Waiting for Grace
Hayley Oakes
Copyright © 2013 Hayley Oakes
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and for review purposes. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity.
Copy Editor: Madison Seidler
Cover Design by Cover to Cover Designs
Formatting: Little Dove Formatting
I would like to thank my parents for always cultivating my imagination and letting me believe that I can achieve anything I want to. Also my biggest fan and best friend Rebecca, who has read everything I have written for the past fifteen years, always encouraging and motivating me to continue.
Content
One– Now
Two
Three – Eight Years Earlier
Four – Now
Five – Eight Years Earlier
Six – Now
Seven – Eight Years Earlier
Eight – Now
Nine – Eight Years Earlier
Ten – Now
Eleven – Eight Years Earlier
Twelve – Now
Thirteen – Seven and a half Years Earlier
Fourteen – Now
Fifteen – Seven and a half Years Earlier
Sixteen – Now
Seventeen – Seven Years Earlier
Eighteen – Now
Nineteen – Seven Years Earlier
Twenty – Now
Twenty-One – Seven Years Earlier
Twenty-Two – Now
Twenty-Three – Seven Years Earlier
Twenty-Four – Now
Twenty-Five – Twenty Five Years Earlier
Twenty-Six – Now
Twenty-Seven – Now
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Epilogue – 6 months later
Acknowledgements
About The Author
One
Now
It had been a long shift. The London day was grey and overcast, and it had drizzled constantly, keeping the diner dark. Luckily, the day had been busy with people looking for somewhere to shelter and enjoy some hot food. I had been rushed off my feet, and my shift had passed in a flurry of activity.
“Another big table on seven,” Anna said, nodding to me as she passed into the kitchen. “Just seated them, rowdy bunch of students,” she said with a smile. “Should be fun.”
“Well, my last table.” I glanced at my watch and replied, “I’m off in ten.”
“Lucky you,” she shouted over her shoulder as she walked away.
I looked to the table and grabbed a handful of menus, hoping I had enough.
“Hi.” I smiled easily, forcing the tiresome day away from my face as I handed everyone a menu. “I’m Grace. The specials are on the extra sheet taped inside the menu. Can I get you any drinks whilst you take a look?” They all looked to the menu and one by one shouted out a drink. I counted eight and looked around the table for any more. “Okay?” I asked, and I heard an affirmative from the crowd.
The diner got busier. I took their food orders and my last ten minutes became half an hour.
“Get out of here,” Groucher said, as I took another order into the kitchen. He was the intimidating man that ran the kitchen and owned the American themed diner. “I don’t wanna get fined under some shitty legislation about over working the staff.” He took the order from me and smiled. “We can manage … get home!”
“Thanks,” I sighed. Anna rolled her eyes at me and took my order pad and pen. Groucher had his nickname for a reason, his bad temper, but for some reason he was easier on me. Maybe it was because I actually worked hard and had worked there since he bought the place. Anna found it hard to deal with.
“Get out there Anna, people ain’t gonna serve themselves,” he snapped, looking at the orders hanging above his head through narrowed eyes. He smirked at me as she huffed through the door to the restaurant. I smiled and walked to the coat stand in the staff room just next to the kitchen, then breezed back through.
“She might punch you one day,” I said as I laughed.
“She’ll have to catch me first,” he barked gruffly.
“See ya,” I said, zipping up my coat and swinging my handbag over my shoulder.
“Bye,” he said hurriedly, and made his way to the back of the kitchen barking orders to the sous-chef, Dean.
I stepped into the restaurant again, and through the crowds glanced into the night through the window. It was barely six, but the weather had closed in and the rain was now pouring. I shuddered at the thought of slipping out into the weather and at the bus journey ahead. It would be an hour until I was relaxing in my flat with the fire and television on and my feet up. I wish I’d brought my boots, and I sighed glancing down at my pumps. At that moment, just as I psyched myself up to walk out into the night, a face appeared in front of mine.
“Grace?” the man asked, looking into my eyes, hunching his shoulders nervously with his hands in his hoody pockets. I stared at him and cocked my head to one side as I tried to place him. A smile began to spread across my face.
“Owen?” I asked, shocked. He nodded and leaned in to hug me awkwardly. “You look … grown up.” I grinned.
“I’m nineteen,” he remarked as he shrugged, pulling away from me.
“Wow.” I could feel my face ache with the genuine smile that had sprung across it.
“So you work here?” he asked. “I was on the big table you served,” he explained as he pointed to table seven.
“Oh, right.” I brushed my fringe out of my eyes, and his blue eyes blazed into mine, reminding me so much of his brother.
“I’m at uni here in London, in my second year, trying to be a dentist.”
“Oh wow, bet your parents are proud, that sounds pretty tough.”
“It’s all right.” He shrugged again. We looked at each other in silence.
“Well,” I said, tearing my eyes from him to outside, “I better get going, I need to get home and the weather is, well … dreadful.”
“Yeah,” he said awkwardly, stepping back. “It’s great to see you. I’m glad I did.”
“Yes,” I nodded; his words made my heart ache. “I’m glad I saw you too. You’re looking good.”
“You’ve never looked better,” he said shyly. I smiled, walking past him to the door. As I opened it, I glanced back and he was watching me leave. He raised his hand to wave and I waved back. It was strange, it was surprising, and I was suddenly exposed.
Two
Fifty minutes later I was leaving the bus and walking towards my flat. The bus journey had been just enough time for my mind to go into overdrive, and the music that was flowing through my MP3 Player wasn’t making it any easier. Every word in every song seemed to have a hidden meaning that made me remember, made me think about him. I walked quickly towards home so I could breathe again.
I marched through the cold and rain in my parka, my hood up to keep out the autumn chill. It wasn’t cold enough for gloves just yet, but there was a definite nip in the air. There were people all around me making the same commute, and I pushed through them purposefully.
I reached the large, red, brick terrace that used to be a magnificent Victorian home and scrambled for my keys in my bag. I eased the front door into the tiled hallway and checked the mailbox for any letters. There were none. I pushed open the next glass door and was surrounded by the expansive hallway. We lived on the second floor of this huge, old house, and I
unbuttoned my coat as I approached the front door. As I unlocked it and fell inside, the noise hit me first as it always did. I heard television, chatter and cooking. We had lived here for three years and had furnished it tastefully when we could afford it.
There was a square entrance hallway that led left to the large, open-plan living area with a kitchen, dining room and lounge. Ahead was the bathroom, and to the right a hallway that led to three large bedrooms. I hung up my coat and headed inside. Maria stood at the hob stirring, and the children sat on the sofa glued to the television with their pyjamas on.
“Mummy!” my little girl exclaimed, running towards me. Maria smiled from her place at the hob.
“Spaghetti Bolognese,” she announced, shrugging. “We haven’t got much in.”
“No problem,” I said, holding my hands out for Devon as she ran into my arms. “You know it’s my favourite.”
“What’s up?” Maria asked, walking towards me, stirring spoon in hand as she eyed me suspiciously. “You seem weird.”
“I’m fine,” I quickly replied as I nodded. “Might need a glass of wine later,” I said wide-eyed. She smiled and nodded.
“Tell me later.” She sashayed back to the cooking in her grey sweat pants and tank top. “Max!” she shouted from behind the hob, “Ten minutes then reading in bed, okay kiddo?”
“Yep,” he said, still staring at the television.
“Go on Devon, back to the sofa whilst I get changed,” I ushered, and she went back to the television.
“Hi Max,” I shouted as I walked out.
“Hi,” he chirped.
I made my way to my bedroom and took a deep breath as I remembered exactly what had happened today. I saw Owen, or rather he saw me. I came face to face with my past, and it was nice; it was nice to be known, nice to be recognised, and nice to see those beautiful blue eyes again. Not that I didn’t see them every day when I looked at Devon.
***
Maria and I had lived together since our children were six months old. Well, actually, since they were born if you count the home we used to share with fourteen other teenage mothers. But, we had lived on our own with them for six years now. Maria is beautiful; her mother was Spanish and her father Jamaican. She has beautiful toasted skin and deep brown eyes; her hair is dark and curly and falls to her shoulders. She’s tough and has had a hard life. The first time I met her I was instantly intimidated.
Our children were born four weeks apart at a charity run home for young mothers in North London that was founded by Jackie Ramsey. Jackie wanted to help young women who found themselves in difficult situations. Maria and I were lucky to both get offered a place at the first home that Jackie purchased and renovated. Maria was homeless when Jackie found her and offered her a place; she was twenty-four weeks pregnant. I was crying into my hands in the A&E department of the Queen’s Hospital, Romford when I was lucky enough to meet Jackie. She spoke to me, was nice to me, and helped me process the fact that I was suddenly six months pregnant, could not have an abortion, and was completely alone.
We were the lucky few who got a roof over our heads and a better quality of life with Jackie. She was just starting out when we moved in and she had three rules: no boys, no drugs and no self-pity. We all helped out, paid our keep, and shared the chores including cleaning, cooking and shopping. In return, we were provided with a place to stay, an education, health care, advice, and expertise to raise our children. Jackie’s ideal was that women would stay between twelve and eighteen months, attain qualifications to better themselves, learn how to parent and “buddy up.” “Buddying up” meant that we would live independently together so we could co-parent, and help each other with child-care and bills so that further education was easier.
Maria and I got on brilliantly and Jackie’s system was textbook for us. We had both been burned by men and weren’t interested in relationships, and so before a year was up we had found a flat, enrolled in college, and had the children in a comfortable routine together. Max and Devon were like brother and sister. Maria had been a trained accountant for a year and I was a qualified teacher desperately looking for a job. I hoped that by next September I would finally have a teaching job, however I had failed six interviews and was quickly losing my confidence.
Jackie saw us as one of her many success stories. We still volunteered at Jackie’s numerous homes and spoke at conferences on her behalf when she was seeking funding. Despite her success, we were the only two who still lived together after so many years but it worked for us and I wasn’t sure I could get through life without Maria. She was my conscience, my best friend and my confidante. Without thinking we knew each other’s moods, understood each other’s facial expressions, and could almost read each other’s thoughts. It was so easy between us and we loved each other’s children like they were our own. We knew each other’s deepest secrets, and had held each other through so many rough times. I felt so much more for Maria than I had for any of my family, and tonight, before I stepped back into the living room, she was already ushering the kids to bed. She knew something serious had happened today.
***
“Night,” I said, kissing Devon as I tucked her in bed. “Fifteen minutes reading.” Then I kissed Max in his adjoining twin bed. “Night big man,” I whispered as I kissed his head.
When I strolled back into the living room, wine was poured and Spaghetti Bolognese was plated. Maria handed me a plate, and I grabbed the wine, making my way towards the comfort of the sofa.
“Spill,” Maria said, following me and plonking herself down cross- legged with her plate between her legs. “What happened today?”
“How do you know something happened?” I questioned as I laughed and took a bite.
“Come on, you’ve been weird since you got home … and thoughtful. Is it Anna again? Is she winding you up about Groucher fancying you?”
“No, bloody hell I wish that was all it was,” I sighed. Suddenly I couldn’t face my food because my stomach was doing somersaults. “I saw Robert’s brother today.”
Maria looked at me wide-eyed mid-mouthful. “Wow,” she said. “How? And wow …” She took a sip of her wine, and I took a gulp.
“He came into the diner; I served him. It was his youngest brother Owen, and he recognised me. I would never have recognised him; he was a kid last time I saw him, and now he’s a man.”
“Wow,” she said again, otherwise speechless.
“I know,” I sighed. “It was nice to see him but after all these years to see anyone related to Robert was just …”
“Weird?”
“I suppose, but more nerve wracking. I had butterflies in my stomach, and I felt breathless. And that was just his bloody brother!”
“So what do you think will happen, now?” Maria asked.
“Nothing, I suppose,” I replied. I shrugged and continued, “I saw someone from my past, and I guess it went well. I mean … I think I looked okay, but after seven years it was a shock.”
“It was bound to be a shock, and a major coincidence considering they’re all from up north.” She took another sip of wine.
“Well he’s at uni in London, he said. So maybe not too much of a coincidence.”
“It must have been like seeing a ghost. I know how I’d feel if I saw anyone from Max’s dad’s family.”
“I know, it was bloody weird, but I did well, and hopefully he’ll report back that I wasn’t a bumbling fool but …”
“But what?”
“Well, one day, I’ll have to face them all. Devon will want to meet her dad one day and I’ll have to take her there.” I shuddered at the thought. “I’ll have to face Robert and tell him about Devon.”
“Come on, don’t worry.” Maria placed her arm around me and rubbed my arm encouragingly. “Hopefully that day will be a while off yet. Now come on, eat up, and let’s celebrate.” She raised her glass and said, “To looking good when our pasts come a-knocking.” She winked at me.
“Do you think I looked good in
that awful uniform? I must be a stone heavier, too.”
“You’re like a fine wine, my friend. You only get better with age. Not to mention, men dig the dark hair and fringe combo.”
“They do, eh?” I raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. “Maria, what would I do without you and your equally fucked up life?”
She shrugged. “Go on Jeremy Kyle?” We both laughed. “Look, let’s stick a film on and you can tell me the story of Robert Banford the Third again, and tell me exactly what it was about those blue eyes that you still can’t forget.”
Three
Eight Years Earlier
“Grace Amelia Cooper,” My mother groaned from the kitchen. “Have you drunk all the diet coke again?”
I made my way silently into the kitchen and opened the cupboard where there were plenty of cans. “No.” I sighed and told her, “We started getting cans, not bottles, so they’re in this cupboard rather than the fridge.”
“Oh did we?” she asked, confused. “Were they on offer?” I shook my head, dismissing her. I just couldn’t muster a response. “I’m going to walk Mrs Jones’s dog,” I breathed, grabbed my portable CD player and earphones, and walked to the door. She didn’t say anything else, and it wasn’t often that we made that much conversation. She often didn’t wake until mid-afternoon and I was usually out of the house. We were like flat mates, my mother and I, who didn’t get on very well at all and tried to stay out of each other’s way.
I couldn’t remember my life being any different, but I knew that it had been normal, once. Irene Cooper, my mother, had a serious alcohol dependency that consumed her from the moment she got up to the minute she passed out. She was selfish and was uninterested in me; she hadn’t attended parents’ evening for years. She never asked how I was, didn’t shop with me, didn’t make my meals or care if I ate. I often wondered if she hated me, hated what I reminded her of, and hated that she had to look at me, and face all of her loss.
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