by K. L. Slater
Yet for now, her past problems were being overshadowed by her present-day predicament.
Overdue credit card bills, an unsatisfied county court judgement and a stack of unopened communications from a long list of creditors was just for starters.
Her only saving grace was that it was a well-known fact that it took credit and collection agencies a while to catch up with people when they moved house. And hopefully, she’d managed to make it doubly difficult for them.
There was also the problem of how she would ever find Geraldine again, now she was eighty miles away from Manchester. If it nearly killed her in the process, she would find a way to do it. And when the moment came, she would reclaim what was rightfully hers.
Holly squeezed her eyes closed against the menacing thoughts that threatened her new positive state of mind. Dr Freeman had warned her, trained her to spot bad thoughts and nip them in the bud before they could drag her down again.
The last eighteen months, in particular, had been a very difficult time. This period had included her very darkest hours. Times when she had quite honestly been a mere whisker away from ending it all.
It had been a chance remark from a fellow patient that had changed all that. Her words, over a shared cup of coffee, had been: ‘Don’t you just wish you could rewind it all and start over again?’
That simple question had somehow struck a chord with Holly and forged a way through the darkness where all the therapists and doctors could not. After that, she had never taken her eye off the faint light at the end of the tunnel as it grew steadily stronger, day by painful day.
On a brighter note, since making the final decision to come back to Nottingham, she had invested hundreds of hours planning and visualising – had taken on board everything the numerous self-help books she’d read had suggested – in order to give herself the best chance of succeeding in getting her life back on track.
Only then, when she felt grounded and secure again, would she be ready to do whatever was necessary to retrieve what was rightly hers.
The kettle clicked and she made the tea, feeling both determined and resolved that she would never let anything or anyone use or ruin her again.
She carried the tea through to the front room on a small decorative tray.
‘Thank you, dear.’ Cora Barrett reached eagerly for the china cup and saucer, her third of the afternoon. ‘Do you know, I feel quite spoiled. You’re an angel. Truly.’
Holly smiled, sitting down on the sofa, cradling her own small mug. ‘You’re the angel, Mrs Barrett, for letting me stay here for a while. For giving me the benefit of the doubt.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you… it’s Cora!’ the woman gently scolded. ‘If we are to be good friends, then I have to insist that you call me by my first name.’
‘Point taken.’ Holly smiled. ‘I’m very grateful to you, Cora, is what I wanted to say.’
‘Absolutely nothing to be grateful for,’ Cora said firmly. ‘Our meeting outside the post office was pure serendipity; in my book, it was a clear sign that you coming here was meant to be. It was perfectly obvious to me that you were a nice girl.’
Holly winced at her kind words, doubting that was the case at all.
It had been just over a week ago. Holly had been back in Nottingham for a matter of hours and had been trying to cash a cheque at the post office inside the Khans’ corner shop, but they’d insisted she hadn’t got the correct ID required for the transaction.
‘But I haven’t got a passport or a driving licence! It’s only for twenty pounds, for God’s sake,’ Holly had pleaded. ‘And I really, really need the cash.’
Customers behind her in the queue had shuffled and muttered. When she turned around to glare at them, she saw an odd mixture of pity and judgement in their expressions.
But the sour-faced old hag behind the counter wouldn’t budge an inch and a humiliated Holly had been forced to walk past the short queue to the door.
Outside, she’d leaned against the wall sobbing, the strength in her legs and resolve in her heart finally dissolving. To her, it had felt like the end of the world.
That was when she’d felt a firm hand on her shoulder and heard a concerned voice.
‘It can’t be that bad, dear, surely?’ She had opened her eyes to see an elegant older lady studying her inquisitively. ‘Fancy a nice cup of tea in the café?’
Despite her embarrassment, Holly had nodded and followed Cora to the small café at the end of the road. As they’d entered, the smell of freshly baked scones and fragrant brewed coffee instantly soothed her frayed nerves.
They had chatted over lattes for what seemed like hours, and Holly ended up telling Cora rather more about her problems than she’d initially intended. Once she started, she found she simply couldn’t stop. The relief had been enormous.
And now here she was, a guest in Cora’s home. Markus used to swear by harnessing the law of attraction to manifest one’s dreams, and finally, after ten long years, it seemed to Holly she might just have the hang of it.
‘It’s such a treat to have a nicely mannered young woman for company. I had the measure of you instantly that day, and finding out you grew up near here was the icing on the cake. Your good nature shone through, my dear.’ Cora looked towards the pale spring light that filtered softly in through the living room window. ‘Since Harold passed, it’s easy for me to go a day or so… sometimes longer, without speaking to another soul.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Holly said quietly. ‘That must be awful.’
‘Now, now, ignore me. We really mustn’t fall into the doldrums.’ Cora sat up a little straighter, her cup rattling in its saucer. ‘I might appear to be a defenceless old bat, but I can look after myself, you know. The way I see it, I’ve no choice but to do so. You’ll never catch me moping around for long, and despite the tough time you’ve been through, I suggest you avoid it too.’
That was what she’d chosen to tell Cora: she’d been to Manchester and had a very tough time. Cora had reacted kindly, sympathised completely. If she’d known what had really happened, Holly knew she wouldn’t have slept at night.
‘I agree. I’ve no intention of moping around,’ Holly told her. ‘In fact, I’ve been thinking that I might pop into town tomorrow and register with a couple of employment agencies. I’ve searched online and there doesn’t seem to be much going in the permanent job market at the moment, but with a bit of luck, I might be able to pick up a temporary position.’
‘That’s what I like to see,’ Cora said approvingly. ‘A young person who is willing to put themselves out there and look for opportunities. That’s what I kept telling my friend Pat next door.’
‘Your friend was looking for work?’
‘Oh no,’ Cora laughed. ‘It was her son, David. You see, something very… unpleasant happened to him a couple of years ago that affected him so badly he can’t bear to go out after dark, even now. I kept telling his mother at the time that he should get himself out there and find the opportunities for himself. They never just drop into your lap.’
‘Sounds awful.’ Holly took another sip of her tea.
‘Oh, it was. He was out of work for some time, but I’m pleased to say he’s all sorted now. It’s a shame he has to put up with that horrible man, Brian. His mother’s friend, you see.’ Her lips pursed in disapproval. ‘David dislikes him intensely and I admit, he’s a very difficult man to warm to.’ She paused a moment. ‘I’ve known David since he was a small boy and I’m used to his ways now. He’s a little bit… how should I put it…’
‘Different?’ Holly offered.
‘Different!’ Cora repeated. ‘That’s it exactly, a very good word to describe David. But he’s a kind person. He’s done bits for me around the house, stuff I would’ve found very difficult to manage on my own.’
‘Well, I’m here to help you now too.’
Cora nodded and smiled. ‘Quite. And when you’re ready, dear, you can take the new towels up to your bedroom and start t
o make yourself comfy. I think we’re going to get along very well indeed.’
Holly beamed. ‘Thanks again, Cora. I’ll try not to be under your feet here for too long.’
‘No need for that, dear, you’ve already thanked me a hundred times, and there’s no rush to leave at all. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. In fact, I sincerely hope you will.’
Chapter Six
Holly
After what seemed like an age, Holly made her bid to finally escape Cora’s chatter.
She felt unkind thinking such a thing, but she couldn’t simply sit around drinking tea and listening to Cora’s life story day after day, as tempting as Cora obviously thought it was. It was time to face the contents of her meagre cases.
‘I’d better go upstairs and get the unpacking out of the way,’ she said, edging towards the door.
‘That’s a good idea.’ Cora placed her cup and saucer on the coffee table and shuffled to the edge of her seat. ‘I’ll come up and help you.’
‘No!’ Holly said it too quickly, and Cora looked rather taken aback. ‘What I mean is, it’s very kind of you, Mrs Barr… Cora, but I won’t have you wearing yourself out on my account.’
Cora opened her mouth to protest, but Holly shook her head.
‘Honestly, I’d feel much better if you just stayed down here and enjoyed your tea. I’ll be back before you know it and you can finish telling me about your lovely wedding day.’
‘Fair enough, dear,’ Cora said, placated. ‘I admit that if I do too much, I probably will suffer with my lower back all evening.’
Upstairs in her room, Holly sighed and sank down onto the bed. There was no harm in taking just five minutes first to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before she started on the onerous task that lay ahead.
It felt almost like she’d gone deaf, escaping Cora’s endless litany about how she’d met her late husband, Harold, and then the riveting run-up to him proposing on Tower Bridge in London. The worrying thing was that Cora was only up to her early twenties in the timeline of her life. Goodness knows how many more hours of reminiscing it would take to bring Holly up to the present day.
Holly silently scolded herself. A thoughtful person wouldn’t entertain such mocking thoughts. It wouldn’t do her any harm to lend a friendly ear to a lonely lady who’d taken pity on her.
Poor Cora had obviously been starved of contact with other people since Harold’s death and had stored up all her happy memories, having no one to share them with. It was clear that now Holly had arrived, the floodgates had been opened and they were all simply spilling out.
Was it really too much to ask of herself to take a more compassionate view?
If Holly wanted to stay here in Cora’s home – and there was no doubt at all in her mind that she did – she would just have to learn to put up with her new friend’s constant chatter and focus instead on being thankful for her kindness and hospitality.
Holly stared trance-like at the large picture window. A cool, stark brightness lit up the glass, although the inside of the room was still quite dark. It was mid March and the sun, in its higher position in the sky, seemed to be trying to stoke up a little heat and cheer but wasn’t quite managing to sustain it.
When Holly closed her eyes, she could still see the glaring square of the window emblazoned on the dark canvas of her mind’s eye, like the moment a camera flashes and captures a photograph.
The side window was slightly ajar, and a faint breeze crept in, tickling the surface of Holly’s skin like a lingering shadow. It was too cool in here, and now rather draughty, too. She glanced around the room and noted there was no radiator.
Cora had already told her that she and her late husband had lived in the house all their married life and, like lots of elderly people, had never got around to installing central heating. Holly could understand that decision if money was scarce, but somehow she didn’t think that was a problem for Cora Barrett.
She made a mental note to ask if there was a small heater she could use to warm up the room for an hour before she came to bed.
She sat up and shifted to the edge of the mattress. Maybe the cold was a blessing in disguise. If it had been warm and cosy in here, she could probably have come up with a hundred great excuses to put off the dreaded task of unpacking.
Her motley collection of luggage hunkered down against the opposite wall, almost daring her to gather the courage to begin. In an impulsive burst of action, she sprang across and grasped the straps of the ragged canvas rucksack that had accompanied her to half a dozen music festivals over the years.
She squeezed her eyes closed and then opened them again, ordering the memories back in their box. Now was not the time.
Thinking about music festivals was safe ground, but before she knew it, she’d be trying to work out how she could have made better decisions and stopped the whole horrendous business from happening.
Sadly, it just wasn’t possible to wipe out the mistakes of the past. All she could do now was set things straight, however long that might take.
She would find a way to build a better future.
Chapter Seven
Holly
As Holly tugged at the buckles of the rucksack, a small pile of trainers and shoes spilled out over the floor.
She paired them up and arranged them neatly on the bottom of the fusty-smelling old wardrobe.
Next, she took a deep breath and pulled the suitcase across. Layers of folded tops, cardigans, jeans and sweaters were revealed when she unzipped it and peeled back the canvas top.
She’d already dumped some of the clothing she’d brought with her in a bin bag out in Cora’s back yard. The clothes had been old, but that wasn’t the reason she’d discarded them. It had been because of the memories attached to them.
Day after dragging day, week after long week spent hidden away from the outside world at the clinic. The same pair of old black leggings and baggy grey sweater, worn like a second skin that had the power to protect her.
She bent down and began to unload the contents of her sparse wardrobe. Most of this stuff now bagged around her shoulders and bottom and gaped at the waist, but it hadn’t always been like that. She could remember a time when her hip bones were undetectable beneath a padding of fat.
Her fingers quivered slightly in nervous anticipation at what lay beneath the garments.
She took her time, hanging the two pairs of trousers over the heavy wooden coat hangers that Mrs Barrett had kindly left for her use.
She laid her worn knitwear more carefully than required in the chest of drawers lined with faded floral paper that perhaps had once been scented. Now all she could smell was the distinctive unpleasant odour of camphor.
As she removed the garments, one by one, the horror of what lay beneath began to reveal itself.
Lots of envelopes, in different colours, shapes and sizes. Some opened, with their rucked contents shoved hastily back in, but most unopened, as if they had just slid through the letter box that morning.
Holly hastily gathered them together in an untidy pile, purposely refusing to look at them directly but side-glancing just enough to shuffle them into something that resembled a vague order.
She took out the brown folder that she’d filled with paperwork before she left Manchester. Reaching for an empty plastic carrier bag that had held the sandwich and drink she had purchased when she’d alighted from the train, she crammed all the envelopes and paperwork inside and tied a knot in the top, then stuffed the bag unceremoniously under the bed.
Her breathing felt rapid and shallow now and her hands were shaking a little as she remembered hiding from debt collectors as they hammered on the door of her tiny flat.
She leaned on the narrow windowsill and pressed her face close to the glass, feeling the now welcome chill of moving air against her cheek.
All the houses here on the crescent had sizeable gardens, most of them long and narrow. Mrs Barrett’s seemed a little shorter than the others because o
f a dense cluster of mature bushes and trees at the bottom that gobbled up about a quarter of its length.
The gardens that flanked it were different, she noticed. The one on the right had a manicured lawn, a few bushes at the bottom and neat empty borders – no flowers. The one on the left featured a rather scruffy, patchy lawn. Its main purpose appeared to be to house a plastic slide and swing set and a paintbox-blue playhouse that was set on a patchwork of faded coloured slabs.
In fact, all the gardens were different from one another, each fitting a purpose for the family that lived there. There was a kind of order even to the shabbier yards. Holly supposed that without order, everything fell apart, and it was definitely time for her to impose some in her own life.
But she couldn’t bear to open those letters yet, nor look through all the paperwork, which she knew would be laden with legal threats. Some part of her realised that she couldn’t hide here forever, of course; it was unavoidable that judgement day would finally arrive.
For others, as well as herself.
By that time, she’d be fully prepared and ready to face the worst. She’d learned the hard way that it was far better to plough through life than to just let it happen to you.
* * *
It had been over a year after that last day at school that she’d set eyes on Markus again.
As she’d rushed to catch the bus to her secretarial course at college, a deep voice had called her name from across the road. The small queue of people in front of her had shuffled in anticipation, and she’d glanced the other way to see the bus approaching.
‘Holly!’
She’d stopped walking and turned to see who had called to her, and Markus had waved.
The rumble of the bus behind her grew louder, but she ignored it. She liked Markus and they were well overdue for a catch-up. She’d managed to get to know a couple of girls at college who were also on her course, but they were just acquaintances rather than friends.
