by Vikki Patis
Sian leaves too, promising Mum that she will be back in the morning to finish painting the new wet room. Mum pats her hand, smiling, and I realise that she seems happier than I have ever seen her. She is a calmer version of herself. The dementia is a dark cloud on the horizon, but for now we will enjoy what we have.
I close the front door after them and take Seb aside, pulling the envelope out of my bag. He takes it, pulling out the paper inside. I tap my finger against the words printed along the top: VISITING ORDER. He looks at me, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
‘Really?’
I laugh. ‘Yes, really. Tomorrow, if you want to, that is.’
He hugs me tight, reminding me of when he was small and would cling to me, his tiny legs wrapped around my waist. I breathe him in, my boy, and hold him close.
‘I can’t wait,’ he whispers. ‘Thank you.’
Seb may want to forgive his father, may be desperate to have him in his life, but I know I could never forgive Brad for what he has done. I am not as strong as these young people who continue to amaze me every day. I do not have it in me to forgive him for taking my daughter away. But I can no longer keep Seb from his father. For better or worse, he needs him in his life. Only Seb will suffer if I try to keep them apart. And as we take our seats opposite him in the prison the next day, my palms sweaty with nerves, Brad’s eyes clear in a way I’ve never seen before, a sheepish smile on his lips, I know that Paige is here with us, and I know that she would be proud.
64
Izzy
‘Izzy!’
She hears her name being called, turns to see a figure running out of the building towards her. The air is cold, the promise of Christmas just around the corner, and the wind bites at her cheeks as she waits, moving aside to let the flow of students pass her. It is the last day of term, and the midday sun casts Katie’s short new curls in a golden hue as she approaches.
‘Aren’t you getting the bus?’ she asks when she catches up, her breath frosting in the air between them.
Izzy shakes her head. ‘Not today. I’m meeting Miranda in town. We’re picking up Dad’s Christmas present.’
‘Is it socks?’ Katie asks with a wry grin. ‘That’s what I always get my dad.’
‘It’s not socks,’ Izzy says with a laugh. ‘It’s–’
‘Oh,’ Katie interrupts. ‘Isn’t that Leah?’ She raises a hand and Izzy stiffens, the familiar nerves bubbling inside her until she realises that Katie is waving, and then she remembers that first day back in Plymouth after her birthday weekend in Hertford, after the tearful conversations with her mum and Anthony, who drove up when he heard what happened. She remembers Katie turning up with a bag full of chocolate and Prosecco. She remembers her surprise when she found out about Anthony not being her dad, her shrug when Izzy told her the truth about Sian.
‘It’s the twenty-first century,’ she said around a mouthful of Minstrels. ‘Who the hell cares about that anymore? Anyway, what happened to be kind?’ And Izzy had laughed and cried and hugged her new friend, something suddenly clicking into place. She felt the sense of something settling, like a feather drifting to the floor after a long time in the air. She was ready for a new chapter in her life.
The dread had returned when she went back to school, her mind full of worries about what her new friends would think of her after what happened at her party and the photo they had all seen. She wondered whether Katie had told them all about the weir, whether they thought badly of her now. But Katie had squeezed her hand while they sat on the bus, and the rest of them were waiting for her at the school gates. They rushed over, engulfing her in their arms, strands of hair tangling and perfumes mingling, and Izzy had relaxed into them, almost dizzy with relief.
And then there was Leah. She had been reading a book that morning, in her usual corner at the back of the room, and when Izzy sat beside her, she didn’t raise her head.
‘Queenie,’ Izzy said, reading the front cover of her book. ‘Good choice.’ Leah looked up then, blinking as if in surprise. Izzy smiled. ‘What are you doing at lunch?’
Leah joined them all on the field that lunchtime, nervously picking at her ham sandwich. Izzy saw the bemused look Katie threw her and took out her phone.
She’s not so different to me, she typed. Be kind, remember?
And Katie had smiled, her eyes twinkling. She nodded once before speaking. ‘Leah, I love your bracelet. Where is it from?’
Leah looked startled. ‘It was my mum’s. She gave it to me for my birthday.’
‘Vintage! Cool.’
‘Didn’t you used to do karate at the church on Mutley?’ Chloe said, leaning over and pinching one of Steph’s crisps.
‘Yeah. I wasn’t very good though.’ Leah’s smile was shy.
‘Me neither,’ Chloe said. ‘I always forgot to bow when I entered. I used to get yelled at every week. Who did you have?’
‘Darren, I think?’
‘Short, dark hair?’ Chloe mimed spikes coming out of her head.
‘That’s it. He had really hairy feet.’
‘Eurgh!’ Cara exclaimed while Chloe laughed.
‘He did! And his toenails, bleurgh!’
‘Why are feet so gross?’ Maddie said, making a face.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Katie said, slipping her foot out of its shoe and pointing her toes. ‘I could sell photos of mine online.’
‘Fuck’s sake!’ Steph said, throwing a crisp at Katie. They dissolved into fits of giggles, the type that make your stomach hurt and tears leak out of your eyes, and Izzy had noticed how pretty Leah was when she laughed.
It was that simple. It was that complicated.
‘Leah!’ Katie calls, jerking Izzy out of her reverie. ‘Over here!’
Leah grins as she approaches, taking the halo of tinsel off her head and throwing it at Katie, who catches it in mid-air. ‘Thought you’d abandoned me,’ she says, smiling as she slips her hand into Izzy’s and squeezes.
Izzy squeezes back. ‘No such luck,’ she says with a grin.
‘I can’t believe that’s our first term at college done,’ Leah says. ‘It goes so much quicker than school did.’
‘I know,’ Katie says, rolling her eyes. ‘School dragged. Now we’re surrounded by fun people.’
Izzy laughs before checking the time. ‘We’d better go. See you tomorrow?’
‘Nah,’ Katie says, pretending to examine her nails, ‘I’ve had a better offer.’
‘Oh yeah? What, hot chocolate and Murder, She Wrote with your dad?’ Leah says with a grin.
Katie laughs. ‘Yeah, on second thoughts, see you tomorrow.’ She whirls around and heads for the bus stop, her hair bouncing around her head.
‘I could go for a hot chocolate though,’ Izzy says as they walk towards the city centre. ‘Costa?’
Leah makes a face. ‘How many times? Starbucks all the way.’
‘You have no taste.’
They walk hand in hand towards Drake Circus, pausing to look in the shop windows, pointing at a display inside Waterstones. Izzy’s phone vibrates and she pulls it out, smiling at the screen.
‘Is that…?’ Leah asks, eyes widening.
Izzy nods, turning the phone towards her and replaying Sian’s Instagram story. A tiny bundle is running across a wooden floor in pursuit of a toy which looks like a cross between an owl and a squirrel.
‘I can’t believe Sian got a puppy,’ Leah says with a sigh. ‘I’m desperate for a dog.’
‘You should include one in your book,’ Izzy suggests. ‘The next best thing?’
Leah laughs. ‘My characters have all the fun.’
They go to Starbucks – of the two, Leah is the more relaxed one, but this is one argument Izzy will never win – and they order large hot chocolates with marshmallows, the takeaway cups warming their hands as they walk through the shopping centre.
‘When are you going to your mum’s?’ Leah asks, sliding out of the way of a toddler barrelling across the concourse, a dishe
velled man chasing after him, a pram dragging along behind.
‘This weekend,’ Izzy says. ‘I’ll be back the day before Christmas Eve.’
She thinks of her mother, remembering as she often does the long, emotional conversations they have had in the months since her birthday weekend, sometimes on the phone, sometimes in person. She thinks of her reaction when Izzy told her she was gay, the way she had frowned, making Izzy’s stomach tighten with anxiety. ‘So?’ she said. ‘I just want you to be happy, darling.’ And Izzy had been unable to stop the tears of relief from running down her face.
One hurdle had been crossed, with a simplicity that surprised Izzy. But then Caitlyn and Alicia came down to Plymouth in September, and they spent the weekend in the kitchen with Anthony and Miranda, drinking endless cups of tea and making piles of used tissues. The room was full of the words they’d kept inside for so many years, the air thick with emotion, but their relationship now is so much stronger than it had ever been. She understands why her mother kept her conception a secret, why she had been so hurt when Anthony left. She finally understands Caitlyn on a level she’d never expected to before. She finally understands why Miranda called her remarkable that day at brunch. Her mother is remarkable, full of strength and love and patience. Her sister is too, with her pragmaticism and ability to forgive, and Anthony and Miranda, with their open house and arms, their desperation for Izzy to stay with them, if she wanted. And she did. She does. She has this extraordinary family, with more people than she ever thought she could fit inside her heart. She knows she is lucky to have such remarkable people in her life.
And me, she thinks as they spot Miranda waiting outside a shop for them. Maybe I’m a little bit remarkable too.
THE END
Acknowledgements
The idea for this novel came to me when I was struggling with another that wasn’t quite working. The characters of Seb, Izzy, Liv and Caitlyn arrived almost fully formed, as if they were people who were already in my life and were just waiting for me to notice them. Thankfully, this one seems to have worked, but I couldn't have done it without the support and understanding of my publisher.
This book is dedicated to my nephew, who was not yet born when I wrote these acknowledgements. I am completely useless with children, but I will always strive to make the world a better place for them to inherit, and I will continue to learn and grow in my understanding (though I may never learn how to change a nappy). My thanks therefore to Keisha Corrigan for answering my questions about growing up and dealing with racism. It is a privilege for me to have to ask about rather than live with such things, and any errors or missteps are entirely my own. Thanks also to Herts Black Lives Matter for their showcases and resources, and to everyone who spends their time raising awareness and educating others. You are heard.
Thank you to everyone in the Photos of Hertford, Ware and surround Facebook group for answering my questions on what Hertford was like in Liv's day, and especially those who sent photos and shared memories of life from the 80s to the early 00s. Thanks also to PC Ricky Carter for his lengthy notes on police procedure - as always, all errors are my own. And to Shannon from Hertford Cake Co and all at Amico di Amici, two of my favourite local places immortalised in this book.
Writing a book is always a collaborative effort, and I am lucky to have such a great team around me. Huge thanks to Ian Skewis, Shirley Khan, Tara Lyons, and all at Bloodhound Books for helping shape my fifth psychological suspense novel. Thank you for having faith in me. Thanks as always to my wonderful beta readers: Michaela Balfour, Chloe Osborne, and Melanie Thomas.
To the Psychological Suspense Authors’ Association and The Savvy Writers, thank you for your support and guidance. To Rona Halsall, Lesley Sanderson, and Ruth Heald for your friendship and being there through it all, the highs and lows and everything in between. To the Fiction Cafe Book Club and Skye’s Mum & Books for your friendliness and cheerleading. And thank you, readers, for choosing to pick up my books. I really hope you have enjoyed this one.
Finally, to Evie, for being my biggest supporter and giving me ‘crumbs’ on my early drafts. This was the first novel I completed during lockdown while trying to control a wild puppy, and it wasn’t always easy. And by the time this book is published, we'll be busy wrestling with another puppy while I try to write another book, because we are clearly bonkers. But this time, we’ll know we can do it.
A note from the publisher
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