Granddad's Special School of Dance

 

Inspired by Behind the Nebulas Fog - By Graeme Piper - This story was written whilst listening to Behind the Nebulas Fog as written and performed by Graeme Piper. Depending on the speed you read this story can be read in the time it takes that tune to play.

If you would like to listen to the tune as you read it can be downloaded from the link below

Behind the nebulas fog

I sit in the room as the lights go down and the parents, grandparents and siblings of my dancers fall silent in anticipation.

The music starts and before the curtain has time to rise I am cast back to the first time I ever heard this tune.

I was eight and it was about the time when dance schools start selecting the children who can dance for their Christmas shows rather than kids who just love to dance. Jessica Paige had been given the lead and I had been set aside to possibly join in the group number but only if Andrew Burton couldn't make it. I had kept up my best brave face but as soon as I got into the car I had burst into tears.

Why wasn't I allowed to dance. I loved to dance. It made me feel free. It made me feel beautiful.

'What did the teacher say sweetheart?' my granddad asked as I wept on the drive home.

'She said dancers have to flow and be delicate. She said I was a little on the large side to be a true dancer.' I whispered through my tears.

'Well that's just silly,' he said. 'Anyone can dance. Me and your grandma still dance and we aren't graceful.'

A week later when he came to collect me for dance class I had refused to get ready. I didn't want to go.

'That's okay sweetie but I need you to help me,' he said as he pulled me up onto his knee.

'Help you?'

'Yes. I am making a new dance for your grandma and she mustn't know. But I need a partner so will you help me?'

'But I'm not allowed to dance,' I cried jumping down off his knee and rushing to my room.

A few minutes later there was a knock on my door.

'Can I come in?' Granddad said.

I kept me head buried in the pillow but I heard the door slowly open and then the end of my bed dip as he sat down.

'I think your dance teacher is a ninny but if I promise not to tell her  you are dancing will you help me?'

'She said I was no good.'

'This is different from the dancing she does. She doesn't know about this kind of dancing.' He smiled and I wiped my eyes, sitting up on the end of the bed next to him.

'But where will we go?'

'I have cleared a space in the front room and the piano is in there already.'

'Piano? We have tapes in dance class.'

'Not this time. That is why I need your help.'

'Okay,' I nodded.

He held my hand as we walked together done the stairs and into the front room. All the furniture had been removed except for the piano.

'First we need to warm up.'

'Warm up?'

'Don't you do that in dance classes?'

'No.'

'That dance teacher knows nothing. Right stand facing me and raise you arms in the air.'

I did as he said.

'Now shake them out.'

I looked at him as if he was an idiot.

'Come on follow me and shake those arms.'

For the next ten minutes I copied him exactly as he shook his arms and his legs and his head and his hands and his feet and finally his bottom. By the time we had finished I couldn't stop giggling.

'Right now for the dance.' He sat at the piano.

'What are the steps?'

'I don't know.'

'But you have to tell me what to do. Teacher always shows us what to do and we follow.'

'I told you that teacher was a ninny. What we do at Granddad's Special School of Dance is let the music show us what to do.'

'Don't be silly the music can't show us what to do,' I giggled. 'You're the ninny.'

'Just you see. Stand in the middle of the room and close your eyes.'

I did as he said.

'Now listen to the music and move when you want to however you want to.'

I stood staring at him. This was silly.

'Ready? Eyes closed.'

He stood looking at me with his fingers poised over the keys waiting for me to close my eyes.

When I finally did he started to play. After a few seconds I felt the music wash over me and I started to move. The first time it wasn't much more than a sway but we practiced each week and by the time of the Christmas show I had my own dance that I performed in the front room to a standing ovation from the whole family.

I open my eyes and the first bars of that very same tune start to play for the first Christmas show of 'Granddad's Special School of Dance' .

Ten kids come running out on to the stage and moving to the music. They are all dressed in the costumes they chose so none of them match. Some kids are on the floor, some are running around with scarves floating out behind them and one small boy is standing alone on the edge of the stage. Just as I start to get up to go to him two of the other children walk over and take him by the hand. Cathy and Bill both has Downs and they were my first kids. Tommy only joined this summer and is partially sighted so fears the stage and the edge he can't see. Cathy takes Tommy's hand and slowly guides him out to the middle of the stage while Bill runs round herding all the children into the centre. As the music reaches its crescendo the boys gather round Tommy and with one massive effort lift him above their shoulders while the girls open their arms and point towards him.

Tommy looks so nervous I am terrified he will fall. They never did this in the dance classes that we laughingly called rehearsals.

As the music reaches it ending Tommy holds out his arms and smiles the biggest smile I have ever seen on his face.

The audience launches to its feet almost as one. Applause, whistling and cheering ring out around the hall.

The children stand at the front of the stage with Tommy in the middle and take their bow.

As parents rush to congratulate me I am in tears. I look to the heavens. 'Thank you Granddad.'

 

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Behind the nebulas fog

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Documents in the Rain

Charlie was rushing home when he first saw it. If it had been a beautiful sunny day he would have been looking around him, taking in the beauty of the university grounds. Charlie loved the walk through the grounds. From the lecture theatre to his digs took him through the arboretum, around the tennis courts and finally across the end of the lake.  Charlie was always amazed by the different types of flora and fauna he experienced on his walk home. So different from Birmingham city centre where he had been brought up. The concrete jungle with the odd tree and small patch of grass put in by overspent councils to try and give it some semblance of nature and break up the grey monotony.
But on this day he had had his head bent down, trying to fight against the driving rain. At first he saw a spot of red out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to stop, he was getting soaked and needed to keep moving fast but the flash of colour caught his eye and his curiosity. He dog legged across the pavement and stopped. Looking down he had to look twice but there in the gutter was a copy of the I Ching. He picked it up and carried on home.
When he got home he threw the book into the sink and started undressing. A while later after a hot shower and a change of clothes he came back and looked at it. It was wet through and in danger of disintegrating but he picked it up carefully and opened the front page. This book belongs to Billie Yang.
Charlie couldn't believe his luck. Billie Yang  was the most beautiful girl he had every seen. She was in his english literature group and he had been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to her for weeks. Now here was the ideal opportunity.
Charlie carefully laid the book out on the hearth mat and turned the gas fire on to low. He wanted to dry the book out so that he had something special to give to her.
The next day Charlie was sat behind Billie. Every time he tried to get her attention one of her friends or the teacher would say something. All day he tried and tried but always something distracted her. In the end Charlie knew he was never going to get her alone and he would never have the courage to talk to her with her friends there. What was he going to do? As he was walking towards the science lab for his last lesson of the day he walked passed the notice board. Of course that was it.
By the time Billie walked passed the same notice board an hour later there was a new notice in the middle of the board for all to see.

If anyone has lost a copy of the I Ching contact Charlie Somersby.

'Thank goodness,' Charlie heard one of Billie's friends say, in the large crowd gathered around the notice board. 'He lives over by the new mini mart you can pick it up on your way home.'

Charlie didn't wait to hear the reply but turned and ran out of the building. Chess club would have to be missed if he was going to get home and look smart enough when Billie got there.
Charlie showered and changed, and changed and changed. He didn't want to look too geeky but he didn't want her to think he wasn't intelligent. Finally he settled on his best checked shirt and his new blue jeans, just in time, he was still lacing his converse trainers when the door bell rang.
He raced down stairs but too late Mrs Jones who lived in the ground floor flat had got there first.
'Oh hi, does Charlie live here?' asked an extremely gruff voice. Charlie couldn't see who was at the door from where he stood but it obviously wasn't Billie.
'Yes,' said Mrs Jones. 'Oh look here he is now.'
Charlie slowly walked down the stairs to see Brian Matthews the school bully and resident idiot standing there.
'Hi Brian,' smiled Charlie, it wasn't wise to upset Brian. 'What can I do for you?'
'Billie said you had my book.'
'I've got a book but it's not yours. It's Billie's'
'No it's mine.'
'I don't know what your game is Brian,' said Charlie sounding a lot braver that he felt, 'but it's Billie's. It's got her name in it.'
'She gave it to me.'
'Course she did. Why would you want a copy of the I Ching?'
'Because I'm interested. So go get me my book.'
'No.'
Brian grabbed hold of the front of Charlie's shirt and pulled him close. Charlie could still smell the remnants of the shepherd's pie the canteen have served for lunch on Brian's breath.
'It's Billie's book and I am not going to let you have it.'
Brian raised his fist just as Mrs Jones reappeared from her flat. He looked at her, shrugged and pushed Charlie away. Charlie landed in an untidy pile on the floor and Brian turned and headed off up the street.
Before Mrs Jones had chance to ask Charlie what was going on he picked himself up and rushed back up to his room.
Charlie sat in his room flicking through the book. It had Billie's name in the front and there were notes in the margin all in her beautifully delicate handwriting. The book had to be hers but why was Brian trying to get hold of it? Just then the doorbell rang again. On the third ring Charlie realised Mrs Jones must have gone out and he went down stairs to answer it.
Charlie opened the door to find Brian standing there again.
'Look Brian I don't know what you want but I am not giving you the book.'
Brian stepped aside and behind him was Billie.
'Hi Charlie.'
'Hi Billie,' Charlie blushed.
'I wanted to thank you for standing up to Brian about the book. It couldn't have been easy.'
'Not a problem.'
'But the thing is it really is Brian's book. I gave it to him.'
'Oh. Oh well I best get it for him then.'
Charlie slowly walked up the stairs and fetched the book. He returned and without looking up he handed the book to Brian.
'Thanks.' Brian took the book and started to walk off.
'Look Charlie,' Billie said. Charlie looked up and was happy to see she was smiling. 'I wondered, as you've been so gallant about the book and everything.'
'Yes,' Charlie replied.
'Do you fancy going for a drink sometime? Maybe tomorrow?'
Charlie could only nodded and grin as Billie turned and ran off after Brian.

Help wanted

Jessie walked into the kitchen and her brain knew something was wrong before her eyes saw it. She’d been out late the night before and was still suffering from dehydration and a killer hangover. She opened the fridge and took out the orange juice, placing it on the kitchen table behind her. The orange juice carton wobbled and started to fall. Jessie grabbed the neck of the plastic container just in time. She looked down to see what she had put it on that stopped it from standing up straight. There on the edge of the table was a small white pill. Then she saw another and another. There must have been twenty of them scattered all over the table and at the far end the medicine bottle lay on its side, open and empty.

Within seconds her head cleared and she sprang into action. She took in the scene, scanning the kitchen in one quick movement. At the end of the table the chair was on its side and her mother was lying on the floor not moving. Jessie rushed over to her and felt for a pulse. She tried her mother’s hand. Nothing. She felt around her mother’s neck and thought she could feel a faint flutter as blood continued to pump through her veins.

Jessie rushed back up stairs and grabbed her mobile, dialling 999 as she charged back into the kitchen and sat at her mother’s side. The ambulance was there with ten minutes and all the time they had been waiting the dispatcher had carried on talking to Jessie, making sure she was alright and telling her what to do.

When the paramedics arrived they checked Jessie’s mother and claimed she was stable but obviously needed to get to a hospital. They transferred her to the ambulance and left Jessie to lock up and make her own way there.

Jessie’s mother was admitted and later that day she regained consciousness. Jessie was sitting by her hospital bed, where she had been all morning, as she opened her eyes.

‘Oh Mum, you’re okay,’ Jessie said as she saw her mother blinking in the harsh fluorescent lights. ‘It’s me Jessie. You’re in the hospital.’

‘Mouth, dry. Can I have some water?’ Jessie’s mother asked.

 ‘Of course.’ Jessie poured a glass of water and held it while her mother sipped gently. Her mother nodded when she had had enough to drink and Jessie carefully placed the glass back on the unit at the side of the bed.

‘What happened? What were you thinking?’ Jessie scolded her mother.

‘I don’t know. I guess I just forgot how many pills I had taken and took too many.’

‘Mum you have the chart I made for you. You’re supposed to tick them off and then you can’t forget.’

‘I know but it’s not so easy when I’m on my own.’

‘You have to get used to this. I am moving out next week and you need to be able to manage by yourself.’

‘But we are good together. You helping me. It works okay doesn’t it?’

‘It works for you but I want a life you know. Dave has been patient with me so far but he won’t wait forever. I will only be across town and I will still come and visit.’

‘Excuse me,’ a young white coated man stood at the end of the bed. ‘Miss Carter?’

Jessie nodded.

‘I’m Dr Jones. Can I have a quick word?’

‘Of course.’ Jessie got up and followed the doctor out of the ward.

Once they were in the corridor the doctor turned to Jessie. ‘Miss Carter I have some good news. We ran a tox screen on your mother and she didn’t have any excessive drugs in her system.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jessie stared at him. ‘She took an overdose.’

‘No she didn’t. She had very little food in her system and if anything I think she had not taken enough of her pills. She probably just passed out from lack of food.’

‘Oh God. I am so sorry that we have wasted your time,’ Jessie blushed feeling annoyed at her mother for creating this furore.

‘Not at all. I am just glad it is nothing more serious. She can go home this afternoon.’ The doctor shook Jessie’s hand and headed off down the corridor.

Jessie headed back into the ward to give her mother the good news.

 

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‘Right that’s me packed Mum. Dave should be here soon and then we can load up the car.’

‘Jessie please don’t go. You know I can’t cope without you. Of course you can. You have your chart for your pills and you cope fine when I am here.’

‘Yes but I need you in case something goes wrong.’

‘No you don’t. You will be fine.’

‘But what about last week?’

‘You had nothing to eat and forgot to take you pills. You just need to be careful.’

‘But I need you. Can’t you see what happened last week could happen again.’

‘Not if you’re careful.’

‘Well maybe I won’t be careful. What’s the point if you’re not here? I’m just a lonely old woman. What’s the point?’

‘Don’t talk like that Mum. You’ll be fine and I’ll pop in to check on you.’

‘Make sure you do or I might have to stop eating again.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well you only care about me when I collapse.’

‘You know that’s not true. I love you. You’re my mum but I have a life of my own and I am moving in with Dave.’

‘Well on your head be it.’

‘Mum don’t be like that.’

Just then a car horn could be heard outside and Jessie glanced out of the window.

‘That’s Dave. I’m off. Now take care of yourself and I’ll pop in later in the week.

 

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Jessie put the phone down and frowned.

‘What’s wrong love?’ Dave asked.

‘It’s Mum, she’s not picking up her phone.’

‘She’s probably just sulking.’

‘I know we had words but I do worry about her. She had all that trouble when Dad died. I don’t want her to feel she’s all on her own.’

‘I’m sure she’s fine but if it’ll make you happier I’ll get the car and we can pop round.’

‘Thanks Dave.’

 

Twenty minutes later they pulled up outside Jessie’s mum’s house. Jessie rang the bell and waited. Nothing. She put her ear to the glass to see if she could hear her mother coming to the door from the back room. Still nothing.

Jessie fished around in her handbag to find the door key. Finally finding it she let herself in. She walked into the living room as Dave headed towards the kitchen.

Jessie spent a few minutes looking around the living room and came out into the hallway just as Dave stood in the kitchen door.

‘I’m so sorry love.’ Dave said as he blocked the door.

‘What, What is it?’ Jessie said as she tried to push passed him.

He blocked her and put out his arms to give her a hug. The only thing she could see over his shoulder was the kitchen table. In the middle lay a bottle of pills open and on its side. Only this time there were no pills left to scatter over the kitchen table.

The Strawberry Jam Incident

Pam was sitting at the kitchen table sewing name labels on the inside of Tommy’s school shirts. She wasn’t sure which she hated more, having to buy new clothes every term as he had a growth spurt, or the hours of sitting sewing name labels on everything.

Tommy and Jeanette, the girl from next door had been racing around the house for the last twenty minutes and from the general hullaballoo she thought it was cops and robbers. There had been a lot of noises like shots being fired and what she could only assume was a child interpretation of a police siren. Pam had just finished sewing the last label in, and had pulled the needle and thread up to her mouth to bite it off when she heard a noise that made the blood in her veins freeze.

She dropped the shirt with the needle and thread still attached and raced out into the hall just as Tommy’s tumble down the stairs finished at her feet.

‘Oh my god, Tommy, Tommy,’ Pam cried as she dropped to her knees and cradled Tommy’s head on her knees.

‘It’s okay Mrs Jones. I think I got him,’ shouted Jeanette from the top of the stairs.

Pam looked up and saw Jeanette still pointing her plastic gun at Tommy.

‘I don’t think you understand Jeanette. Tommy’s really hurt.’ Tommy lay still and limp in his mother’s arms. She could see his little chest rising and falling but who knew what damage had been done.

As she watched his chest she noticed for the first time the red stain. Slow spreading on the upper left hand side of his shirt was a large red stain.

‘Jeanette. I need you to put the gun down and go and get your dad.’

‘But he’s only playing dead Mrs Jones. He’s going to escape if I don’t keep the gun on him.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on him and you go next door and get your dad.’

‘But Mrs Jones…’

‘Jeanette this is important. I need you to go now.’ Pam was trying to keep her voice steady but she was starting to panic and she needed help.

Jeanette walked down the stairs and handed Pam the gun. ‘Don’t let him out of your sight.’

‘I won’t. Now hurry.’ Pam was starting to cry and she needed the girl to hurry and not get distracted.

Jeanette raced out of the door and Pam looked down at her son. As soon as the door clicked closed he opened his left eye.

‘Oh thank God. Are you okay sweetheart?’

‘Has she gone?’ Tommy whispered.

‘She’s gone but you lay still sweetheart. I think you’ve hurt yourself and we need to get an ambulance to look at you.’

‘Nah, I fine thanks Mum.’ Tommy shook his head and jumped to his feet.

Pam managed to grab hold of his arm before he had chance to go racing off. ‘I don’t think so. You’re hurt and you need checking out. For a start let’s have a look at your chest.’

Pam whipped his shirt off over his head. There was not a mark on him. She held his hand and spun him round and round. Next she held up his shirt and looked at the stain. The blood stain she had seen earlier didn’t look quite right. She looked at her son and he smiled sheepishly.

‘Jeanette was going to arrest me and lock me up in prison so I had to escape. She thought she shot me so I could escape.’

‘And what is this?’ Pam pointed at the stain.

‘Well… you know the jam sandwiches you made us for lunch?’

Pam was just about to explode at her son as Jeanette’s father came flying through the open door.

‘See I told you he wasn’t dead,’ Jeanette cried as she grabbed the gun and started chasing after Tommy.

At tear stained Pam picked herself up off the floor and smiled sheepishly at Jeanette’s dad. ‘Well now you’re here do you fancy a cup of tea?’

‘Why not?’

Childhood hobbies?

Jimmy hadn't been able to believe his luck when he had been sitting waiting for his wife that morning. It had been too hot to sit in the car, so he had been standing by it, absent mindedly looking up at the clouds. The first time he had seen the shape he had to blink and shake his head. Surely not. When he looked again it was gone. He had almost given up hope when it flew over again. The shape, the elegance. There was no mistaking a peregrine falcon when you saw one. He watched it fly out towards the cliffs over the other side of the office block where his wife worked. It must be nesting out there, he thought.
Jimmy had loved to watch the birds when he had been a kid. His dad had bought him a book of English birds for his seventh birthday and he had ticketed them off as he had seen them all. The peregrine falcon had been the last one he had spotted. His dad bought him new night vision binoculars to celebrate having seen all the birds in the book.
When his wife finally returned to the car he had rushed her home and barricaded himself into the study checking out everything he needed to know.
'I'm off out,' he called to his wife as he left the study and stood in the hall getting his coat on.
'I thought we were having a quiet night in,' she replied as she stood in the lounge doorway holding a large glass of wine.
'Something's come up. I won't be long.' Jimmy smiled, rushed back to give her a kiss on the check, grabbed his car keys and headed out.

Jimmy parked at the back of the car park the walkers used half way up the cliffs, where the trail flatten out before the cliffs rose up again. There were one or two cars left but it was starting to get dark and they would soon be gone. He grabbed his night vision binoculars and carefully pulled the strap of his special satchel across his body. He might need to climb and he would need both hands free.
He walked to the top of the cliffs and stared long and hard. There a flicker of movement. Could that be her? Jimmy lay down on his stomach and using his night vision binoculars followed the flight of the falcon. He lost her just for a minute and then saw her fly out again. It was about half way up and the trail would take him to within about ten feet of the nest. He put his binoculars away and started to walk. When he estimated he was about where he had seen the falcon vanish he looked up. Nothing. Then he looked down. The trail was steeper than he remembered and he was actually about ten feet above the nest. He looked around but it was almost dark now and there was no one to be seen. He lowered himself onto his stomach and leaned over the edge. He needed his binoculars for there night vision not their magnification. Sitting in the nest,glinting in the moon light were three eggs. Three! Jimmy couldn't believe his luck. Looking up into the sky there was no sign of the falcon. He checked out the nest again and saw there was a small ledge just below the nest.
Jimmy twisted his body around and lowered his feet over the edge. He felt out with his toes but couldn't feel the ledge. He lowered himself further and was just hanging on by his finger tips but still he couldn't feel the ledge. He knew it was there and the falcon wouldn't  be away long so he dropped. The ledge had only been another two feet below him and he landed safely. It was only about ten inches wide so Jimmy couldn't turn. He edged along with his face pushed into the cliff face. Before he knew it he was level with the nest. He opened the flap of his satchel and carefully parted the nest of hay inside. He then carefully lifted each of the three falcon eggs and placed them into the satchel. He replaced the hay over the top of the eggs and closed the satchel. Carefully he edged back along the cliff to where he had dropped down. He reached up but he couldn't reach high enough to lift himself back to the trail. Jimmy's breath started to increase. he had to get back but he couldn't go back the way he'd come. Jimmy started panting and looking around.
'Calm down old boy,' he said to himself. 'Think about this sensibly.'
Jimmy got his binoculars and looked along the cliff face. The opposite side of the nest there looked like there might be some holes in the cliff he could use as hand holds. Jimmy edged along the ledge again. As he slowly moved along, looking at his feet all the time he felt a thud on the top of his head. It must have been some gravel shook loose from above, he though to himself. The second thump was harder, as Jimmy looked up the third hit happened. It wasn't a gravel fall, it was the falcon. She glided in silently and her claws hit him straight in the face as he looked up. The razor sharp claws missed his eyes by millimetres. Jimmy lifted his hand to protect his face and started to lose his balance. The falcon was circling. Getting ready to come back for another hit. Jimmy grabbed for the cliff but there was nothing to hold. He petered in the air for what seemed like forever. He somehow managed to push himself flat against the cliff face. His balance was out of sync because of his heavy satchel. Maybe he could distract the bird while he got to safety. He took off the satchel and using the strap pendulum swung it, gathering momentum. As it reached the height of its swing he released the bag and it flew in the air, arcing over the cliff ledge and back to the trail above. Jimmy prayed at least one of them had survived. Even one was worth a lot of money.
Releasing the bag had upset Jimmy's own balance again and he grabbed at the cliff face with the finger tips of both hands just as the falcon made her next drive. She levelled out and battered her wings to hold her at the right height, all the time stabbing and scrapping her claws at his head and his eyes. Instinct took over and Jimmy lifted his arms. One over his eyes to protect them and the other flailing about to try and beat the bird off. Too late he realised he didn't have hold on the cliff. The falcon almost knowing, dived in for one last time. This time she grabbed at his jacket and with her beak and her claws pulled.


The next morning two rangers were walking along the trail.
'Bob can you see what I see?' the younger warden whispered to his colleague.
'Sure can Rich.' They both stopped and stared.
'We'll need to close the trail.'
'I'll go back down and let them know. You stay here and stop anyone going past.'
'Will do.' For a few minutes neither of them moved. They just stood and watched as the peregrine falcon sat on top of an open hessian satchel, protecting her three perfect eggs, in the middle of the walkers' trail.
'Amazing what they use to make nests isn't.'
'Sure is.'

Changing Baby

Changing Baby

Shirley lift the baby up in front of her, placed her nose next to the nappy and sniffed. Why do people do that? she though to herself, you could smell the nappy from three streets away, there was no need to double check that that was where the stench was coming from.
Shirley grabbed the change mat and carefully laid the baby down. Dragging the bag with all his change things in she whipped off the dirty nappy and quickly fasten it inside a scented disposal bag. She then carefully set about cleaning him.
She smiled softly to herself as she went about her task. She was so lucky to have him. Her smile fell as she remembered the doctor telling her all those years ago that she wouldn't be able to conceive. The pain and the anguish she had gone through, the tests and finally the numerous attempts at IVF. After the third attempt her husband had tried to persuade her that there was no point going on. He didn't understand what it meant to her, she needed to have a baby.
Her husband walked out in the end. Claimed that she had gone mad and that she never had anytime for them anymore. He said he hated feeling like she only wanted him for his sperm.
It had been hard at first, being alone after so many years. She had picked herself up and when she got the job at the nursery she knew she was going to be okay.
She gently wiped the baby's bottom, applied a little nappy rash cream and a little talc before popping on his clean nappy. She was just starting to fasten the velcro on the sides of the nappy when there was a knock at the door.
'They'll have to wait, won't they little man?' she whispered to the baby. She got his legs back inside the baby grow and was struggling with the press studs when the banging on the door came again, this time louder and more insistent.
'Oooh someone is impatient.' she smiled at the baby and lifted him into her arms, placing him gently against her shoulder as she tidied away the change mat, carefully putting all the used wipes into a disposal bag.
'Mrs Jones,' a voice shouted as the banging on the door started again. 'Mrs Jones, this is the police. We know you are only looking after him but you need to let us in now.'
'Shit.' Shirley mutter as she stood up. She grabbed the change bag, her handbag and rushed towards the back door.
She had only made it as far as the hallway when the front door imploded inwards and four very large, very loud policemen came barging through.
She could see the shadow of others at the back door. The game was up. The last month had been the happiest she had ever known. She held the baby close and sat down on the bottom of the stairs, holding him to her and rocking him gently.  

The cobbles of remembrance

I had been enjoying the hot Sunday afternoon, lazing in the sun. They were having a birthday party next door and Cheneice was over there and Jim was away on business for another week. It wasn’t often I get to sit and do nothing but today was a perfect day to do just that.

So far I had worked half way down a very weak jug of PIMS and I was had almost finished the Jackie Collins that had been sat on my bedside table for the last few months.

I had heard a few screams from over the fence but that was kids being kids. Besides Marjory was watching them all and she was far more capable than I ever would be. I think she had a couple of the other mums helping her and as long as that lush, Emma Marchbanks, wasn’t there they would all be sober.

‘Mummy, mummy.’ I heard a voice that changed in pitch as it called out. Knowing it was my Cheniece but praying it wasn’t, I closed my eyes.

‘Mummy, look at me.’ I slowly opened my eyes to see my daughter’s head appear over the top of the fence and then vanish behind it again. Seconds later she appeared again.

‘Cheniece, what are you doing?’ I called as I slowly rose from my sun lounger.

‘Daniel has a trampoline. He got it for his birthday.’ She called back, still appear above the fence every few seconds.

‘And where is everyone else?’ I asked, now standing on tiptoe to see over the fence and realising my daughter was alone.

‘They are playing pass the parcel but I lost in the first round, so I came out to play.’

‘Cheniece, those things can be dangerous. You need to have someone to watch you.’

‘Well you can watch me now, can’t you?’

At that point Marjory appeared and saw me staring over the fence. ‘Way to keep an eye on the kids Marjory. Should you not have a net around this thing?’

‘We ordered one,’ Marjory rushed down the garden steps to stand close to the trampoline and my still jumping daughter, ‘but it didn’t turn up in time and I couldn’t not let them use in today. Could I?’

‘Well keep an eye on her will you.’

‘Of course.’ Marjory turn to Cheniece. ‘Time to come in now, we are about to start the birthday tea.’

‘Fantastic,’ shouted Cheniece as she seemed to jump higher in the air one last time and land on the ground, not the trampoline.

I looked at Marjory and before either of us could move Cheniece had run off back inside the house.

The relaxation of my afternoon spoilt, I went into the house and decided to tidy round ready for Cheniece’s return.

Before I knew it the clock in the lounge chimed six o’ clock and I grabbed my keys and headed next door. I was four steps out of the front door before I realised that I had forgotten to put any shoes on. All afternoon lounging around the garden, followed by a few hours mooching around the house I had not bothered to put anything on my feet. I looked down, looked at the house and then looked at next door. It was a smooth concrete path right up until Marjory’s driveway which was made up of old fashioned cobbled stones. ‘Sod it,’ I thought, and continued towards next door and collecting my daughter.

A couple of sharp stones made me reconsider my rash decision but I was nearer Marjory’s than home by then so there was no point turning back.

I walked onto Marjory’s driveway and felt the cobbles under my feet. I walked four steps before I stopped dead in my tracks. I could hear the noise of an engine turning over and suddenly I was twelve again.

It was a day the same as any other and I had been out all day playing with my friends on our bikes, swimming in the canal. All things health and safety don’t let kids do these days. I had got home at six and was surprised Mum hadn’t been standing out on the front looking for me. My trainers were hanging round my neck tied together with their laces and I dumped my bike at the street end of the drive and started walking towards the house. As I walked up the drive I could hear an engine running but couldn’t see any cars in the street. I couldn’t work out where it was coming from.

I got to the front door and pushed the same as always. But the door didn’t move. I jangled the handle but nothing. I pushed the bell and still nothing. Where could Mum be? She was always here and she would never have gone out without me.

I walked passed the front of the garage towards the back gate and as I did the noise of the car engine got louder. I looked out into the street and there was still no sign of the car I could hear. I got to the back gate and pushed the latch down. The gate opened easily and I headed into the back garden. As I walked down the back passage I looked at the back door to the garage and realised the noise was coming from in there. I pushed the door and it swung open.

The smell was something I hadn’t ever smelt before and the garage was engulfed in a dark cloud. The engine noise was louder than anything I had ever heard. Why was the car engine running? What was the hose pipe doing? I slowly walked to the car and tried to open the door. Through the smoke and the haze, I could make out someone was sitting in the driver’s seat. I started coughing as I pulled at the car door. It was locked. I pulled and pulled and pulled. I don’t know what I expected to happen. I was coughing harder now and breathing seemed to be something I had to think about.

I suddenly realised I needed help and I tried to run towards the door. It was like running through treacle. The door to the garage was open and I could see the sun streaming through, but it didn’t seem to be getting and closer. My breath was getting heavier and I was coughing too much to take deep breaths.

As I collapsed on the floor, the light from the door clouded. As if a cloud had tracked across the sun at that precise moment. There were voices but no noise I could make sense of.

 

‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Cheniece was clinging to my neck and I was lying on the floor.

‘Are you okay?’ Marjory ran from the front door and bent down to be level with me. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing I must have just had too much sun I guess,’ I said smiling at Marjory and kissing my daughter on the top of her head as I slowly picked myself up.

 

That night as I was tucking Cheneice into bed she lifted her little hand and stroked my cheek. ‘I love you mummy.’

‘I love you too my sweetheart.’ I smiled and lifting her hand kissed it carefully.

‘Daniel’s party was great and he had two grandma’s there. Why have I only got one Grandma?’

I looked at my daughter carefully. She was so insightful sometimes. ‘Shall we have a story before you go to sleep?’

‘Yes please. George and Dragon?’

‘Of course.’

Seaside Memories

The wind blows softly through my hair, blowing it off my face. I smile to myself. It feels good now it’s grown back. Better than the crew cut of just six months ago. The shingle digs in a little but I jiggle my bottom and it settles into a comfortable hollow. I watch as the sun slowly starts its descent towards the horizon.

The salt air tingles on my lips and the fresh sea air fills my nostrils. No dank smelling seaweed here. Each day the sea rushes in and cleanses the shingle beach.

Children call out in the distance but I sit too far away from the sandy strip and the amusements for them to be a bother.

How many times have I sat here like this? Watching the sea. The ebb and flow. Watching the windsurfers, the paddle boarders and further out the jet skiers. On the horizon a ship steams along. I assume a cargo ship bound for the Americas; I am too far down the coast for it to be a cross channel ferry.

I remember the last time we were here. You pushed me up the ramp, struggled, and gasped for air. But you persevered and got me to the sea wall. I was losing weight but the NHS don’t lend out modern light weight wheelchairs. You wrapped an old tartan blanket around my legs and tucked me in tight. The next thing I remember was you beside me, panting and dripping ice cream on my arm. You had run all the way to the stand and back. We sat watching the sea, eating our ice creams. The wind whipping round and clouds racing overhead. Winter by the sea, my favourite time.

And now I am back. I beat it. I fought it. We fought it. I couldn’t have done it without you. Always there to hold my hand, to make me feel better.

Why couldn’t I do the same for you? Why did you get a chance to fight? Were you too tired after my fight? Did you lose concentration or was it the other guy? They never said. I never asked.

And so now I sit here. Alone. Watching the sea.

The Big Day

Brittany couldn’t believe that today had finally arrived. She had been waiting for this day for so long that she was struggling to breathe. She lay perfectly still looking up at the ceiling. Dawn was starting to break through the curtains and she could see shadows from the pattern on her curtains dancing around. She watched the dancing patterns trying to calm her nerves. She took three deep breaths and slowly pushed herself out of bed.

‘Breakfast,’ came a shout from downstairs.

‘Coming,’ called Brittany screwing up her nose in disappointment. She had been hoping to have a final look at the dress. Feel the material flow between her fingers, breathe in the clean, new smell of the silk, but now it would have to wait.

Brittany rushed into the kitchen just as if today was the same as any other day.

‘Hello sweetheart, and how are we this morning?’

‘Fine thank you Daddy. You’re up early.’

‘Big day today.’

‘What, sorry.’ Brittany stared at her father, he couldn’t know, surely he couldn’t know. It was going to be a surprise for him when he got home from work.

‘First day of my new job. You remember I explained all this to you yesterday.’

‘Of course. Sorry.’ Brittany smiled at her father and started tucking into her breakfast. She needed to be careful or he would spot there was something wrong.

After breakfast Brittany headed back to her room and dressed in her normal outfit. She would have to sneak back later after her dad had left for the day.

Ten minutes later, dressed and with her bag slung over her shoulder she started to head out of the   house.

‘See you later Daddy.’

‘Hey hold up. I’ll give you a lift.’

‘No its okay daddy. I’ll get the bus.’

‘Come on sweetie. I’d like the company.’

‘Daddy.’

‘Brittany.’

‘Come on then or I’ll be late.’

Brittany’s dad grabbed his bag and raced after her and she stomped towards the car.

                                                ****************************************

Brittany couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the morning. She was distracted and once or twice she had to be nudged back to the present day by Mary who sat next to her. She kept checking her watch and after what seemed like ages it was finally lunch time.

‘Coming for lunch?’ Mary asked as they packed up their desks.

‘I’ll meet you there.’ Brittany said as she grabbed her bag and rushed towards the exit.

                                                                *******************************

 

Brittany’s dad patted down the many pocket on his new hi-vis jacket trying to remember which one his phone was in. He grabbed it and swiped his finger across the screen.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, is that Mr Jones?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mr Jones this is Mrs Baker. I am calling about Brittany.’

‘Yes. Is there a problem?’

‘Hopefully not. She was fine this morning but she went home at lunch and she hasn’t come back.’

‘She went home at lunch?’ Mr Jones said. ‘But she was supposed to say with you today.’

‘She normally goes home so no one thought anything of it. I’m sure she’s fine but I just wanted to let you know.’

‘Thank you. I will go and check it out.’

Mr Jones popped his phone back into his pocket and headed off to the site office. This was not looking good, first day on the job and he was going to have to leave to track down Brittany. They were going to need to have a serious chat once he got home.

                                                                *************************************

Mr Jones ran up the drive and pushed the front door open.

‘Brittany. Brittany. Are you here?’ he shouted.

There was no response but Mr Jones thought he could hear something. He strained and tilted his ear towards the stairs. There was definitely some noise coming from upstairs.

He started up the stairs and then for some reason started to creep. He carefully stepped over the squeaky step, listening, trying to work out what the noise was.

He slowly pushed open the door to Brittany’s bedroom. Everything looked different. The bed was pushed against the wall and there were rows of seats set out. All Brittany’s toys were sitting in the chairs and Brittany was walking slowly down the central isle. At the top of the room was her favourite bear and there was a strip of white paper around his throat and a black blanket wrapped around him. The music was blaring out of her Barbie stereo. It was the wedding march.

‘Brittany what are you doing?’

Brittany shot in the air. She hadn’t heard her father enter the room.

‘Daddy. I thought you were at work.’

‘The school rang. They said you didn’t go back after lunch. What are you doing?’

‘I am getting married. Do you like my dress?’ Brittany swung round, flaring out her skirt. She was wearing her best princess dress.

‘Sweetheart you can’t play dress up when you are supposed to be at school.’ Mr Jones knelt down so he was at Brittany’s level.

‘But I had to do it soon. It was for you.’

‘For me? Why?’

‘The man. The one who came and asked for Mrs Jones last week. He made you sad because there was no Mrs Jones.’

‘Only because I miss your mum.’

‘I know. So I asked God what to do and he said I could be Mrs Jones. Mummy is an angel now so it’s my turn to be in charge. That way when the man comes you can tell him I’m Mrs Jones.’

‘Oh sweetheart.’ Mr Jones started to cry. He grabbed hold of Brittany and hugged her close.

‘I’m sorry I made you cry. I thought it would help.’

‘No sweetie. What would help is for you to go to school and not run off in the middle of the day.’

‘But you need a Mrs Jones.’

‘No sweetie. What I need is you. Your mummy is looking down on us and we can ask her when we need help. I love you so much but we can do this together.’

‘Okay Daddy. But if you need a Mrs Jones let me know. Teddy likes his vicar outfit so he can marry me if you need him to.’

‘Oh Brittany. I love you so much.’ He held her tight careful not to get his tears on her best princess dress.

Memory Lane

‘I’m home,’ Sarah called as she wrestled the key back out of the lock, trying not drop the bags of shopping as she did.

‘I got you a present,’ she called as she bumped the door shut with her bum. ‘Paul. Are you there?’

She stood in the hallway waiting for Paul to respond but heard nothing. The house was silent.

Paul must have gone out. Whenever he was in the house there was always a radio playing, or the TV blaring out.

‘Paul, Paul. Are you there?’ Jenny dropped her bags in the hallway. Where had he gone?

She ran up the stairs calling his name as she went. He wasn’t in the study, or the bedroom. The bathroom door was closed. She went up and knocked gently.

‘Paul. Are you in there?’ she called pressing her ear against the cold gloss painted door.

She knocked again and tried the handle. It was unlocked and she slowly pushed the door inwards. The bathroom was empty. Sarah turned and ran back down the stairs. She skirted round the shopping bags in the hallway and headed into the lounge. She rushed through the lounge into the conservatory and then back through the kitchen door. No sign.

She stopped and stood by the island in the middle of the kitchen breathing deeply. Why was she so panicked? He was a grown man and he could come and go as he pleased. For the last five months he had always been there when she got home.

‘Of course the phone,’ she muttered to herself as she headed back out into the hallway. She was bent double, rustling around in her handbag looking for her phone, when she felt a breeze. She turned and looked towards the kitchen; with her head still upside down she saw a piece of paper flutter across the floor. She slowly righted herself and went to pick it up.

The paper was a piece from the shopping list she kept pinned to the wall besides the provisions cupboard, only it had been folded in half and had her name written, in Paul’s neat hand writing, across the middle.

Whatever it was going to say she knew it wouldn’t be good. Why would he leave her a note? Why would he not just call? She walked slowly across the hallway, never taking her eyes from the note, and sat down in the lounge. She took a deep breath and then slowly opened the note.

 

                                                                ***********************************

Sarah sat looking out over the sea and slowly sipped her coffee. She was shaken from her thoughts as the waitress placed a plate of fish and chips in front of her.

‘Sorry, thank you.’ Sarah said as she looked up at her.

She smiled and walked back towards the counter. Sarah pushed the food around the plate, eating a few chips and a small portion of the fish. After about an hour she was the only one left in the café and the waitress came over to take the plate away.

‘Was there something wrong?’ she asked as she went to pick up the plate.

‘Oh no, nothing like that.’ Sarah smiled.

‘Can I get you anything else?’

‘No thanks. Is it okay if I sit here a little while longer?’

‘Sure it’s not as if we’re busy is it?’ the waitress waved her hand around the café. ‘Let me get you another coffee and if you want to talk I’m on a break now.’

The waitress returned with two cups of coffee, ’I can go away if you want.’

‘No stay please.’ Sarah indicated to the chair opposite her.

‘So are you here on holiday?  I’m Jackie.’

‘Sarah. I’m not really here on holiday. My boyfriend left me three weeks ago and I had hoped a break would help.’

‘And is it?’

‘Not really he was originally from Brighton, so coming here isn’t really helping me get over him.’

‘Are you expecting to see him?’

‘No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.’

‘Do you think he’ll come back here?’

‘Probably not, but his letter didn’t really explain why he left.’

‘Wow, it must be difficult to know where to begin.’

                                                ******************************************

Sarah was wandering through Brighton and had knocked on three doors looking for Paul but so far no luck.

She walked through the lanes, turning this way and that, not quite sure why she didn’t stop at any of the plethora of coffee shops and cafes that there was on offer. It was almost as if her feet were carrying her in a direction all by themselves.

She wasn’t meandering, her feet had purpose. She had been here before. Only she hadn’t. She had only been in Brighton three days and she hadn’t been cruising the shops, she had been out in the residential areas. How could she recognise this place?

She shook her head. These lanes all looked the same, with the little shops and the cafes. She hadn’t really been here before it was just a delayed case of de ja vu.

She turned the next corner and walked along stopping outside a newsagent. What was going on? She turned and look in the newsagents window, in the reflection she could she a large cake in the shape of a cup cake. She approached the window. Why would a newsagent have a cake in their window? As she got close to the window the cake had gone. That was it she was officially going mad. She needed to get back to her hotel room and have a lie down. She turned and there in front of her was the cup cake.

As she walked into the café, she marvelled as to how it was exactly as she remembered it. Three bar stools at a bar in the window, a long counter with large display cabinets full of different types of cup cakes along the far wall and a collection of tables covered in gingham table cloths. What was she thinking ‘exactly as she remembered it’? She had never been here before.

She was obviously exhausted and emotionally drained. She needed a rest and some food. She ordered a strawberry topped cup cake and a coffee and sat at one of the tables. There was no way she had ever been to this café before and she didn’t think she’d ever been inside one like it, but it all felt so familiar. How weird.

Sarah had finished and was debating whether she could justify another cake when a woman about her age walked in and rushed up to the counter.

‘Oh thank god you’ve got plenty left. My batch of cupcakes for the parents evening have gone horribly wrong and I don’t have the time to make anymore. Can I take a mixed box of twenty four please?’

‘Of course. I will need to go and fetch some carry boxes out of the back. If you can give me two minutes,’ the girl behind the counter said as she turned and disappeared.

The woman stood at the counter and started to look around. Sarah looked up to see the woman was staring at her.

‘Josie, Josie Kendal is that you?’ the woman said as she rushed over to Sarah’s table. ‘It is you. You remember me? I’m Mary Montford. We went to St Ignatius Primary together.’

Sarah looked at the woman, squinting to see if she recognised her.

‘I always wondered what happened to you.’ Mary continued. ‘The summer after we were six you didn’t come back we never saw you again. What happened?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sarah muttered as she finally managed to get a word in. ‘You must have me mistaken for someone else.’

‘Don’t be silly. You haven’t changed a bit.’

‘Look I don’t know who you think I am, but I am not her.’ Sarah got up and tried to leave.

Mary stood in her way, ‘I don’t know what you mean but I know you are Josie Kendal.’

Sarah pushed passed the women and rushed out into the street. She ran along the lanes until she was out of breath. She stopped and looked around her, no idea which way she had run or where she was. On the opposite side of the road was a bench and she carefully crossed over a sat down.

She took two deep breaths and reached inside her handbag for a tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She went to get another tissue and as she did she saw Paul’s note lying in the bottom of her bag. Everything had gone wrong since the day he left.

 

‘What are you doing in Brighton?’ her mother’s voice questioned down the phone.

‘I needed a break and here seemed as good a place as any,’ Sarah said, leaning back on her hotel bed. How her mother managed to make her feel like a small child always amazed her.

Sarah had never known her dad; he had died in an accident when she was very small and so it had always been just her and her mum.

‘Why didn’t you come and see me? I could have helped you. You know you can always talk to me,’ her mother said.

‘Look Mum, I just wanted some me time.’

‘Fine.’

‘I’ll come up and see you soon I promise,’

‘Okay well don’t leave it too long. I might not have long left you know.’

‘Oh mother, you’ll outlive us all. You know you will.’

‘So want did you call for? Corrie is about to start you know.’

‘Sorry Mum, I’ll be brief. I wondered if we’d ever been to Brighton?’

‘What? Why do you ask?’

‘It’s just some of the places seem familiar. And I met a woman today who was convinced she knew me, only she called me Josie.’

‘No dear we’ve never been to Brighton and if you know what’s good for you, don’t stay there too long. I need to go now.’ Her mother hung up.

                                                                ***********************************

The next day Sarah tried two more addresses looking for Paul, before she decided she needed to find out who Josie Kendal was.

She tried googling the name but there were too many so she headed off to the offices of the local newspaper. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find but if the girl was a local, she might have featured in the local news for something.

‘Can I help you?’ a rather haggard looking man asked as she entered the offices.

‘Is this the offices of the Brighton Gazette?’

‘Yes. Not exactly what you expected I bet. Unfortunately local newspapers struggle on with only advertising revenue to keep them in business, so we don’t get the fancy offices or huge archives the nationals have.’

‘In that case you probably aren’t going to be able to help.’

‘Try me. I have been here twenty years as a reporter and my father worked here before then.’

‘I was just trying to find out about Josie Kendal.’

‘Now there’s a name from the past,’ the man whistled through his teeth.

‘You knew her?’

‘Not personally but most locals know of her. She was snatched from the beach when she was about six years old and never seen again.’

‘Snatched? What by a paedophile?’

‘That’s what people thought at the time, but no body was ever found. Everyone always hoped she would be found some day.’

‘And do you have anything I could look at to follow the story through?’

‘Sure. Most of our big stories are on flash drive. I will have to dig it out and I’m needed at the Rodean graduation ceremony this afternoon, but if you leave me an email address I’ll pop you something over this evening.’

                                                **************************************

That evening Sarah lay on her bed reviewing all the reports that the guy from the gazette had sent her. It was exactly as he said, Josie Kendal had vanished from the beach and everyone had assumed she had been snatched. The beach had been packed on a sunny summer’s day she had been with a large group of children who were all making sandcastles together. When Mrs Kendal had gone to collect her the child had vanished. No-one knew how long she had been gone and no-one had seen anyone take her.

Sarah looked at the photo of Josie Kendal. It was almost identical to the first picture Sarah had ever had taken at school. She remembered it well as it still stood on her mother’s mantle piece.

Sarah had never questioned why she couldn’t remember anything before she was six or seven. Other people had told her it was weird and that they had memories from when they were two of three. She had always assumed that it was the trauma of losing her dad. But maybe it had been the trauma of being kidnapped.

What was she going to do now? Who should she speak too? Her mother? The lady from the cake shop? Josie Kendal’s mother?

She sat staring at the screen when there was a knock on her bedroom door. Whoever it was would go away if she ignored them. They knocked again. She sat totally still, not wanting to make any noise that would give away the fact she was in the room.

‘Sarah. Are you in there?’ it was her mother’s voice.

‘Sarah, let me in we need to talk.’

Sarah wasn’t sure what to do, but she was so shocked that her mother had travelled all the way to Brighton that she got up and opened the door. Sarah didn’t look at her; she left the door open and returned to sitting on the bed.

‘Sarah. I’ve come to talk to you about Josie Kendal.’

‘You know who she is, don’t you?’ Sarah snapped.

‘Yes I do and before we go any further you need to know that you are not Josie Kendal.’

‘But the photo. Look at it. It’s me.’

‘No it’s not.’

‘It is me. I know it’s me. I can’t remember anything from before I was six and that’s when you snatched me isn’t it?’

‘No we didn’t snatch you. We adopted you.’

‘Adopted me. Is that what you called it? It that how you justified it to yourself?’

‘Let me explain. Mrs Kendal and I had been old friends from school and you father and I used to come down here and spend the summer with her and her husband. The summer Josie was kidnapped we were here. The press coverage was awful. They camped outside the Kendal’s house and they couldn’t go anywhere. So they asked us to look after you for the summer.’

‘But… I don’t understand, if I’m Josie how could they have asked you to take me away.’

‘You’re not Josie. You’re her twin and your name is and always has been Sarah.’

‘If that’s true why didn’t you give me back?’

‘Because Mrs Kendal killed herself and her husband asked us to look after you. He couldn’t cope. He had lost a wife and a daughter.’

‘So he just abandoned me.’

‘I can’t imagine what he went through. After your father died I asked him to visit you and sent him photos and letters about how you were getting on but eventually he stopped returning my calls.’

‘Well that explains a lot,’ Sarah said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t have any memories and perhaps that’s a good thing. I knew you never cared for me like a real mother would have done. Always pushing me, never praising.’

‘I did everything I could for you. I lost my husband six months after I took you in. Jack Kendal gave up when his wife died but I didn’t have that luxury. I had to just struggle on. Maybe I didn’t want to get to close but in the end you are such a wonderful daughter that I couldn’t help but love you,’ she fished around in her handbag and pulled out a tissue.

‘Then why have you never told me before?’

‘Because one day I will die and then you will be alone again. I guess I thought if I was distant you wouldn’t be sad when I was gone.’

‘Mum what a stupid thing to say. You’re my mum, or at least I thought you were. I will always love you even if you annoy me sometimes.’

Sarah’s mum smiled through her tears. ‘Thank you. I am sorry about Paul. I guess I should have let you sort that one out for yourself.’

‘Paul. Is it your fault he left?’

‘He was from Brighton wasn’t he? I found out he worked for the local paper before he moved to London. He was using you sweetheart. He was just looking for a story.’

‘You can’t know that. Why do you always have to interfere?’

‘I do know because he told me. The day he left, I went to talk to him while you were at work. He told me he had moved to London to try and break into the dailies. He thought you were Josie and he was trying to find out what had happened to you.’

‘Why didn’t you come and talk to me?’ Sarah stood and stared out of the window, her back to her mother.

‘Because I knew you would think I was sticking my nose in where it wasn’t wanted.’

‘And you were weren’t you?’

‘No I was trying to protect you. As soon as I told him the story he started packing. He didn’t even wait for me to leave.’

Sarah turned from the window and sat next to her mum on the bed. She looked at her through tears and her mum pulled her tight and held her close. Holding her for as long as it took for the tears to stop.