by Fiore, Rosie
‘It seems to me that this is Coventry.’
‘What?’
‘You. Serena. This is a Coventry situation. Sort of.’
‘Coventry? In the Midlands? What? Why?’
‘You must know the story of Churchill in the war,’ Hamish said.
Mel was baffled. She had no idea what he was talking about. ‘Refresh my memory,’ she said encouragingly.
‘The Allies had captured a German Enigma machine.’
‘Enigma machine? Sounds like some kind of science fiction—’
‘It was a highly complex machine to send and receive messages in code,’ said Hamish impatiently. ‘Anyway, the Allies cracked the code—’
‘I don’t see what this has to do with Serena’s laptop—’
‘Let me finish! Anyway, because they were receiving and decoding the German messages, they knew that the Germans were planning to bomb Coventry. But if they told the people of Coventry and evacuated the town, then the Germans would know their coded communications were being read. So Churchill had to let them bomb Coventry, and loads of people died!’ Hamish finished triumphantly. There was a long silence.
‘So, who’s going to die?’ asked Mel tentatively. ‘Am I Coventry? Or is Serena? This really doesn’t help, Hamish.’
‘No!’ said Hamish. ‘Serena’s the Germans!’
‘She’s a Nazi?’
‘You’re not getting it. Maybe it isn’t the best analogy I’ve ever come up with. But look at it this way: what if you could keep an eye on her online life without her knowing? Like you said, if she finds out you know she’s doing stuff behind your back, then she’ll find different ways to hide things from you. Let her bomb Coventry and think she’s got away with it. And after that, you’ll be watching her.’
‘How?’
‘Social media.’
‘What?’
‘Facebook, Twitter … you have heard of those, haven’t you? If she’s getting involved with the wrong people, she’ll be contacting them online. I don’t think you’ll find anything incriminating by looking at files on her laptop. And if she catches on that you’re monitoring her computer access too closely, remember she can just as easily access social-media sites on her phone, if she has a Smartphone.’
‘She does,’ said Mel. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Well, I don’t know the first thing about Facebook and Twitter and stuff, but I’ll can learn. And Hamish … thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ He sounded embarrassed. ‘I’ve known Serena since she was a little speck. I want to do my bit to keep her safe.’
13
HOLLY NOW
She had done nothing; made no decisions, not told anyone … she had been living in limbo for a week. Some of her things were piled on the floor of the flat in East Finchley, but most of them remained in the room at her mother’s house in Ealing. She was still sleeping in Ealing, but she hadn’t asked Bob to tear up her cheque, and he must have banked it by now. So through her own inertia, she was committed to the flat, but she couldn’t see how she could move there.
With Judith’s illness out in the open, it was amazing how quickly the house became a place of sickness. Now Judith had made her decision not to accept treatment, and people had found out about her diagnosis, she seemed suddenly to age. The consultant she had seen prescribed painkillers, which seemed to give her some relief, but made her sleepy and vague. There was a fairly constant stream of visitors – Judith’s parish priest, friends from the church – and Holly had to manage them all. Judith wasn’t always up to seeing people.
Whenever Miranda came to the house, she spent her time wandering around in a red-eyed daze, touching things and moving them, starting tasks she didn’t finish, and then suddenly bursting into tears, upsetting Judith and the children if they were there too. She was very much more a hindrance than a help, Holly thought, as she emptied yet another half-drunk cup of tea down the sink. Holly herself kept things together by staying fiendishly busy. If she wasn’t working, she was busy getting Judith’s life in order, making sure she had all her paperwork up to date and that all the medical professionals knew what was needed and when.
Holly stayed in the house pretty much all the time. She could do most of her work from there, either over the phone or via the Internet. She still hadn’t told Jo what was going on, although she stayed in daily communication with her. She kept their conversations on a very brisk, businesslike level. She didn’t have the strength to tell Jo yet. In fact she wasn’t ready to tell anyone, because when she did it would become real. In the house, with Judith, with the mounting piles of medical paraphernalia and the sympathetic murmurings from visitors, it was very real, but contained. But if she told her friends and colleagues, then the cancer would take over all aspects of her life and she just wasn’t ready for that.
After a full week had gone by, her mobile phone rang, and she saw from the caller ID that it was Bob. Time to face to the world.
‘Hello!’ he yelled down the phone. She knew enough about him to know that he was a little hard of hearing and that using the telephone probably made him even more bad-tempered, so she decided to keep it brief. ‘Hi, Bob,’ she said loudly and clearly.
‘Ah, so you can see it’s me then? Where you been?’ he barked.
‘Remember the night I was there, when I had some bad news? It’s my mum. She has cancer.’ Holly was proud that she managed to keep her voice steady. It was the first time she had said it out loud.
‘Bad?’
‘Very bad.’
‘Well, I suppose you want out of your lease then?’ yelled Bob.
‘No,’ said Holly emphatically, surprising herself. She hadn’t known exactly how she felt until the words came out of her mouth. ‘No. I’m not paying rent here at my mum’s, and I do want the flat. I want a place of my own to go.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure. I may not be there much for the next little while, so I’m going to have to owe you on those weekly cups of tea, but I’ll pay my rent and bills, and I won’t make a noise.’
‘Fine,’ Bob barked. Then he paused, and said in a more normal tone, ‘I lost my old girl to cancer. Cancer’s a nasty bitch. Give your mum my best.’ He didn’t say goodbye, but Holly heard the old-fashioned phone receiver clunk down at his end.
She let out a deep sigh. Well, at last that decision was made. She’d have to start telling the other people in her life soon. Judith was managing better now her pain was controlled and she kept telling Holly that it was fine for her to go out. But sooner or later Judith’s condition would deteriorate and Holly knew she wouldn’t even be able to fulfil her work commitments then. Besides, she was well overdue some time in the shop. Checking stock levels remotely and phoning in orders was no substitute for being on the shop floor, seeing what people liked and what they didn’t, and checking that things were displayed to their best advantage. She knew that when she went there she would have to explain about her mum. It was only fair to Jo and Mel to give them as much warning as possible. Speaking to Bob hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared, so while she was on a roll, she might as well do it. That said, Bob’s abrupt manner and gruff sympathy kind of worked for her. She hadn’t cried yet, but she suspected that if Jo or Mel hugged her, or was nice, she might just dissolve into a sobbing mess. Well, there was nothing to be done. She had to go. She dropped Jo a quick email, saying she would be in at ten the next day.
She was up at seven to shower and blow-dry her hair. She felt she needed some armour, so she wore a favourite dress in a deep maroon and put on rather more make-up than she would usually wear for a weekday. She helped Judith to wash and dress, and made sure she had the telephone within reach, as well as a plate of fruit (which was all she seemed to want) and some water. Once she was sure her mum had everything she needed, she left to catch an eight thirty bus. She came through the door of the shop fifteen minutes earlier than she expected to, and Jo and Mel were both sitting at the counter. They heard the door, and when they saw it was her, both rushed ov
er in great excitement. Did they know? How had they heard?
‘Aren’t you the dark horse!’ exclaimed Mel.
‘What?’
‘That’s one hell of a secret to keep!’ said Jo.
Holly didn’t know whether to burst into tears or run out of the door, but through her confusion, she saw their faces were full of excitement, not sympathy. They were talking about something else altogether, clearly. She played it cool. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘A certain very handsome doctor just stopped by, said he was “in the area” and wondered if you might be about.’
‘What?’
‘I assume he’s the one who brained you with the boomerang,’ Mel said drily. ‘Black hair, blue eyes, irresistible boyish grin?’
‘He … what? He came here?’ Meeting Fraser John seemed like something that had happened to someone else, a very long time ago. She’d forgotten she had given him her card. In fact, she’d forgotten about him completely.
‘Yes,’ said Jo, smiling. ‘He was a bit awkward and gawky, spent some time looking around the racks of clothes, chose something for an older boy …’
‘Yes, he has a son,’ Holly said faintly.
‘Then, when he was paying, he ummed and ahhed and then asked if you were here.’
‘We told him you’d be in for ten, and he said he might come back. I think he went next door for a coffee or something,’ said Mel.
Holly knew she couldn’t see him. Not that he didn’t seem like a lovely guy, and very interesting, and not that it wasn’t very flattering that he’d trekked all the way to East Finchley to see her, but today wasn’t the day for it. She had steeled herself to tell Jo and Mel about her mum. She was holding it all together by a thread. Polite chat, or flirtation or whatever might be required if she saw him face to face … well, she just wasn’t up to that.
‘Did you say I would be here at ten?’
‘Yes,’ said Jo.
‘Look, girls,’ Holly said hurriedly, ‘I … I just can’t see him. I’ll explain why later, but can you put him off? Tell him I rang in sick or something, or I’m very delayed, but please … I don’t want to see him. okay?’
Jo and Mel looked stunned, but they could tell that she wasn’t kidding. She was about to step behind the counter to go into the back office to hide, when they all heard the bell on the door tinkle. One look at Mel’s rabbit-in-the-headlights expression told her who had come into the shop.
Holly summoned all her strength, turned and smiled.
His smile was warm and wide, so she knew he hadn’t heard her saying she didn’t want to see him. He was lovely-looking, although shorter than she remembered – only a little taller than she was. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. ‘You looked taller when you were leaning over me.’
Mel and Jo burst out laughing like a pair of embarrassing schoolgirl best friends.
Fraser took it very calmly. ‘Yes, I prefer to render women insensible so they’re flat on their backs when we first meet.’
‘I didn’t mean …’
‘Don’t worry.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not offended. Unless you used to be really tactful and the blow to the head knocked that right out of you. Am I likely to get sued?’
‘No, no,’ she said weakly. ‘I made a complete recovery. I am as you see me …’ And here she ran out of words. What did he see? Even though she had dressed with care, she knew she had lost weight and that she was pale and probably haggard under the make-up.
‘You look … possibly in need of a coffee. Could we go next door?’ Fraser asked. Holly turned to Jo, hoping against hope that Jo would say that she needed Holly in the shop. But Jo smiled sweetly and said, ‘Off you go, take your time.’
Holly had been at work for the sum total of four and a half minutes, and she found herself being ushered back out again and into the coffee shop next door. She murmured what she wanted and sat at a table by the window while Fraser collected their order. Maybe while his back was turned she could make a run for it. He was a nice guy, good-looking, and she had discovered as they had passed through the doorway together, nice-smelling too. But this was not the time. Not even close. She was only just keeping it together as it was. It was so bloody unfair that the very first time she had met someone she thought she could really like, and it was possible he might like her back, she was in no position to even consider it. For the next few months, her mum had to be her whole world. There was no space for romance. Not only that, but no man would want to stick around the full spectrum of craziness and grief that undoubtedly lay ahead. There was nothing for it. She had to be calm, very cold and very forbidding, and send him on his way thinking she wasn’t interested at all. She’d be the ice maiden. Steely. Like Cruella de Vil but with better hair. Fraser slipped into the seat opposite her and put the tray down.
‘So how’s your mum doing?’ he asked gently. And Holly burst into tears.
She learned that the crackly paper napkins supplied by the coffee shop were useless for absorbing tears and snot, but extremely effective at spreading mascara across her face. She sobbed like a small child and Fraser held her free hand, and then she excused herself and went to the bathroom. She washed all the make-up off her face and splashed her red eyes repeatedly with cold water, but somehow the tears just kept leaking out. She couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever, mainly because someone kept knocking on the door, so she grabbed a great wodge of toilet paper and, squaring her shoulders, returned to the table. She sat down opposite Fraser, who was making patterns in the cinnamon on the top of his cappuccino.
‘How did you know?’ she asked.
‘I’m a doctor. I couldn’t tell you exactly what’s wrong with her, but I do know what a gravely ill person looks like. And you look … a lot more strained than you did the day we met, even though no one’s tried to decapitate you with a traditional weapon today. So I put two and two together.’
‘Bowel cancer. Stage four. She’s refused all treatment.’
Fraser nodded. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t utter platitudes or offer sugary sympathy. Instead, he asked about the support they had. ‘Have you contacted your local hospice?’ he said.
‘Hospice? It’s not that bad. I mean, I know she’s sick, but you go into the hospice when you’re going to die, don’t you?’
‘Not at all. They’re there to give you whatever support you need with illness. Their first step will probably be to put you in touch with the Macmillan nurses. You’re going to want them. They’re all about practical help.’
‘She’s going to die. She wants to die. What help could we possibly need?’
‘You could do with help with all sorts of things. Her financial affairs might need sorting out. What about palliative care? What about someone to come in and help you look after her? You can’t be there twenty-four seven. What about getting a disabled badge for the car to make it easier if you need to take her for a doctor’s appointment? And what about comfort and support and counselling for you?’
‘Counselling?’
‘Caring for a very ill person can wear you down. You’re allowed to ask for help.’
‘I’m not, you know. I’m the selfish cow who didn’t even notice she was ill. I was so wrapped up in my own crap, and so busy being annoyed with her like a sulky teenager, I didn’t even notice she was dying. I don’t deserve help. I deserve a slap.’ And she was off, sobbing again.
It was the furthest thing from an enchanting first date Holly had ever had. They alternated chat about cancer nursing with bouts of Holly weeping hysterically. It wasn’t her sexiest look. She compared it to her carefree first meeting with Damon – all glamorous outfits, champagne and rampant sex. Fraser had met her twice – the first time she’d been unconscious and covered in mud and blood, and the second she’d been the heartbroken snot factory. But somehow, he seemed to take it in his stride. She liked his calm, practical demeanour. He was open and honest, kind, but didn’t mince his words. He was full of pra
ctical advice, but also gentle and understanding when it all got too much for her. All in all, he was a sterling bloke, and she wanted to fancy him rotten, but the timing was awful. She wasn’t going to bet on their long-term future, that was for sure. And anyway, who was to say he had had romantic intentions towards her at all? Maybe he’d just come to the shop to check she’d recovered from the boomerang accident, or maybe he genuinely was looking for an outfit for his little boy. Whatever his intentions, she was in no condition, or in any position, to take him up on any romantic overtures, or even an offer of friendship. And she wouldn’t be, for a long time. Still, he was lovely, and he was the first person other than her family she’d been able to discuss the whole cancer and Mum thing with. As a doctor, and an outsider, he was perfect.
She looked at her watch regretfully. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I have to get back to work. I’m also sorry I was such utterly miserable company.’
‘Well, it seems as if we’re destined to have high drama every time we meet. Last time you bled, this time you cried. What can I hope for next time?’
‘Oh, a custard-pie throwing incident at the very least.’ Holly managed a weak smile.
‘Is that when you put me in custardy?’ He grinned.
‘That’s terrible. That’s the worst joke ever.’
‘Really? I’ve got loads more if you want to hear them. They crack my patients up. Try this one: Knock, knock.’
Holly sighed. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Europe.’
‘Europe who?’
‘No, you’re a poo.’
Holly couldn’t help herself and she guffawed at that. ‘Your patients love your jokes? Please tell me you’re not a proctologist.’
‘No, I’m a paediatrician.’
‘Well, that makes sense, at least.’ Holly glanced at her watch again and grimaced. ‘I know I have to go back to work,’ she said, ‘but would you walk around the block with me, just for ten minutes? I need to compose myself. No point in going back in there looking like a total wreck.’
‘You don’t look like a wreck, but I’m more than happy to walk,’ Fraser said.
