‘Abso-blooming-lutely . . .’ he said, and relief flooded through her. Despite what she’d said, she didn’t think she could be alone. In fact, he’d kept her afloat the last few months when she’d been overwhelmed with a sense of abandonment and total futility. Everything in her life up to that point had been about Becky, everything she’d done for years had been for Becky, in order to give her the chances that she herself hadn’t had in life, and in one night her purpose had vanished. If Tim hadn’t been with her in the mornings, he’d called her to make sure she was OK, that she’d got out of bed, got dressed. He’d given her errands, which had sometimes transpired to be unnecessary ones. And when she really couldn’t face it, he’d held her, until the darkness let go of her again.
She took the bacon sandwich and wrapped it in some foil.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m late for work.’
His mouth dropped. ‘You’re working?’
She nodded.
‘But I was going to take the day off – to, you know—’
She kissed him. ‘You’re wonderful. But I’ve realized I can only do this from within the company.’
‘Eh? What company?’
‘The lorry driver’s!’ she said, as if it was obvious. ‘I’ve got three options: I become their safety director, unlikely; I buy the company, equally unlikely; or I buy just enough shares so I can go to the AGM.’ Her voice wavered. ‘Then I’ll get a chance to speak.’
‘You what?’
‘This morning I realized I had already done the research, all those times looking at their website, trying to find out what might have happened. I’ve read every word there is to read about them. Including the notes from their annual general meeting. They have this section at the end: “Any other business”. I am going to be any other business. And I’ll ask them to change the rules. So, you see, I need to go to work because I need the money.’
He was still staring at her.
‘To buy the shares,’ she explained, then grabbed her bag and tucked the sandwich inside. As she headed to the door, she turned back to look at him. She smiled. ‘Thank you, Tim.’
EIGHT
She worked every hour she could, every shift, every bit of overtime. The adrenaline kept her going and also a new, welcome strength. It was a feeling that, if she tried to look for it, locate it, it disappeared, but if she kept on going, did this thing she needed to do for Becky, she could sense it somewhere deep down, giving her some comfort. It was such a relief to be feeling something other than the inescapable, debilitating pain that she kept on working and thinking about buying the shares. When she was stacking tins of paint on the shelves, she would imagine herself going into a large conference room and sitting somewhere near the back. Listening. Waiting. Then it would be her moment. Would she stand up or stay seated? She composed various speeches in her head and none of them were quite right, but she still had time.
The money went into the savings account she had used for Becky’s university fund and she watched every month as the number crept up. At first, she’d been afraid to find out how much she needed; a goal that was out of reach would topple her. Then one night she’d made herself switch on the computer and do some searching. The relief at finding out she only needed one share to attend was short-lived. Who would take anyone seriously who only owned a single share? So, she was determined to make as much as she could before the company’s AGM.
Kate could smell Tim’s cooking before she’d even opened the front door. It was nice knowing he was here, at her house, and she’d given him a key so that on the nights they met, he could come in early. He’d insisted on helping her, and if that meant making dinner when she came home late from work, that was what he would do. Tonight, they had invited Iris round and Kate could hear them chattering in the kitchen.
She kicked off her shoes and went to join them, kissing Iris on the cheek then going to hug Tim from behind as he pulled a lasagne out of the oven. She noticed a bottle of beer on the side.
‘On the booze?’
‘Yep.’
‘Good. I could do with one.’ She grabbed a bottle from the fridge and topped up Iris’s wine while she was at it.
‘Ooh, you’ll get me all tiddly,’ said Iris, but still held her glass out at full stretch.
‘Dinner is served,’ said Tim, wiping his hands on his apron.
‘Great, I’m starving. I didn’t have lunch today.’
He frowned. ‘You need to look after yourself.’
‘I’m fine. I’ve got you, haven’t I?’
‘Indeed, you have,’ he said, wagging a finger, ‘but you still need to buy a sandwich at lunchtime.’
Iris reached into her handbag as Tim started spooning lasagne onto plates.
‘Before we start . . . I want you to have this.’ She handed over a brown envelope.
‘What is it?’ asked Kate as she sat down next to her. She peered in and was met with a wodge of notes. ‘Oh no, no, no . . . I can’t take this.’ She handed it straight back. ‘It’s your pension money.’
‘I’m not leaving till you do, so you might as well, otherwise you’ll be setting up a camp bed on the living-room floor. And I don’t think my arthritis would like that very much.’
‘But—’
‘Shush,’ said Iris, talking over her. ‘It’s only two hundred pounds but it all helps.’
‘Two hundred pounds!’ started Kate, but she was met with a stern look and knew arguing was futile. She also knew what a dent that would have made in Iris’s income. ‘I’m incredibly grateful,’ she said softly.
‘She was like a granddaughter to me, your Becky, so it’s the least I can do. Now, who’s for some peas?’
After dinner, once Iris had dozed off in the armchair, Tim and Kate snuck out of the living room to tackle the washing-up. The long day and the beer had got to Kate and she was quiet, happy to just dry the dishes as Tim methodically stacked them on the drainer. She leaned her head against his shoulder as she waited for the next item. ‘Are you on the early shift tomorrow?’
‘Yes. I’ll be gone at five.’
She sighed. ‘We never seem to see much of each other.’
‘Are you working late?’
She nodded.
‘I’ll come and cook for you again.’
Kate was filled with such a rush of love, she pulled him away from the sink and wrapped her arms around his neck, then kissed him softly.
He smiled. ‘That was nice.’ He lifted his arms, but she still held on. ‘I’m dripping.’
‘Move in.’
‘What?’
‘Then at least we’ll see each other whenever we’re not working.’
Tim turned to face her. ‘Seriously?’
‘Why not? I know our relationship has had a funny start . . . we haven’t even gone on many dates, well none, really, since . . . except that one time to the cinema . . .’ She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing something. ‘Sometimes I feel as if I don’t really know anything about you. The accident eclipsed everything. I’ve been so distracted by it all.’
‘Are you telling me you’re asking a virtual stranger to move in with you?’
‘Yes? Is that bad?’
‘Usually not advised.’
‘We’d save money too, living together. I could put more away!’ She bit her lip, realizing what she’d said. ‘Sorry.’
He smiled. ‘Well, if you put it like that, how can I say no?’
NINE
2018
It was somewhere near here, thought Kate, gazing hopefully up at the trees. It had been almost ten years since she’d come to this park, just south of Crawley. When Becky had become a teenager, she’d declared herself to have outgrown it but before that they would come frequently. Actually, it wasn’t so much a park as a wood, maze, cafe, petting farm and lake, all housed in 2,000 acres. She’d brought Becky here from babyhood – they’d get on the bus and escape the fumes and dirt of south London. At first, she’d push her in her pram, th
en later, Becky had toddled about while Kate took pictures of her hiding in the rhododendrons and exclaiming wide-eyed at the guinea pigs and lambs. Here was also where Becky had climbed her first tree – an ancient oak – and that was where Kate was headed now, as the tree had remained special to both of them; even when Becky had graduated to zip-wiring through the canopy, she’d always had to come here, just to say hello.
Of course, trees as well as children grow, and the area around where Kate used to come had changed dramatically. Small saplings now acted as a gateway to the trees beyond, and up in the big old matriarchs, the mass of new leaves hid noteworthy branches. ‘Becky’s’ tree had a prominent forked branch that split into two halfway up, and massive arms that curved upwards. When Kate finally saw it, she was reminded of how Becky had used one of those arms to lever herself up higher, getting three, four metres up into the canopy. Kate had only agreed to her climbing it if she promised to stay low, but Becky had gone higher when she wasn’t looking and then promptly got stuck. Kate smiled as she remembered how she’d had to hitch herself up to go and rescue her, getting ‘advice’ from her seven-year-old daughter as she climbed, whose excuse for disobeying her mother’s instructions was, ‘I forgot’.
She looked up and saw the branch she’d had to coax her down from, near the little hollow in the trunk where Becky had imagined fairies lived. The same place where, on another day, Becky had climbed, more confidently this time, and planted a knife, fork and spoon in the damp cavity, that she’d snaffled from the kitchen drawer, ‘so they can have tea parties’, and Kate let her do it rather than hoist herself back up in the tree again. Some arguments were best left.
It was quiet here, as she was near the boundary of the park and not many people came this way. She’d been undecided, at first, as to where to go. She was tired of London, of having worked non-stop for the last few months, and needed a change of scene, to celebrate away from the house. For today was the day she had bought her shares.
Kate sat at the base of the trunk, opened her bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. A receipt. She was now the proud owner of two thousand three hundred shares of Fresh Foods plc. She leaned back and looked up; she could see glimpses of the bright-blue spring sky through the green canopy.
‘I did it, Becky,’ she said, holding up the receipt. ‘And not only that, I have an invitation to the AGM.’
Two squirrels chased each other through the branches and a flurry of flowers from the tassel-like catkins landed on her face.
‘Oi! You know how to ruin a moment, don’t you?’ she shouted, then, feeling foolish and wanting to avoid an avalanche of pollen dust, got up.
Heading back to the populated area of the park, she spotted Tim. They’d arranged to meet by the lake after his shift had finished. It was full of boaters as the sun was out and numerous men were showing off their prowess with oars.
‘Here,’ said Kate, passing Tim the paper.
He opened it up and then stopped and pulled her into a hug, pressing her face into his shoulder.
‘I can’t breathe!’ she said, but she was pleased he was so happy.
‘You did it! So . . . what are you going to say?’
‘I’ll tell them who I am . . .’
‘That’ll be a shock.’
‘And then I’ll ask them to do everything they can to make sure it never happens again. Ask them to make changes. Look at all their vehicles and see what it is they need to do. I want them to make a proper project of it.’
‘You sure you don’t want me to come with you? You know, moral support?’
She squeezed his arm. ‘I don’t think it says “plus one” on the invitation.’
‘OK, do your thing. Kick some ass,’ he said, in a terrible American accent.
She laughed. Truth was, she didn’t feel much like an arse-kicker. Kate considered herself street-smart, savvy. She’d had to be, being a single mum in a low-income job. She’d had no one to look out for her and Becky except herself. But now she was nervous. One hurdle had been crossed, another massive one lay ahead. She’d never owned a share in her life. She didn’t know what happened at AGMs. How would she get the bottle to stand up in front of all those people? People who would know instantly that she wasn’t some smart, educated businesswoman. She was a working-class girl who was completely out of her depth.
TEN
Kate gave her name to the young man in the nondescript white shirt and black trousers who stood at the doorway of the conference room in the nondescript hotel near a flyover in West London. She was handed a keypad as he ticked her off. She looked at him blankly. ‘For the voting,’ he explained and then he invited her to enter the room with a wave of his hand.
‘Teas and coffees are on the side,’ said the man and then he moved on to the person behind her – a man in wire-framed glasses. In fact, there were a lot of men here in this condensed space. Men milled around the coffee area, some talking in small groups, pontificating about . . . what? Shares? How much money they were making? The intricacies of restaurant-food distribution? More men were seated in the chairs laid out in rows, all facing a raised podium. Many were on their phones; some were reading sheets of paper. She had a sudden panic, as if she hadn’t done her school homework. Was she supposed to have read up on something? She’d looked through the documents they’d sent with the invitation but none of it seemed to require any sort of response.
Kate went to get a cup of tea, ignoring the odd curious glance that came her way, and then looked for somewhere to sit. The top table was beginning to fill with what she presumed to be the directors, and so she quickly grabbed a chair. Unfortunately, the aisle ones were taken so she side-stepped past some knees to go about four spaces in, halfway back from the podium. She sat and listened, feeling alien in her new outfit. She had no idea what people – shareholders – wore to AGMs. Neither had the seventeen-year-old sales girl, but she’d seen a reality TV show where members of the public, usually young ones with over-inflated views of their ability, outdid each other for a position with a tycoon with a catchphrase. She was of the opinion Kate should wear a suit.
‘It shows you mean business, gives you a sort of armour.’
Kate had looked at herself in the mirror. She could do with that, but wasn’t convinced a blue pencil skirt and jacket with shoulder pads would provide it. And then the girl was tying a leopard-print scarf around her neck. Kate coughed.
‘Sorry, was that too tight?’ She slackened it, but the scarf was a step too far for Kate. She’d ended up buying the suit and a pair of shoes and had forced herself to apply a bit of make-up.
Now, she stuck the empty teacup under her chair and clutched the bag she’d bought in the charity shop for two pounds fifty to her stomach, trying to quell the butterflies that were somersaulting inside her, and listened to the man (another one!) who was speaking.
He was positioned in the middle of the group that had gathered and had stood to address the room. Gregory Hollander he was called, and he was the Chairman of Fresh Foods plc. He had tight brown curls peppered with grey and wore an expensive-looking suit. He cracked a couple of jokes in his opening speech and Kate wondered how long it had taken to write them, how prepared he was, and how he would react when she voiced her very unexpected request. It would be a while off, she realized, looking at the agenda, as there were presentations, voting and approval of accounts to get through first. It was incredibly dull and, in fact, one man fell asleep an hour in, his chin tucked into his chest, his arms folded.
At the coffee break she did her best to avoid everyone, not feeling in the mood for small talk as her nerves were growing as the morning wore on. She saw another woman – older – catch her eye; she was about to come over, but Kate couldn’t face speaking to anyone and, in a panic, she turned her back, silently apologizing for her rudeness. She escaped to the ladies’ and waited in there a full ten minutes until she knew it was time they were all back in their seats, then she slipped into the room and found her place.
At last
it came. The Company Secretary stood and, in a slightly cautious voice, asked if there was any other business.
It was her chance. This was what she’d been waiting for.
No one else said anything. Kate found she was shaking. What was the matter with her? Now! You have to speak now! Was it the men? The fact she was one of only two women in a roomful of suits? She could handle men – she did all the time. She’d lost count of the times she’d had to explain that they were speaking to the DIY advisor. And only last week, seemingly unable to cope with this revelation, some idiot had made a comment about the size of her breasts and she’d been so annoyed she’d looked down and then screamed as if she’d never seen them before.
She could do this. She had earned her place here.
‘Hello, yes, I have something to say,’ she said. She stood up so quickly, her chair scraped back noisily on the floor. The sound rang out around the room.
‘Yes?’ prompted the Company Secretary.
‘Last February, a girl – a young woman called Becky Ellis – was cycling in central London when she was knocked off her bike by someone driving one of your trucks. She was killed. Despite the coroner’s verdict at the inquest, I don’t believe in calling it an accidental death. It was avoidable. I’m convinced by this. I would like to ask you, all of you sitting up there, to look at ways of modifying your lorries so that it never happens again.’ She paused and then remembered to add: ‘My name is Kate Ellis and I am Becky’s mum.’
ELEVEN
Silence. Should she sit or remain standing? Dozens of eyes were on her, but some were too awkward to meet her gaze. The sleeping man had woken up and was looking right at her. One of the directors was whispering in the Company Secretary’s ear. Another looked deeply uncomfortable. Then one person started to clap, a spasm of noise in the room. The woman she’d snubbed. A rush of gratitude.
The Chairman – Gregory – stood. ‘First of all, I would like to say how sorry I am for what happened. It was a great shock to all of us and we’d never had any accident before, nor have we since. That’s not my way of dismissing your request,’ he added quickly, ‘on the contrary, I second your fellow shareholder’s sentiment.’ He indicated the lady who’d clapped. ‘I think it would be very helpful for us to meet separately. Would you agree?’
The Daughter Page 5