‘Good, I’m glad,’ reaching forward she covered his hand with her own. ‘I have everything ready for you at home. The children are missing you.’
He looked down at their hands on the table and sighed. ‘I have to stay until she is out of danger, you know that.’
‘You go home, have a little sleep, let me stay with her.’
‘She might wake up again.’ He spoke softly but the inference was clear.
Cassie sat back in her chair. Mae hated her and if she woke up and saw her it might do more harm than good. She nodded her acceptance of the situation and stood up. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘You’re already helping more than I can expect taking the children in as you did.’
* * *
Life settled into a strange pattern over the next few days. Mae continued to hang on to life by a whisper but now Marc would come back to the vicarage, change his clothes, grab a couple of hours sleep and go back to the hospital again. Cassie had bought him new jeans and sweaters and made sure he had something to eat when he came back.
She and the children had rummaged through the ruins of the church and been able to claw back one or two bits and pieces.
The swimming pool roof had gone as had the conservatory, the kitchen had come off worst which was why the fire department was convinced the fire started in that area.
That the box of fireworks was to blame was not in question, what wasn’t known however were the whys and wherefores that had triggered them.
The explosion had blown open the oil burning Aga and everything was covered in a thick greasy black slime. Cassie would have liked to get into the studio but the stairs and landing were so badly burnt the firemen had condemned them and taped them off.
At the front of the house, the heat that had roared through the back had blown out the windows and set fire to the beautiful carved screen that separated the entrance from the hall. The centre of the house was open to the sky and Cassie could see no way that it could ever be made back into a home again.
On the eighth day after the fire, Mae died.
The children had gone to bed and Cassie was putting a casserole in the oven for later when she heard the car in the drive. Marc was early, perhaps Mae was a little better, she thought. When she turned to find him standing in the kitchen doorway she knew it wasn’t so.
She went straight to the press and fetching two glasses poured out two large brandies as he sat down heavily at the table.
‘She’s dead.’
Without a word she offered him a glass. Then sitting down took a sip from her own glass.
After a while he said, ‘She was conscious at the end. Said she was sorry, but she had meant it to be your house.’
Cassie drew her breath in with a gasp, how awful for her to have carried her hatred to the grave. She watched him for any sign of blame, but he only shook his head wearily and emptied the glass.
The funeral arrangements were made and Marc sorted permission for the Chinese family to attend. The children had taken it all in their stride, only Ruthie cried for Mae in her sleep. Marc had cancelled his appearances for the next three months and James Munro was back staying at one of the guest houses in the village.
Easter was just around the corner and left Cassie wondering what on earth she was going to do with the children during the school holidays. When Marc announced that he had found a new home, Cassie felt as though she had been winded and clutched at the sink to steady herself.
‘I didn’t know you were looking.’ She spoke without turning around.
‘Come into the lounge, I want to discuss the arrangements with you.’
Slowly Cassie pulled herself up and followed him into the front room that looked more like Barbara’s now than the one she had so carefully put together.
‘This place isn’t big enough for all of us, I’m sure you’ll agree.’
She began to protest.
‘Not once James is back, he can’t go on living in that place forever. I’ll need a studio once I start working again and the children miss the pool.’
Didn’t she matter to him at all? She’d been there for them when they had needed her and now they no longer did, simple, so why did her heart ache so much?
‘Where is this new place then?’
He took hold of her hands. ‘I want you to come with us.’
Cassie closed her eyes and felt the warmth run through every vein in her body. The silence lengthened like rubber drawn to its furthest extreme. ‘I can’t, this is my home, my dream,’ she whispered.
‘Cassie, Cassie,’ he said, drawing her closer and laying his lips on her forehead.
She pulled away and he followed her to the settee where they sat down. Staring straight ahead she said, ‘I let a man into my life once before and he betrayed me in the cruellest way. I swore no-one would ever hold that power over my life again.’
She turned to face him, her glance on the long, slim fingers of his hand. ‘Then you broke into my life with your children just as I was convincing myself that life was good.’
‘What happened?’
She knew what he meant, and wanted to tell him, but she had never put it into words before. ‘I came into a lot of money, he wanted a share, when I wouldn’t give it to him he pushed me,’ she hesitated, ‘and I lost my baby.’ There, she’d said it and it was as if someone had lifted a great burden from her. She lifted her eyes to his she had to know his reaction.
He was smiling. Then he said, ‘Come with us, Cassie, and let’s make dreams of our own.’
Then she knew this was the dream.
THE END
About the Author
Frances M Carr is a married woman with five children and seven grandchildren. She lives in a market town in North Northumberland not far from the Scottish border. She was a groom and a nurse before meeting her husband. After marriage she spent most of her time doing voluntary work for various charities.
Having been a closet writer all her life her talent only came to light when she joined a Writers Workshop. Later, bullied by a friend she sent work to publisher D C Thomson and has been published several times over the past ten years. Having been a housewife and mother for fifty years she relays heavily on her imagination for her writing.
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A Dream Come True Page 8