Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Amanda Valentine 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover photographs © Elisabeth Ansley/Arcangel (front & spine); Shutterstock.com (back)
Amanda Valentine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008116521
Ebook Edition © August 2016 ISBN: 9780008116538
Version 2016-05-04
Dedication
To my son’s anonymous bone marrow donor
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Acknowledgements
Reading Group Questions
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Amanda Brooke
About the Publisher
1
The Accident
The suitcase lay open on the bed, its yawning mouth revealing neat piles of holiday clothes. There were summer tops and cropped shorts that would fit a twelve-year-old, a collection of child-sized bikinis, a couple of sparkly dresses and a cardigan for cooler evenings. The requisite clean underwear was hiding beneath a beach towel together with a pair of sandals, sun cream and other holiday essentials, all of which took up less than half the case. The remaining space was packed tight with enough medical supplies to keep a small pharmacy in stock for weeks.
Lucy had been dreaming of this holiday, and after going through everything one last time, she closed the suitcase and zipped it up. She took a deep breath, which was hard fought for, as was every breath.
‘I think that’s it,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’
Lucy turned to her younger sister. Hayley was almost a foot taller and although her figure was slender, she was a couple of stone heavier than her petite twenty-four-year-old sister. They each had their mother’s dark looks but where Hayley’s hair was cropped short to give her an edgy look, Lucy had opted for a longer, more feminine hairstyle. Washing and styling it could be exhausting at times but it was a price she was willing to pay to avoid being mistaken for a boy. ‘Yes, I’ve got everything I need. Any last-minute additions can go in my hand luggage tomorrow. We could take this downstairs now if you like?’ she said.
Ignoring Lucy’s impatience to get away, Hayley said, ‘No, I mean are you sure you still want to go? I know you wanted to prove a point and no one, not even Mum, could deny you’ve done that, but it’s not too late to change your mind. No one would blame you.’
‘Are you backing out on me?’
Hayley took longer than Lucy would have liked to answer. ‘If something happens while we’re away, it’s going to be on my conscience …’
Lucy could feel her pulse rising from a lethargic plod to a gentle trot – her defective organ was rarely capable of racing, nor was it recommended. She took a couple of strained breaths to fill her lungs with sufficient air to speak with the kind of authority the situation demanded. ‘So Mum’s got to you then?’
‘Look, I would love nothing better than for the two of us to spend a wild and furious week going out clubbing and getting drunk, staggering back to the hotel at dawn and spending the afternoon zonked out on the beach recovering. But that’s not going to happen, is it?’
‘No, it isn’t, because we’re going to a quiet resort in Lanzarote. It’s hardly Kavos or one of those crazy places you go to with your mates. And it’s not even for a whole week, for God’s sake,’ Lucy said, repeating arguments she had already put to her family. She had been talking about going on holiday for the last six months and had eventually managed to wear down her doctors, but not her parents and especially not her mum. She had followed medical advice and had waited until she was sure she was fit enough to travel before speaking to the nice lady in the travel agent’s who had been on standby and had found the perfect package deal for her and her sister. The taxi was booked for tomorrow afternoon and she was determined for everything to go as planned, even if it killed her.
‘But you haven’t got medical insurance. What if …’
‘If I don’t feel well then I have the travel agent’s number and we get on the next flight home. I’ve been saving up for this for ages, Hayley. It’s February and the weather out there isn’t going to get any better in Liverpool. I want some sun and I want some fun! Sorry but I am going – with or without you.’
When her warning failed to quell her sister’s last-minute nerves, Lucy went in for the killer comment. ‘Please, it’s my dying wish.’
‘You’re not dying,’ Hayley said quickly.
‘No, I’m not, but I am getting tired standing here arguing. Are you going to help me with this, or not?’
Lucy’s mum had heard the rhythmic thump of the suitcase being dragged downstairs and stood glaring at it until she was sure she had her emotions under control.
‘Lunch is ready,’ she said quietly without looking at either daughter.
Before taking a seat at the table, Lucy switched on the TV. Her mum normally frowned upon watching TV at mealtimes but today they were going to need help filling the uncomfortable silences.
At first the conversation was limited to polite exchanges as her mum served up a Spanish omelette. Lucy made a show of being absorbed in the antiques programme being aired but the programme soon finished and was followed by the lunchtime news. The headlines included reports of a terrible train crash and Lucy caught a look from her mum that she ignored.
‘Are you sure you’ve packed everything?’ her mum asked. It was the first time she had acknowledged that her daughter was going to follow through with her plans.
‘Yes, Mum. And we have our passports, our holiday mon
ey and I’ve booked the taxi.’
‘There’s still time for your dad to book a day off and take you to the airport.’
‘I know, but …’ Lucy began and then shrugged her shoulders. She chose not to remind her mum how she had been told in no uncertain terms that neither of her parents would help with the arrangements for their daughter’s ill-conceived adventure. ‘If he can pick us up when we get home again, that would be a help.’
Mrs Cunliffe nodded with grim determination as if to cement the idea that her daughter would be returning home. It was an impossible task and when she put down her knife and fork, she clenched her fists tightly. ‘Is there anything I can do to change your mind?’
‘No, Mum.’
‘I’ve already tried,’ Hayley offered.
Glancing briefly at the harrowing footage of the rail crash, Mrs Cunliffe said, ‘Please, Lucy.’ The firmness in her voice had withered away to nothing. ‘What if something happens?’
‘I’ve packed all the meds I need for every eventuality, Mum.’
‘What if your luggage goes missing? It does happen.’
‘I’ll have a couple of days’ supply in my hand luggage.’
‘Are you sure you’re well enough?’ Mrs Cunliffe asked as she narrowed her eyes. She had twenty-four years’ experience of assessing Lucy’s current state of health simply by looking at her. She could spot a fever at fifty paces, tell within hours if the latest operation had improved her daughter’s condition, and she was always, if not the first, then the second person to know when the latest repair job was failing.
‘I’m fine,’ Lucy told her honestly.
‘But what if you pick up a bug while you’re there?’
Lucy lowered her gaze and concentrated on cutting up her omelette, letting her mum know she would answer no more questions. The message was far too subtle and Mrs Cunliffe hadn’t finished.
‘What if the transplant nurse calls?’
Anger bubbled to the surface and Lucy’s weak heart rattled against her ribcage. ‘Mum, stop! I’m tired of keeping my life on hold waiting for that call. Chances are it isn’t going to come, and even if it does, it’s hardly going to happen the minute I step on the plane.’
In the background, the TV reporter had moved on to the travel update with news of yet more accidents including a jackknifed lorry that had closed a motorway and a bus hitting a bridge. Lucy wanted to get up and switch it off but it wouldn’t stop her thinking unthinkable thoughts. She had been on the transplant list for eighteen months and the anticipation of receiving that call had been agonizing and distinctly uncomfortable as she waited for someone else to die. She paid morbid attention to the news and thought of herself as a vulture eyeing up the slim pickings. And they were so slim. She was tired of feeding off someone else’s misery. She needed to get away.
When the cavalcade of ambulances arrived, the air was thick with oily fumes that darkened the day and Anya was momentarily disorientated as she jumped out of her vehicle. The sound of wailing sirens came from all directions and muffled the shouts and cries for help. The accident had been classed as a major incident and she had arrived as part of the emergency response team. Her confusion was compounded by the fact that she had sauntered into work that morning expecting to start her usual shift on a surgical ward only to be reassigned to A & E who were desperately short of staff. It had been a while since she had worked as a triage nurse, but it took only moments for her training to kick in. She was quickly on the move, taking direction from the officer in charge so she could help where she was needed most.
Anya knelt down beside a young woman who she guessed was in her mid-thirties, although it was difficult to tell because her face was smeared with blood and grime. There were others nearby, crying out in pain, but this woman drew her attention first because she was unresponsive.
Unlike Lucy Cunliffe who was watching the reports on the news, it wouldn’t have crossed Anya’s mind to wonder if her patient was carrying a donor card: her first priority was to save the life in her hands. She would only discover later that the woman was a registered organ donor, as were her companions.
2
Four months earlier …
7.30 p.m. tonight in the Elephant. Need you there.
If Julia Richardson were to scroll through her messages, she would find texts of a similar vein to this appearing time and again. The requests weren’t so frequent that they became a chore or in any way routine and there had been a couple of years where they had barely appeared at all, although that had been some time ago. None of that mattered, however, because when the call came the response was never in question. Julia sent a message back confirming she would be there and then gave herself time to consider the trickier task of rearranging her other plans. For that, a text message wouldn’t do.
‘Hi, are you busy?’ she asked when her call was answered.
‘Oh, you know, the usual. I’ve just finished one meeting where I’ve been given a shedload of work and I’m about to go into another which will probably be more of the same,’ Paul said, sounding completely disheartened, which was nothing unusual when he talked about his job these days. Her husband worked for a housing association that had dwindling funds and increasing demands on its services, and it wasn’t the job he had once thrived on. ‘How about you?’
‘Nothing nearly as exciting,’ she said as she wrapped a stray lock of auburn hair around a long, slender finger. Despite the neutral tone of voice, her green eyes sparkled and the corner of her mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. ‘I had a new client in this morning who wants a diamond and gold pendant for his wife, and I’m working up some designs for him now.’
Unaware of the ulterior motive behind the call, Paul’s ears pricked at his wife’s poor attempt to sound dismissive about her latest commission. ‘Would this be an expensive design, by any chance?’
The commission in question was from a wealthy businessman who wanted something stunning, distinctive and unique for his wife to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Julia had been personally recommended which was how she secured most of her commissions.
‘Money no object,’ she confirmed.
‘Wow!’
‘Yes, that pretty much sums up the brief.’ Julia was smiling now as she leaned back in her chair, which squeaked noisily.
Her workshop consisted of two rooms above a small art gallery on Bold Street in Liverpool’s city centre. The front reception room had been refurbished and was bright, clean and modern to give her clients a good first impression, but it was the room she was in now where the real work took place. It had a fifties feel about it, partly due to the reclaimed furniture which had been in situ when she had set up shop ten years earlier. In a previous life, the offices had belonged to an accountancy firm that had stopped trading many years – if not decades – earlier. The dark wood and green leather furniture smelled of decay and her latest commission could be used to spruce the place up if Julia didn’t have other plans for her nest egg. There were some things that were far more important than work.
‘So will my talented wife’s profits stretch to a celebratory meal after the gym tonight?’
‘Ah.’
‘What?’ Paul asked.
‘Would you mind if I gave you a rain check?’
‘For the gym or the meal?’
‘I can still do the gym if we can meet up at five, but I need to get to the Elephant for seven thirty.’
‘Would this be a meeting of the coven by any chance?’
Julia smiled at the note of resignation in Paul’s voice. His wife and her two best friends, Helen and Phoebe, were as close as sisters and shared a history that stretched back to their childhood when Julia had been called upon to babysit the other two. She was ten years their senior and although those little girls were twenty-nine now, she was still taking care of them.
‘So who’s in need this time?’ he asked.
‘Helen.’
‘Man trouble?’ Paul asked, pretending he h
ad even the vaguest idea of what the friends talked about.
‘In the absence of any man in her life, I shouldn’t think so. I don’t know what’s up, Paul, and I won’t find out until tonight, but I have to go.’
‘I know.’
Having known Julia for ten years and been married to her for five of those, Paul had long since accepted that although his wife would put him first in all other circumstances, when one of her friends called an emergency meeting, Julia would move heaven and earth to be there. And of course, it wasn’t only her friends who made the call, they had been there for Julia too, and Paul had had the vicarious benefit of their small but effective support network.
‘You don’t mind?’
‘I could always spend an extra hour at the gym and get something to eat on my way home,’ he mused.
‘Burn off enough calories to justify a takeaway, you mean?’
‘Hmm, that’s an idea,’ he said as if it had only just occurred to him.
She smiled and not for the first time reminded herself how lucky she was. There might be areas of her life that were lacking, but a loving husband was not one of them. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too, even with all your afflictions.’
‘What afflictions?’ she demanded.
‘Helen and Phoebe.’
Phoebe Dodd was standing in the hallway with her coat on as she debated whether or not to stand outside in the rain for her lift to arrive or wait for the arc of Julia’s car headlights to sweep across the front of the house. She opted for the relative safety of the small porch but the moment she pulled open the front door, her nan’s psychic ability was triggered.
The Goodbye Gift Page 1