by Kate Hewitt
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Emily murmured. She didn’t have the energy or emotional space to worry about anything else than what was going on in her life right now.
Back in the office, she was finally able to push all her worries and concerns to the back of her mind as she focused on filing—one of her favourite activities—and then sorting some logistics for the fundraiser. It was, she hoped, shaping up to be a fun and wholesome event, with plenty of children’s activities on offer, as well as local businesses showcasing their wares. It made her happy to think of it, to think of anything but the fact of her mother lying in a hospital bed, hating her.
Late afternoon, it started to rain, a steady hammering on the terrace outside as raindrops streaked down the long windowpanes. Alice came in with a cup of tea and an uncertain smile.
“I know you want to work, but I thought you could use a hot drink.”
“That’s kind. Thank you, Alice.” Emily looked up from her laptop, blinking a gloomy world back into focus. The tea was welcome.
Emily cradled the mug in her hands, savouring the warmth. For a few hours she’d been able to keep from thinking about everything, but now, with just a moment’s respite, memories started to rush in. The hospital. Her mother’s look of fury and hatred. Twenty-eight days. Owen…
“Do you want to talk about it?” Alice asked cautiously. “It’s okay if you don’t.”
Emily sighed. “There isn’t much to talk about, really.” She paused, and then, perhaps because she’d done it once already so it felt that little bit easier, she added somewhat recklessly, “My mother’s been sectioned. She’ll be in a closed psychiatric unit for the next twenty-eight days.”
“Oh, Emily.”
Yes, there it was, the cringing sense of shame and fear that she’d said it aloud. Again. There was nothing but pity on Alice’s face, but still. Emily wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
“I’m sorry.” Emily nodded her thanks, and Alice continued hesitantly, “I know a little of what you’re going through. My mum…she was a drug addict. I lived with her a couple of times in between being in care and…it wasn’t easy.” Alice swallowed hard. “Not easy at all.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Once again, Emily realised, she’d assumed, without even realising she was doing it, that someone wouldn’t understand. That they wouldn’t relate, when they could. All too well. “I’m sorry, Alice. I didn’t realise.”
“It was a lot of ups and downs,” Alice continued quietly. “I wanted to be with her, but then I really didn’t. And then I felt guilty for not wanting it…round and round, until it finally wasn’t an issue, because I aged out and she lost touch.” She sighed. “I don’t even know where she is now.”
“That sounds really tough.” Emily knew the words were inadequate, yet she didn’t have any others. Alice’s observation had already skated a bit too close to the bone, to the heart. Yes, she understood that merry-go-round of emotions, wishing her mum would get better and wishing she wouldn’t, wishing she would be in her life or completely out of it. And the guilt. Always the guilt. She wished she could explain to Alice how she understood, she got it, but the words were jumbled inside her. “Thank you,” she said instead, hefting her cup of tea but meaning so much more. It helped, to know someone else understood what you were going through, if not the particulars, then the generalities.
Alice smiled shyly. “Anytime.”
*
It was still raining, a steady, depressing downpour, as Emily headed back to Willoughby Close, huddled under an umbrella as the wind blew the rain sideways straight into her face. The world looked chilled and miserable, as well as thoroughly soaked.
Inside she checked on The Kitten—he really needed a name—smiling to see him curled up on top of a basket of ironing. Of course, she’d have to wash it all again, but it was still rather sweet.
After changing out of her wet clothes, she steeled herself for a telephone call to the hospital, something she knew she would have to do daily.
“Naomi is currently sleeping,” the nurse said when Emily managed to get through to someone familiar with her mother’s case. “After some agitation, she was sedated this afternoon and has been doing much better.”
Because she was unconscious? “Should I come for a visit tomorrow?” Emily asked, and a telling pause followed.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, no,” the nurse said finally. “I’m sorry, but your mother is still quite emotive and agitated. Keeping her to a safe and steady routine is her best option now, without introducing any outside factors.”
So that was what she’d become—an outside factor. Emily murmured her thanks before ending the call. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away furiously.
It was foolish to be hurt by this. She’d understood long ago that she couldn’t take her mother’s hostility or even hatred personally. But it made her wonder if she shouldn’t take the love and affection personally, either. Could she trust anything? Anyone?
A soft knock on the door startled her out of her unhappy thoughts, and she wondered which well-meaning neighbour was coming for the scoop now.
But when she opened the door, she saw it wasn’t a neighbour. It was Owen, his dark curls plastered to his face, the shoulders of his coat dripping with rain, his smile both sheepish and wonderful.
“You’re soaked!”
“It’s raining.”
“So I noticed.” Emily realised she was smiling. “Come in.”
She stepped aside as he came into the cottage, dripping all over the floor as he shook the water from his hair the way a dog would. “I just wanted to check how you were doing.”
Her heart contracted, expanded, spilled over. “I’m all right.”
“Your mum?”
“Still doesn’t want to see me.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll call again tomorrow.”
“Will you visit?”
“Not until I’m allowed.”
“I’m sorry, Emily.”
She shrugged, tried to smile, and didn’t manage either. “I wanted to say…I’m sorry for being so emotional earlier. I’m not usually…”
“I know you’re not.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Sorry, but that’s been blindingly obvious from the start.”
She managed a laugh. “I suppose so.”
“How does it feel, letting someone in just a little?”
“Hard.” The word scraped her throat. “Good. But I don’t… You still don’t know me, Owen. I don’t understand why…” Why you’re being so nice to me. His kindness felt both overwhelming and amazing. Too much.
“Well, I was thinking about what you said earlier.” Owen shoved his hands in the pockets of his faded and well-worn jeans, looking uncharacteristically uncertain, his mouth turned downwards, his blue, blue eyes scanning her face.
“What I said…?”
“About me not actually knowing you. And there’s some truth to that, so I thought, why don’t I get to know you? And you get to know me? Properly?”
Emily gazed at him uncertainly as she tried to figure out what he meant. “How do you mean…?”
“We go out on a date. Or actually, we go in on a date. I’m inviting you to my house for dinner.” His smile was wide, his stance confident now, powerful shoulders thrown back, yet the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes made Emily ache. Why was he trying so hard? No one ever had before.
She’d never even been invited on a proper date before, and now that she was, she wasn’t sure how to respond. How to feel.
“Emily…?”
“Sorry, I’m just…” She gave a little laugh as she shook her head. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“You weren’t?” Owen looked a bit surprised. Dates were fairly normal occurrences, Emily supposed, for other people. Getting asked on one probably wasn’t that big a deal.
“No, I…I’ve never actually been on a date before.” She tensed, waiting for his reaction. Shock? Pity? Revulsion, as he realised just how backwa
rd and inexperienced she really was, having hidden away from everything for so much of her life? How much work she was, for someone interested in dating her?
Amazingly, he took it in his stride. His mouth curved wider, his eyes glinting like a promise. “Then it’s about time you went on one.”
The ease of his response made her smile again, and something that had been hard and tight inside her loosened, just a little. Maybe something could be that simple for once. That easy.
“Yes,” she said slowly, smiling as she said it. “Yes, I think you might be right.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Ava…?”
Emily had to nearly jump out of the way as Ava marched into her cottage on Saturday night, a hanging bag in one hand, a bottle of gin in the other.
“Um, it’s nice to see you, but what are you doing here?”
Ava turned around, a look of purpose on her beautiful face. “We have work to do.”
“We do?”
Ava glanced at her watch. “It’s only two hours until your date with Owen. Yes, we have work.”
“What…?” All week long Emily had been hugging the secret of her date with Owen to herself. She’d gone to work, chatted with Alice, arranged the fundraiser, held a business meeting with Henry, and said not a word.
Every night she’d walked home, called the hospital—no real change happening there—and made her dinner, cuddled still-nameless kitten and thought about Saturday night, because she was becoming a little bit obsessed. But she still hadn’t told anyone, because that wasn’t her style, and it felt too precious a secret to share.
“How did you know about it?” she asked and Ava’s mouth curved in a cat-like smile.
“I know everything, love. But seriously, Owen told me. He wanted some advice, bless him.”
“Some advice!” Her stomach did somersaults at that little bit of knowledge. “What kind of advice?”
“Never you mind. I keep your secrets, and I’ll keep his as well.”
“I don’t have secrets,” Emily objected, and Ava let out one of her full-throated laughs.
“As if, darling, as if.”
“That you know of,” Emily amended and Ava just smiled.
“You keep thinking that, then. I’ll pour the gin.”
Emily watched, bemused, as Ava marched over to the kitchen and did just that. “You do have ice cubes, I hope?” she tossed over her shoulder as she moved to the freezer. “Ah, I knew you would. And tonic water, too! You’re my kind of girl.”
Still speechless, Emily accepted a gin and tonic from Ava and took a sip, wincing a little at the tart taste of the gin. Ava had made it rather strong.
“No point in doing it otherwise,” Ava said, and Emily nearly spluttered her gin.
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?” Ava asked innocently.
“Read my mind.”
“It’s an open book. Every emotion is on your face. Now come on. Upstairs so we can get you ready for this date, because I am not having you looking like you’re heading into the office.”
And without further ado, Ava picked up the hanging bag of clothes she’d brought with her and headed upstairs.
“Wait a second,” Emily protested. “Ava, you can’t just…”
“I already took my shoes off at the door,” Ava said patiently. “I figured you’d have a thing about that. And I won’t touch anything you don’t want me to, or mess anything up, or heaven forbid, put anything out of alignment.”
Emily, halfway to the stairs, stopped and stared. Blinked a bit. “Wait…what?”
“You’re OCD. I get it.” Ava shrugged. “We’ve all got our quirks, haven’t we? I know I have mine.”
“But…” Of course, Emily knew she had obsessive-compulsive tendencies. When you ordered your spices alphabetically, when you deep cleaned on a daily basis, when you had to have your shoes lined up precisely half an inch apart and perfectly parallel…well, yes, you knew. But she hadn’t realised other people had. She’d always tried to hide it. And yet here Ava was, stating it as fact, and not a terribly important one at that. “How did you know?” she asked.
“How did I know? Well, the way you lined your knife and fork up by your plate when you were having dinner at ours might have been a clue. Or how you ate your food—so precisely! Everything cut into perfect squares. Or the fact that I’ve seen you put hand sanitiser on half a dozen times every time I see you.”
And here Emily had thought she’d been discreet.
“The kitten is a surprise,” Ava continued, nodding at the fluff ball curled up in his bed, sleeping peacefully. “It’s nice to know you’re not entirely predictable.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m teasing. Sort of.” Ava grinned. “Now drink your gin and come upstairs so we can turn you into the knockout babe you know you want to be.”
Well, there wasn’t much she could say to that, was there? Already her three sips of gin had mellowed her considerably. And so Emily took another sip, downing half the glass, and headed upstairs.
As she came into the bedroom, Ava had already unzipped the hanging bag and was drawing out the most ridiculous and gorgeous dresses Emily had ever seen.
“I can’t wear any of those,” she declared and Ava gave her a rather beady look.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” Emily nodded to a cocktail dress in ruby satin. “That’s far too dressy. And I’d look like—a like a high-priced hooker!”
“Not a bad look, in my opinion,” Ava mused. “And with a cute little cardigan, it would be fine. But the red might be a bit much on you.” She reached for a dress in a lovely, soft blue grey. “What about this one? It will make your eyes pop.”
The dress was more modest than the ruby one, but still far sexier than anything Emily had ever owned. Besides a very boring LBD for work functions, everything she owned came in two pieces or twin sets. Fashionable, but functional.
“I don’t know,” she answered hesitantly. “To tell you the truth, I thought it would be a bit more of a casual affair…”
“You don’t do casual,” Ava pointed out. “Not like other people, anyway. Do you even own a pair of jeans? Try it on.” She held out the dress and after a moment, feeling as if she had suddenly started to inhabit someone else’s life, someone else’s body, Emily took it. She drank the rest of the gin, her head swirling, as she went into the bathroom and started to undress.
This was crazy. She never did stuff like this. She never had people to do it with. And yet here she was, fingers fumbling, Ava humming in her bedroom. What was happening to her?
She shrugged out of her work clothes, folding her skirt and top as a matter of necessity as well as habit, before slipping on the dress. It was a soft knitted fabric that slid sensuously across Emily’s skin and clung to what curves she had. When she looked in the mirror, she swallowed hard, because already she was looking like someone else. She was starting to feel like someone else, as well.
Ava rapped on the door. “All right in there?”
“Yes…”
“Come out and show me, then.”
With one hand pressed to her stomach to steady her nerves—as well as the gin—Emily opened the door. Ava’s eyes brightened as she surveyed her appearance, her lips pursed.
“Very nice. Understated but definitely sexy. Yes.”
“I don’t know if—”
“But you need a belt.” Ava ignored her hesitant objection as she riffled through her bag and came out with a black patent-leather belt with an ornate gold clasp. “Let’s try this.” She slipped it around Emily’s waist before she could protest, giving her a quick smile as she did. “This is going to be fab, Emily. Really. Especially when we do your hair and make-up.”
“Hair and make-up?” Emily could not keep the alarm from her voice.
“Of course. Can’t have one without the other, can we?”
“I think this might be overkill,” Emily said weakly. “My make-up is usually quite understa
ted, and I don’t want to give Owen the wrong idea…”
Ava pursed her lips. “And what would that be?” Emily didn’t answer. She didn’t even know, or at least she didn’t want to say. “Come sit down and I’ll do your hair,” Ava said coaxingly. “You do know this is my job, don’t you?”
Emily looked at her in surprise. “A hairdresser?”
“No, not that. Although sort of, I suppose.” Ava let out a little laugh. “I started a business helping women go back into the workforce—help them with their training, their CVs, and their clothes and hair and make-up. So many don’t even know where to begin, and their self-confidence is at absolute zero.” Ava picked up a brush and started teasing Emily’s hair out. “Don’t worry, it’s clean,” she said soothingly. “I disinfected it before I came.”
Emily closed her eyes. Surely she wasn’t that much of a germophobe? Well, yes, she probably was. But there was something surprisingly soothing about submitting herself to Ava’s ministrations. As she gently pulled the brush through Emily’s hair, she was reminded of the storybook, the rocking chair. Goodnight brush and goodnight mush… She felt like a child, and it was both a strange and sweet feeling. She closed her eyes and let herself relax.
An hour later, Emily was ready. She’d been amazed at how long the hair and make-up had taken, but Ava was exacting and Emily had found herself enjoying simply sitting still. Plus she’d had another gin and tonic, and she was feeling decidedly relaxed.
“All right, are you ready for the big reveal?” Ava said as she put her hands on Emily’s shoulders and steered her towards the full-length mirror in the bathroom. “No peeking until I say, all right?”
“All right.” Emily had no idea what to expect.
“Ta-da!” Ava crowed, and Emily opened her eyes.
For a second, as absurd as it was, she didn’t recognise the woman in the mirror. For a second, she envied that woman, because she looked so vibrant and glowing and happy. And then she realised it was her.
“I…” Emily was at a loss for words as she put one hand to the soft, full waves that fell onto her shoulders. Stared at her smoky eyes with a subtle, sexy hint of cat-flick eyeliner, the perfectly outlined lips, the touch of colour on cheekbones that looked far more sculpted than usual.