it funny if she didn’t see her favourite jeans on Veronica’s lap. She put down her plate. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she boomed.

‘Excuse me?’

‘What are you doing to my jeans?’ She snatched them back before Veronica could push a needle into the fabric. She’d saved up to buy these, a trendy pair with rips at the knees, a pair she liked to wear with an off-the-shoulder black top that showed off her collar bones.

‘I’m fixing them for you. You won’t want those holes in them come winter.’

‘The holes are supposed to be there!’ Audrey yelled, shocking both Gran and Layla into silence. ‘It’s called fashion!’

‘You need to go to your room and calm down, young lady.’ Gran’s stern expression had Layla looking to Audrey and Veronica in turn, her mouth open as she pushed in another piece of cake, almost forgetting to chew with the drama that was unfolding.

Audrey stropped upstairs and pushed in her earphones, drowning out her thoughts with music, and she stayed there a good hour until her tummy grumbled that it needed to be fed the rest of the slice of cake she’d abandoned.

She crept downstairs and into the kitchen. Gran and Layla were talking about something called a kindness calendar. Layla was prattling on about boys and girls in her class and whose name was written down first. Audrey finished her cake quietly and took the opportunity to escape. Now Veronica had her friend, she might not launch into the usual questioning every time Audrey moved, particularly in the direction of the front door – but Audrey wasn’t quick enough this time.

‘Audrey, could you come here please?’

Audrey stood in the doorway looking at Gran.

‘I’m sorry I nearly ruined your jeans, Audrey, but this is my house – I won’t have you yelling at me.’

Audrey almost walked off and out the door, but something stopped her – either a desire to set the right example for Layla or the hope her mum wouldn’t hear about this. ‘I apologise.’

‘Fine, then let’s move on.’ Gran pulled a five-pound note from her purse. ‘Now, could you please go over to the shops and pick up some more toilet rolls? We’re almost out, but the little corner shop is open until late.’

Audrey took the fiver. ‘Sure.’ At least it was a reprieve – time off for good behaviour.

Last night Audrey had gone out for a walk at nine o’clock and Veronica had all but blocked the front door until Audrey told her to go with her if she didn’t believe her. She’d backed off then and Audrey had made her way to the small high street where there was nothing open but an off licence. All she wanted was a wander, a bit of space, and after a lap she went back towards Gran’s and sat on the swing in the playground opposite the house. She stayed there until the sun began to fade. She’d seen Veronica’s shutters move a few times when she was over there too – Gran seemed to think because the wooden slats gave her a lot of privacy, nobody could detect when they moved from their tilted position to more horizontal enabling her to see out – but if she had a curfew and was supposed to be home, Audrey decided her gran should stop being lazy and come over to get her. Honestly, it was the height of summer and Veronica hadn’t so much as walked to the end of the path and down the road. She’d get sores from sitting too long if she wasn’t careful.

Audrey pocketed the fiver and decided she’d call Sid before she went to the shop. Over in the playground she sat on the swing the second a young boy vacated it. She messaged Sid to see if he could talk and when he called, it was a relief to hear a familiar voice.

‘You’re so far away,’ he told her.

‘Miles,’ she said. ‘How’s work?’

‘Last day today. I think Dad sees me as more of a hindrance than a help. I talk too much apparently.’ It was something he was forever being told off for at school. Sid wanted to be an actor, a choice his parents didn’t wholly approve of, and a reason why he and Audrey understood one another so well. ‘What’s it like living with your gran?’

‘She’s pretty strict and she watches me, like, all the time.’

‘Is she watching you now?’

‘Well no, but…’

‘She must have her own life.’

‘Not really. I wish she did. Then she’d have some hobbies so there’d be less focus on me. But she does have a visitor right now so I took the chance to escape.’

‘When are you coming home?’

Home…interesting word, given that the house she’d grown up in and that she loved probably wouldn’t be theirs for much longer. Sid’s parents were at least still together and they were a family. They might not understand him but he still had a solid foundation. Audrey felt as though her world was too messy to make sense of; she didn’t feel like she had a solid place in it. She knew her mum cared about her but she didn’t see her, not really, not beneath the surface anyway. All she saw was what she wanted to see, the troubled teen, the girl getting in trouble. She said she supported Audrey’s dreams and aspirations, but Audrey wouldn’t mind betting the pressure to go on to A levels after GCSEs and not enrol in a make-up artist course would soon be back.

Audrey and Sid chatted until Audrey’s phone battery died but she still didn’t go back to the house yet. She wanted to taste a bit more freedom, so she walked around the block, past the bigger houses with their grand gates, a couple of cute thatched cottages, another playground where she went on the roundabout before she got bored. She went back to the playground in front of Gran’s house and went on the swing again. She could do this for hours, soaring higher and higher towards the clouds, the different colours above that took the sky from day to night as the sun set.

When she eventually went back to the house, she had one foot on the stair to go and put her phone on charge before she made some toast before Veronica appeared. ‘I thought you’d be in bed,’ she smiled, but it soon faded when she got a glare in return.

‘What time do you call this?’

She looked at her watch. ‘Ten fifteen.’

‘You know what I mean. Didn’t we say no staying out late on a school night?’

‘Er, I don’t go to school.’

‘Same rules though, Audrey, and your mother did ask me to keep them in place until summer.’

There was no way she wanted to completely take the piss and have her phone confiscated. She didn’t even want to be sent home, much as she missed Sid. ‘I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.’

‘Thank you. Now, have you had enough to eat?’

‘I’m going to make toast after I put my phone on charge.’ She held up the device as though to justify her trip up the stairs.

Veronica let her get on with what she was doing. Her phone plugged in, Audrey went to make toast, cutting off thick pieces of bread which she slathered in butter and jam. She’d just put her plate in the sink and mumbled a goodnight when Veronica called her back.

‘Audrey, you’ve left crumbs everywhere, the side of the jam jar is smeared with raspberry jam, and the plate should go in the dishwasher.’

Eyes sent heavenward and cheeks puffed out, she sorted the mess, wiping the sticky jar and slotting the plate in the bottom rack of the dishwasher. ‘There, happy?’

‘There’s no need to be rude.’

‘I’m going to my room.’

Veronica’s voice followed her. ‘Audrey, where are the toilet rolls?’

She pulled the fiver from her jeans pocket and left it on the shelf in the hallway. ‘I forgot.’

‘But Audrey, we don’t have enough left.’

‘Then stop being so lazy and go get them yourself!’ She hadn’t meant to be so spiteful but it flew out before she could control it. She was sick of the constant observation, as though she was Layla’s age, not fifteen. ‘I hate all the obsessing about what I’m doing, how I’m behaving, what I’m saying. It’s no different to living with Mum!’

Gran looked too shocked at her outburst to do or say anything else and Audrey ran upstairs, put her phone on charge and threw herself onto her bed. She shouldn’t have yelled, she knew it wasn’t fair, but today was one of those days when her temper flared.

When her phone woke up again, she texted Sid but if she thought she’d get a ton of sympathy she was mistaken. Most of his advice was to go and apologise or she’d feel much worse in the morning. Audrey put it off as long as she could before sheepishly venturing out onto the landing. She could hear the low murmuring of the television, the odd chuckle from her gran. It was as though this little house was her world and Audrey had come like a meteor to smash everything into pieces. She didn’t want that; she was sick of being the person nobody wanted around.

She crept downstairs and hovered at the lounge door until Gran noticed her.

‘Come in, don’t be shy.’ Gran pressed the mute button on the remote but left the picture dancing away in the background.

‘I’m sorry I yelled. Again.’ Sheepishly she added, ‘And I’m sorry about the toilet rolls.’

‘We have a couple left, just use it sparingly.’ Gran looked more nervous than she was. ‘Would you like to sit down, Audrey?’

She nodded and sank down onto the soft sofa. She spent so much time in her room at home and had already done so here but it was stifling and it wasn’t the way Audrey wanted this to go. As much as her mum probably thought she enjoyed being difficult or arguing, she didn’t – she hated it. It was exhausting.

Audrey had wondered if her sitting here meant a big heart-to-heart with her gran; she braced herself for it, but all they talked about was the vegetables Layla had been growing.

‘Layla says the cauliflowers are ready to be pulled from the ground,’ Gran added. ‘She’s done a mighty fine job.’

‘I’ve never had a veggie patch.’

‘I’m sure Layla would take you to see theirs if you asked,’ said Gran. Audrey shrugged. ‘Well anyway, she’ll drop the cauliflowers over tomorrow. I’ll make us a big cauliflower cheese if you like.’

Audrey wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ve never tried it.’

‘Well, it’s about time you did. It was your mum’s favourite.’

‘Yeah?’

‘She never told you?’ Her bright expression faded away as quickly as it had come. ‘I don’t suppose she would. Well, you’ll love it, as long as you like cheese.’

‘I love cheese.’ Audrey began to relax a little as Gran began to talk about how she made it. ‘I’ll serve it with half a jacket potato cooked in the oven – microwaves leave the skin soggy – fresh salad leaves and tomatoes, also from Layla’s garden.’

When Gran had exhausted the details of her speciality cauliflower cheese, Audrey asked, ‘Did you decide on a wool colour?’

Puzzled, Gran realised she’d shown her the line-up earlier when she was investigating on-line. ‘I’m going for plum. Or rich plum to be exact.’

‘Are you going to knit something?’

Gran laughed. ‘What else do you think I’m going to do with it? Yes, I want to knit a jumper and I thought Layla might like some gloves and even a bobble hat.’

As long as she didn’t knit Audrey anything like that, they’d be safe from another row.

‘Do you knit, Audrey?’

She couldn’t help but let out a laugh. ‘Me, no. I wouldn’t be able to sit still for long enough to concentrate.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Veronica grinned.

Gran looked quite different when she smiled. Her eyes twinkled with amusement, it lifted her cheekbones and added a rosiness to the skin tone. Audrey wished she’d do something with her hair. It was always scraped back from her face and pulled into a harsh bun at the nape of her neck and she wore zero make-up. With a few little touches, Audrey bet Gran could take at least a decade off her age and she’d likely feel better for it too. She might even want to leave the house.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad in Mapleberry after all.

Chapter Five

Veronica

One minute Veronica thought her granddaughter was the most pleasant, approachable and beautiful creature on this earth, the next she could very well strangle her. She was beginning to understand exactly what Sam meant when she said Audrey could be two very different people.

Veronica pulled the door to the dining room shut behind her. It was only eight o’clock in the morning but Layla was having half an hour on the piano before Bea came to collect her and take her to school. Layla had told her dad that Veronica liked to talk about the kindness calendar so she was getting up half an hour earlier to spend with their neighbour before school. And so far, Charlie was buying it. Unfortunately, the same acceptance couldn’t be said for her granddaughter who stomped down the stairs demanding to know what the racket was and when, approximately, she’d be given a break from it. It was just another thing to upset Audrey, Veronica supposed. So far she’d annoyed her granddaughter by asking her not to eat food in her room, by setting out rules for her study and by trying to mend the jeans which were apparently supposed to have rips in them. Trying to make her granddaughter happy was like walking a tightrope with someone at the other end doing their best to topple her off. Veronica had no idea how she was supposed to get the balance between discipline and love, right, and when she panicked that she never would, her throat constricted and her palms got clammy and unfortunately she found herself snapping at Audrey unnecessarily.

‘Please tell me it won’t be going all day,’ Audrey moaned about the piano before Veronica could get a word in edgeways.

Veronica deliberately slowed her breathing and tried to take this one battle at a time. ‘She hasn’t played for days because you were settling in here.’ Veronica led her away to the kitchen and shut that door too. Perhaps it would be enough to calm the storm that was brewing. ‘She’ll be off to school soon.’

‘Good, then I might be able to study in peace.’ Audrey yanked a bowl out from the crockery cupboard and thumped it down onto the counter but after a review of the cereals decided there was nothing to her taste and exchanged the bowl for a plate, treating the plate to as much brutality as its predecessor. She shoved two pieces of bread into the toaster and pressed the lever.

Veronica daren’t even mention she hadn’t heard Audrey have her shower yet and that she was pretty sure she hadn’t done anything closely resembling study. ‘Layla is lovely, Audrey, and she needs to learn properly. At least if she does, we’ll all have less of a headache.’ She exchanged a look with her granddaughter but her joking wasn’t working and so she went back to the study and left Audrey to have her breakfast.

Now Layla had had a bash – the only way her playing could be described – it was time to have a quick look at the book that had arrived yesterday afternoon. It was full of exercises but Veronica only intended to teach formally for fifteen minutes a day, or else Layla wouldn’t take it in. They could likely get more done over the summer when the holidays arrived, but then again, if Audrey maintained this ghastly mood, Veronica didn’t hold out much hope for harmony between them all.

When Sam first asked her to have Audrey for an extended summer break, Veronica had panicked. Then as she waited for her granddaughter to arrive, she began to have a change of heart. She’d talked with Ian the postman about Audrey – he had a daughter the same age and agreed it was a testing time – and he’d told her it would be a lovely summer surprise to have family staying with her. He knew her life was limited, he knew there weren’t many comings and goings at number nine, and after Veronica shut the door to him that day, she’d tried to think about it differently. It was a surprise, he was right, and she’d tried to look forward to it rather than dread it. She’d even had Trevor make up extra vases of fresh peonies to put around the house, not that Audrey had noticed.

Since Audrey’s arrival, Veronica swung between being more than happy with her summer surprise and wishing she could give it back like a gift that came with a receipt and you were able to return. She’d never tell Audrey that, or Sam either; she’d never admit she dreaded failing all over again.

Back to focusing on Layla, Veronica took her through the hand and finger positioning at the piano again, and with a very simple exercise using only the right hand and three notes, Layla did her best to follow it. It helped that she’d learned to read music with the recorder; it was treble clef so they’d deal with that first and when they finally moved on to more complicated tunes, Veronica could play the bass clef with her left hand.

Veronica didn’t miss the slam of Audrey’s bedroom door above and the footsteps before she must have thrown herself down on the bed and likely shoved those earphones of hers in. The girl would have ear problems before long if she kept insisting on doing that.

‘I think it’s time we got you organised for school,’ Veronica prompted Layla, checking her watch. ‘I don’t want to make you late.’

Layla picked up her things, finished the glass of water on the side table and went through to the lounge where she knelt on the armchair closest to the window and flipped the shutters to horizontal so she’d be able to see Bea. And when Bea walked along the pavement and waved, Layla hugged Veronica and called a goodbye to Audrey up the stairs.

‘She’s probably got her earphones in,’ Veronica told her, when there was no reply. Layla’s hugs were starting to become a feature of her life, but each one still made Veronica take pause. She’d spent so many years alone in this house, convincing herself that she didn’t need those moments of affection – and now they’d become a highlight of her days, and one she looked forward to more and more.

Layla happily ran out of the front door, down the path and turned back with a wave before she went off with Bea.

Audrey didn’t grace Veronica with her presence until halfway through the morning when she came to get a snack, which timed with Charlie’s arrival. He’d just come off nights and looked exhausted.

Veronica introduced him to Audrey before she disappeared into the kitchen.

‘I’m not interrupting, am I?’ Unsure after meeting the infamous granddaughter, he wiped his feet on the mat before stepping into the hallway.

‘Not at all.’

He handed her a punnet of raspberries. ‘It’s not many, I’m afraid, but they’re good.’

Veronica inhaled their summer aroma. ‘Nothing like home-grown, you’re too good to me. Come through, I’ll make some tea.’

‘I’ll pass today, I need to get home to bed. But I wanted to give you these – Layla was supposed to bring them over with the cauliflowers. And, I confess, I have another motive.’

‘Oh?’

‘I wanted to make sure you’re happy with Layla coming over so early in the mornings. She says you like to hear about the calendar.’

‘I’m very happy with the arrangement – I enjoy her company.’ No more information needed; the piano would hopefully be a lovely surprise come the end of the year if she could get Layla to practise so she was good enough to play Christmas tunes.

‘Pleased to hear it, but make sure you tell me if you change your mind.’ A yawn pulled his handsome features into a totally different expression.

‘Tough night?’ Veronica often loved to sit down and talk shop. She missed working at a hospital with so much to think about and keep you on your toes. It was when you had too much time alone with your thoughts that it became a problem. She managed to fill her time with the few visitors she had, a lot of television, she read a lot and kept up her activities like baking and knitting. But there was nothing like hearing about the rush of dealing with patients, being the saviour in an emergency, interacting with people who needed you the most.

‘Very tough, I’ll tell you the details another time.’

Veronica put a hand to his arm. ‘Sleep well, and let me know if you need me to mind Layla.’

‘What would I do without you?’

Veronica smiled before she noticed Audrey watching them from her position leaning against the kitchen door frame, as she ate a chunk of cheese. Her granddaughter didn’t always talk but Veronica had no doubt she was taking everything in as she went along.

‘Good to meet you, Audrey,’ Charlie said her way.

Charlie had only just left when Veronica saw Trevor coming up the garden path. With a big grin he handed her a bulging carrier bag that was so heavy she had to put it straight down. ‘Whatever is all this?’ she asked, peering in the top.

‘China.’

Audrey had a look for herself. ‘You’re giving Gran all your rejects?’

Trevor took his cap off to let the breeze run through white hair that was always cut so neatly. Veronica wondered whether his wife made sure he was presentable at all times. Even when he was gardening, the only signs he’d been working with dirt was the odd muddy trouser leg or elbow. ‘When we talked the other day, you mentioned the mosaic wall,’ he said to Veronica, ‘and you seemed enamoured with the idea. It’s not my thing at all, I prefer genuine flowers rather than mosaics, but we’ve been meaning to get rid of some of this for ages, it just sits in the cupboard taking up space. There are all sorts of colours in there.’ He nodded to the bag.

‘I’ll say,’ enthused Audrey, taking out a grape-coloured tea pot and a sunflower yellow mug.

‘Do with it what you will,’ said Trevor before suggesting, ‘perhaps your granddaughter here might like to be a part of the community project.’ Even though he knew what Veronica was like, he wasn’t giving up on her and it was the little acts of kindness like this that kept her going on some days.

Veronica watched Audrey rummage through the bag as though it was filled with little treasures rather than someone’s unwanted items. ‘Well thank you, it’s much appreciated.’ And if Audrey didn’t want it, Layla would.

Trevor roared with laughter and when Veronica looked again at Audrey, she was wearing a pair of plastic goggles held tight against her face with an elastic strap that ran around the back of her head. ‘Whatever have you got on?’

Audrey giggled away, her head turning to Trevor who shared the amusement. Each time she moved, the ends of the elastic strap flapped around the enormous goggles.

‘I added in three pairs of those,’ Trevor explained. ‘If you’re going to smash china, you need to protect your eyes.’

‘All I need is a hammer!’ Audrey announced.

‘God help me,’ said Veronica with a shake of her head.

‘You’ve got your hands full with that one,’ Trevor winked. ‘Good luck.’

Trevor went on his way and before Veronica had a chance to shut the door after Audrey took the bag of china inside and admired her own reflection in the hallway mirror, a Tesco delivery truck pulled up outside. Without complaint, Audrey helped her bring everything through to the kitchen once it arrived on the doorstep from the delivery man who seemed most amused by Audrey’s face accessory.

Audrey helped refill the cupboards and the fridge, finally took off the goggles and poured a glass of lemonade.

‘You can take that upstairs with you if you like,’ said Veronica. But when Veronica shut the fridge door after putting the lemonade away, Audrey was still standing in the doorway. ‘Would you like something else to eat?’ she asked her, anxious to do the right thing and make her feel welcome. ‘We have raspberries. I was going to make muffins, but I can use an alternative, chocolate chips perhaps.’

‘Raspberry muffins sound good.’ She still wasn’t leaving. ‘Gran, I’ve been wondering…the supermarket deliveries, the fresh produce from your neighbours, your visits from people…’

‘What about them?’

‘Don’t you ever go out to bowls, or bingo or something?’

‘Bowls and bingo?’ Veronica chuckled. ‘That’s stereotyping of the elderly. You’ll be suggesting I ride around on a bus next, just because I’ve got a free bus pass.’

But Veronica’s sense of humour didn’t deter her granddaughter who sipped her lemonade and watched her gran closely. ‘Seriously, you’ve not been out since I arrived and I’ve been here over a week. Did Mum tell you I was so bad you can’t leave me alone? I’m not going to burn the house down or have a party you know.’

‘I know.’ She washed the fresh raspberries in a colander.

‘Then why don’t you do something for yourself – go over to the shops?’

‘I don’t need anything.’ Veronica emptied the raspberries onto kitchen towel to rid them of most of the water so they’d be ready for muffin-making.

‘That day you asked me to get toilet rolls and I forgot, you lost your temper at me.’

‘I apologise, it was unnecessary.’

‘I deserved telling off – you’d asked me to do it. But why didn’t you go to the shops? You had all day to yourself.’

‘Audrey, really, why all the questions? I hope you’re this inquisitive at school, it’s good to have an inquiring mind.’ She hoped her rambling might deter Audrey but her wish fell flat at Audrey’s direct question that came her way.

‘Gran, why don’t you ever leave the house?’

And there it was, the question she’d been waiting for, the question Sam obviously hadn’t answered for her daughter. Instead she’d sent her here to Mapleberry to discover for herself, when Veronica could hide her secret no longer. Her granddaughter was about to find out what kind of misfit her gran really was, how she’d failed her entire family so badly she was surprised they wanted anything to do with her at all.

And she had to live with her mistakes for the rest of her life.

Chapter Six

Sam

Ever since she dropped Audrey off in Mapleberry, Sam had been frantically trying to find work and sell the house that had always been too big for just the two of them. She’d found a buyer for her property quickly and the sale had progressed rapidly, but as the months marched on through July and now well into August, the search for a new place to live was getting even more desperate.

Her first impressions of the rental house she’d come to view today weren’t bad at all. The gate was still on its hinges for a start, and although on a busy main road, the terrace was close to shops and just about walkable for Audrey to get to school come September.

The last four rentals Sam had looked at had been a far cry from what she wanted – the first had been next to a pub and the noise even during the day was intolerable; the second had a brown bathroom suite that looked like it belonged in the 1940s, and a kitchen in similar disrepair, and the third property was so far from the bus route she would have had to drive Audrey to school and back every day.

Surely somewhere along the line, Sam was going to strike it lucky in the rental lottery. She had a good feeling about this one.

A smart navy-blue door opened up into a long hallway with vintage oak flooring, rooms off to the right-hand side. First was a beautiful sitting room with a fireplace surrounded by turquoise tiles. The curtains, thick and luxurious, were cream like the carpet and there were floor to ceiling bookcases that Sam could see housing not only books but photo frames and perhaps an indoor plant. She nodded her approval and it was on to the next. Okay, so not quite as nice: a sparse dining room with nothing in it apart from a dusty light fitting. But she could work with that. Perhaps she’d make turn it into a study.

She followed the estate agent into the kitchen, which hadn’t been put together at all well. The cooker was a slot-in style with gaps either side just waiting for food to fall down. And on closer inspection, it seemed whoever was in this place before had had that very problem. Sam didn’t want to look too carefully and find out exactly what the remnants were and so she moved on to the downstairs toilet, which wasn’t bad, although it had no window and the door didn’t shut fully.

‘I assume there’s a bit of wiggle room with the monthly rental,’ she said. ‘Given the state of repair this place is in, the price tag is rather high.’

He shrugged. ‘No wiggle room at all, I’m afraid, and it’s a fixed-term rental for a year.’

The year wasn’t a problem, but the price was, not to mention the downsides of what she’d seen so far. The rental was top of her budget, which was already looking too generous unless Sam found a job in the next couple of months. She had a third interview right after this, hence why she was wearing a skirt and heels and a silk blouse, which she was careful not to get dirty when she walked past the built-in fridge that looked like it hadn’t seen a cloth in the whole time it had been there.

Upstairs, Sam approved of the biggest bedroom; when it came to the bathroom, she’d seen far worse, but the other bedroom could more accurately be described as a cupboard. ‘Is this really the second bedroom?’ She peered into the room with the salmon pink carpet that she knew Audrey would hate, possibly more than the restrictive space that barely seemed big enough for a single bed, let alone a teen’s paraphernalia.

‘The previous tenants used the dining room as a bedroom instead,’ the estate agent told her as they went downstairs, the grand tour over. There was just enough time for Sam to look out at the what you might describe as a bijou garden. A patch of lawn feeling very sorry for itself was punctuated with paving slabs making a path down to a dilapidated shed and a washing line gathering cobwebs hung limp outside the kitchen window. It made her realise how much she was going to miss her own garden with its planter boxes filled with pink crocuses, the daisy-like hot yellow flowers of the heleniums planted in amongst taller grasses, the rose beds filled with deep reds and creams. There was a patch at one side where snowdrops grew every winter too and the bed she’d planned to plant tulip bulbs in ready to bloom next year. But soon, all of that would belong to someone else.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she told the estate agent.

She tried to leave with an air of positivity and went to possibly her worst interview so far. The first few jobs she’d gone for had been the same as what she was doing before, but then she’d begun to apply for anything in that realm, even if it meant demotion and a fraction of the salary. This position wasn’t even customer service, it was telemarketing. She had no interest in the work itself; it was antisocial hours answering the phone working towards daily targets in an environment with shouty twenty-year-olds.

As she drove home Sam wondered how different her life might have been if she’d followed a different path or if her home life hadn’t panned out the way it had. She’d chosen to study psychology at university, intrigued by the way other people’s minds worked or why they behaved the way they did. During the degree course she’d found her niche too – educational psychology, something for which she devoured the subject matter, aced all of her essay assignments. But she’d never really got the chance to follow through with her dream career helping children with special educational needs. Life had had other plans for her by then.

Home after her disastrous morning, Sam called Audrey in Mapleberry. Since they’d got a bit of distance between them, Audrey at least managed the odd conversation on the phone. She never offered much, but it was better than the battlefield they’d so often found themselves on before. She always politely asked how the job hunting and house hunting was going, but little else. Sam had a feeling she was happy enough getting out and about in Mapleberry and having time away, although she was surprised Audrey didn’t moan about her gran more. She wasn’t sure whether to be offended Audrey appeared to prefer her gran’s company to Sam’s, or pleased the plan hadn’t gone belly up when it very easily could’ve done.

Sam spoke to Veronica briefly – she was never one to have a long telephone conversation – and these days it was all about Audrey and whether she was helping in the house, respecting rules, not getting into trouble. She thanked her yet again for stepping in to help, but it was a relief to put the phone down. And she’d made sure she’d got the call out of the way before she poured a glass of wine so she could enjoy the relaxation without any stress to take her by surprise.

She poured a generous glass of wine and stood at the kitchen window looking out to the garden, the patio, the outside space where she and Simon had once hosted gatherings with friends. After the split, friendships were strained and only the strongest had come through. Jilly was one of those friends who had always been there and always would be, she’d stuck around, and it was only after Simon left that Sam realised so many of the people they’d spent time with had merely been to add to their group to make up the numbers. These days she preferred to put quality over quantity when it came to her friendships.

A knock at the front door was a welcome diversion from feeling so down. Sam opened it to see a smiling Jilly on the other side.

‘You beat me to it.’ Jilly pulled out a bottle of wine from behind her back as she eyed Sam’s glass already in her hand.

‘What are you doing here?’ but she was beaming, she needed a friend. As much as she and Audrey weren’t getting on, the house was way too quiet without her.

‘I’ve come for a sleepover.’

‘No way.’

‘Yes way, and it was my husband’s suggestion before you put up a fight – he even handed me the wine. You’re moving out soon – we need to get very drunk and commiserate.’

The evening was exactly what Sam needed. They got through all the wine, they talked long into the night and the next morning Sam still didn’t have a house or a job on the horizon, but she felt as though she was still in control. She’d just needed to hear it from someone else. And this morning she decided she’d make a start at packing up the house. It would have to be done eventually and putting off the inevitable was only making her worry more.

Sam assembled the flat-packed cardboard boxes she’d picked up a few days ago in anticipation of her move. She started with Audrey’s room, which was a task in itself. The amount of clothes one teenager needed was baffling – multiple colours, fabrics, shoes in all colours and styles. She tackled the desk drawers, one littered with old pens with dried out tips, another with scraps of paper that resembled schoolwork, although clearly not the to-be-handed-in version. She piled everything together for Audrey to deal with later, and as for the overflowing rubbish bin beneath, it looked as though Audrey hadn’t emptied it in weeks.

Sam grabbed the bin, about to take it outside, when something caught her eye. And when she saw what it was, she felt nausea surge through her body. It was a book about New Zealand and tucked between the first couple of pages was a printout of instructions of how to apply for a visa. And not just any visa – there was no mention of a tourist or a temporary stay, this was permanent.

Sam slumped down on the end of Audrey’s bed. Her daughter intended to move to the other side of the world to be with her dad.

How much research had Audrey already done? Had she made official enquiries, looked up requirements? And when was she going to tell her? When she bought her ticket? When she got to the airport?

Sam found her way downstairs, dazed at the discovery. A cup of coffee hit the mark, but still she was lost. The equilibrium she’d found with Jilly’s help last night had all but disappeared and she called Audrey’s phone – she needed answers.

But Audrey didn’t pick up. Sam tried her mum’s landline instead, and when Veronica answered and explained Audrey was doing her school work and probably had her earphones in, it all poured out. The woman who had never been Sam’s confidante suddenly became the one person she felt she could tell. The one person she prayed could help her from spiralling into the abyss and losing her daughter.

‘I bet Simon put her up to this,’ Sam said. ‘Just like him to do that and not think to mention it.’

‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ was all Veronica said.

Sam persuaded her mum not to mention it – Audrey would only accuse her of snooping and then it would be back to the battlefield with her daughter – and she ended the call after a mumbled goodbye.

She turned her attentions to her computer and bashed out an email to her ex-husband, demanding to know how far this thing had gone, what progress had been made.

Sam could feel the walls closing in around her; she felt as though her relationship with Audrey was hanging on by a gossamer thread and it wouldn’t take much to sever the attachment.

Out of character for Simon, he replied to her email pretty much straight away. Was it night time there, evening, morning? Sam didn’t care – all she wanted was answers. ‘She seems pretty insistent,’ he told her in his message. ‘She’s looking into visas and wants me to somehow get her over here.’ Audrey had always worshipped her dad and now Sam had the proof jeering at her from those books and the email from Simon.

Until now Sam had held onto the hope that she was overreacting, but this was real. It was no overnight dream – Audrey had been mulling this over for a long while.

For the next two days Sam’s determination overtook anything else. The completion date for the sale was threateningly close and so with Jilly’s help, they packed up Sam’s entire house between them. Her furniture and most of her belongings went to a storage facility, keeping back the bare essentials, they cleaned the place top to bottom ready for the new owners. Sam hadn’t heard anything about her latest job applications and right now she couldn’t care less because there were more important things in life. And with nowhere suitable to rent around here, it made sense to Sam to try to save her family in whatever way she could. Which meant there was only one option left now.

Sam barely glanced at the house when she reversed off the driveway after a tearful farewell with Jilly, she was too focused on the next step. She had to do this for Audrey, but her mother was part of the equation too. She’d ignored their estrangement for too long as it was, burying her head in the sand, hoping it would all go away if she kept calm and carried on. She only hoped this choice now would be the right one for all of them.

The drive went smoothly as though the traffic had cleared a path for Sam, and when she pulled up outside number nine Mapleberry Lane, she sat for a moment. It was the same when she’d brought Audrey here. She needed time to settle her mind, to remember that this wasn’t her a return to her teenage years, this was different. She had to do this. She was an adult, in control, and it was time for her to step up.

She pulled two suitcases from the boot, passed through the little gate at the front, not a blade of the immaculate lawn daring to blow in the light summer breeze as she made her way up to the front door.

Sam hadn’t slept under this roof in almost two decades, she barely managed a civil conversation with her own mother, let alone came to stay. But all of that had to change if she wanted to put a stop to history repeating itself. And so now, three generations under one roof was the way it would have to be. She hadn’t forewarned her mum of her arrival either; she hadn’t wanted her or Audrey to argue a case against it because now she was here, they all had no choice but to go through with it. She was moving in.

Sam raised a hand to knock but she might have known her arrival had already been witnessed by the slight tilt of the shutters in the sitting-room window, the immediate sound of the door being unlocked the other side.

She was here. This was real. And there was no going back.

Not if she wanted to put her family back together again.

Will Sam’s arrival bring the three generations of women together? Or will there be fireworks in Mapleberry…?

Continue the story in Part Two, An Autumn Promise, available to pre-order now:

About the Author

Helen Rolfe writes contemporary women’s fiction and enjoys weaving stories about family, friendship, secrets, and community. Characters often face challenges and must fight to overcome them, but above all, Helen’s stories always have a happy ending.

To learn more about Helen and her writing, find her at:

www.helenjrolfe.com
Facebook: @helenjrolfewriter
Twitter: @HJRolfe
Instagram: @helen_j_rolfe

Copyright

AN ORION EBOOK

First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Orion Books

Copyright © Helen Rolfe 2020

The right of Helen Rolfe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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

ISBN 978 1 3987 0026 0

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