by Fiona Harper
CHAPTER SIXTY
NOW
Heather has one more task to accomplish after she and Faith hug and go their separate ways. She drives to Hawksbury Road, where she parks opposite her old house.
After a few moments she gets out of the car, lifting a wicker basket filled with goodies – good-quality teabags and coffee, some all-butter shortbread and chocolate-chip cookies, a bottle of wine, and a couple of candles – and walks across the road.
However, when she gets closer, she hesitates. She didn’t think anyone would be here so close to the holidays, but a removals van is parked outside. She had intended just to leave it on the doorstep and slip away. She starts to turn back towards her car, but then she pauses. Maybe she can. There’s lots of movement, lots of noise and bustle. It would be easy to just creep up to the porch and away again without being spotted.
Shifting the handle of the wicker basket more securely onto her arm, she holds her head up, tries to look as if she belongs there, and crosses the road. She makes it up the drive and is almost at the front door before someone notices her.
‘Hi, can I help you?’ a woman in her forties with immaculate highlights asks.
Heather swallows. ‘I didn’t realize you were moving in today. I just bought a—’
She is interrupted by two girls with long blonde hair, about primary-school age, bundling past her and arguing about who is going to have the biggest bedroom. Their mother shushes them and then turns back to Heather.
‘Sorry, what were you saying?’
Heather hands the basket over. ‘It’s just a “happy new home” gift. Just a few things for the house.’
The woman beams at her. ‘How lovely! Are you one of our new neighbours?’
Heather smiles. ‘Sort of. I just wanted to say I hope you’re happy here. It’s a wonderful house. I always knew that with a little bit of love and attention it could be the perfect family home.’
‘That’s very kind of you to say. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? It’s a bit chaotic, but…’
Heather’s tempted because she’s terribly nosy to see what they’ve done to the interior, but she shakes her head. ‘Thank you, but no. I’ve got to run.’ And she smiles, turns away and walks down the drive, then climbs into her car and leaves Hawksbury Road for the very last time.
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to my editor, Anna Baggaley, who was so enthusiastic when I pitched the idea for this story that I hardly stopped to think how different it was from some of my other books and so I just dived straight in and started writing. It took a bit of trial and error to get some of the story elements right, but I’m very thankful for her bird’s-eye view of the story when was so close to it that I couldn’t see which path was the right one to take. Massive thanks also to Lisa Milton and the wonderful, dynamic team at HQ. I’m very grateful that I have a home where I am free freedom to explore the stories that excite me.
I would like to thank Colin Gale, archivist at Bethlem Museum of the Mind, for taking time to talk to me and answering all my questions about his fascinating job, even though much of the detail hit the cutting room floor, so to speak, in the editing process.
As always, I need to thank my fellow authors who cheer me on through the writing process – I surely wouldn’t get through it without you ladies! All my love to Donna Alward, Susan Wilson, Heidi Rice, Daisy Cummins and Iona Grey. Thanks too to the readers who contact me to let me know how much they enjoy my stories – you honestly don’t know how much that tweet or Facebook message or email means! When I’m down in the writing dumps and think I’ve lost the ability to reach ‘The End’, you shine a light on my path.
Many thanks, too, to my husband, Andy, for sharing his passion and knowledge about probate genealogy, and to both him and my daughters, Siân and Rose, for enduring endless episodes of “Hoarders”, all in the name of research, and for putting up with my sudden and unexpected need to de-clutter our house while I was writing The Memory Collector. I didn’t anticipate how much writing about other people and their ‘stuff’ would affect my attitude to my own belongings and I’m very grateful for all the help with charity shop runs and trips to the dump and for not locking me in the cupboard under the stairs when I asked, for the hundredth time, “But do you really need it?”!
And, finally, all honour to my God and Saviour for being the master storyteller. I would not be where I am today without your strength, love and inspiration.
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