Elisabeth Carpenter - 99 Red Balloons

‘I haven’t seen you for weeks,’ she said. ‘Haven’t you been wanting the papers?’

‘David’s been staying a while. You remember him? Zoe’s dad?’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘He’s got a laptop computer. I’ve been reading the news online.’

I looked to the left and automatically picked up a paper.

‘That’s super, Maggie.’

I laid the paper on the counter.

‘Still,’ I said, looking at it. ‘Old habits die hard. Staring at that computer for too long gives me a headache.’ I reached into my purse for the money. ‘Did you hear my news?’

She nodded. ‘I’m really happy for you, Maggie.’

‘She’s coming to see me tomorrow, for lunch. She’s bringing her son – my great-grandson – can you believe it? I have got family after all.’

I didn’t know if Mrs Sharples remembered about Scott, but she didn’t mention it.

‘And she’s bringing her sister, Emma. Do you have any of those biscuits, with the jam in and hole in the middle?’ I know Jamie’s thirteen and far too old for party rings, but everyone likes a nice biscuit, don’t they?’

Mrs Sharples walked from the counter and picked up the red packet of biscuits.

I looked down to my right instinctively and realised I’d left my trolley at home.

‘Oh dear. I’ve forgotten my shopper.’

‘No matter,’ she said. ‘I’ve got these new paper bags. Much softer on the hands.’

She placed the groceries inside and handed them to me.

‘Good luck,’ she shouted after me as I left.

I said far too much to her. I couldn’t help myself, my mouth just wouldn’t stop. She’ll probably tell the whole village.

I don’t care one jot.

David peeks through the net curtains again. ‘God, I’m so nervous. Are you nervous?’

‘A little bit.’

I’m really nervous, but I want him to think I’m calm. If he thinks we’re both nervous, he might have a breakdown.

‘Deep breaths, David. Deep breaths.’

He nods as he paces around. He goes to the mirror in the hall.

‘How do I look? Is this all right? I don’t look too weird in this suit, do I?’

‘David, you look fine. She’s not going to care what you’re wearing.’

‘Course she will. If she’s anything like Sarah, she’ll care. Hated anyone looking common, she did.’

I chuckle at the memory. Dad , she said to Ron . You are not going to parents’ evening in a jumper with holes in. Mum! Make him change it – I don’t want him showing me up . Sarah was only nine at the time; she hid it better when she was grown up.

‘Let’s go to the window to wait,’ I say, pushing him back into the living room. ‘I don’t want to miss a single minute of her.’

The satnav says we’re thirty minutes away from Maggie’s house. We’ve stopped off at least eight times since we left; my nerves have been so bad that my stomach is empty. Jamie has been quiet for most of the journey, in the back with his headphones on.

‘Do you want to call Grace again before we get there?’ I say to Emma.

‘It’s okay. Matt said she was going for a sleep. I’ll phone her later.’

‘Is it weird having him back at the house?’

‘Not really. I was barely there myself – only going back to sleep and shower. I practically lived at the hospital.’ She glances at me. ‘Are you trying to take your mind off things?’

‘Perhaps.’ I smile as I look out of the window. ‘It’s prettier than I thought up north.’

‘It’s so bizarre to think that you lived here for the first five years of your life, isn’t it?’

I got their letter three days after I sent mine. The notepaper was pastel blue and the handwriting slanting, elegant. There was a photograph inside of a child aged about two or three, in the arms of a man, in his fifties perhaps? Next to him is a woman of the same age. I turn the photo around. Zoe with Gran and Gramps . I’d never seen any photographs of myself before the age of five. Catherine had said my pictures had been lost during our move to England when I was seven; one of the many lies she told me.

‘It’s beyond bizarre.’ I turn to check Jamie’s still wearing his headphones. ‘Have you visited her yet?’

It’s the first time I’ve had the strength to ask this question, the first time I’ve thought about Catherine without wanting to throttle her.

‘Not yet,’ says Emma. ‘I wouldn’t visit her without telling you first.’

‘I thought you already had.’

Her mouth drops open.

‘I couldn’t do that to you, Steph.’ As we stop at a red light, she turns to face me. ‘If I were to visit her, would you be angry with me?’

‘I couldn’t be angry at you for that. It was her who created this mess, not you. You were the innocent in all of this.’

The light changes to green and Emma turns to face the front.

‘So were you, Steph. None of this is your fault.’

‘But why did I forget? How could I have forgotten my own mother?’

‘You were only little.’

Fifteen minutes and we’ll be there. I feel so sick with nerves. Jamie takes off his headphones.

‘Are we nearly there?’

‘Yes,’ says Emma. ‘Are you okay? Nervous?’

He shrugs. ‘A little bit.’

He’s been so hard to read over the past couple of weeks. I’ve tried to talk to him about everything, but he says he’s okay. I suppose it’ll take a long time for it all to sink in. He was close to Catherine, but I think he’s scared to talk about her in case it upsets me.

‘Are you okay, Mum?’

His question takes me by surprise.

‘I’m fine.’ I smile at him.

‘No you’re not. You’re bricking it.’ He laughs.

‘What a lovely expression that is,’ says Emma, smiling.

We finally pull up outside a terraced house opposite a primary school. How awful must it have been to have lost your grandchild and to have to hear other people’s children all day? Maggie must be a strong woman.

‘Number seventy-three,’ I say, reading from the card I still carry.

The net curtains twitch in the window. My father and my grandmother are in that house. It feels so strange, yet when I look along the street, I feel a sense of peace that I have longed for for most of my life. I hadn’t even realised it.

Emma puts her hand on mine.

She takes a deep breath and says, ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes. I think I am.’

Thank you to my agent, Caroline Hardman, for seeing my potential and for placing this book with the fantastic team at Avon. Huge thanks to my editor, Phoebe Morgan, for championing this – your insightful and razor-sharp editorial skills have made this a better book.

To my friends, Sam Carrington and Lydia Devadason, who have encouraged me from the beginning. You have been a constant support over the years – I couldn’t do it without you.

To my writing group, WU, your friendship, critiques, and drinking sessions have been brilliant (onwards and upwards!).

Big thanks to my mum, Carmel, for reading everything I have ever written. A shout-out to my friends Claire, Lou, and the gang at Random Makes. Thank you for cheering me on, you guys rock!

To Nan, who has been a huge inspiration to me.

Finally, to Dom, Dan and Joe. (Dan, you’re going to have to read this one now.)