Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

From high above, the cawing of a wood pigeon. Laura ran her fingers through the stems of grass.

‘I’m glad too,’ she said softly. ‘That he’s not around anymore.’ Maybe, she thought, in years to come she would be able to forgive him. Was it easier to forgive a dead person? She wondered if Emma would ever be able to forgive him, or if Jane would.

‘What your father did to you, when you were a child.’ Her mother spoke carefully. ‘It’s affected you a lot, hasn’t it?’

Laura looked away from her mother. A sadness washed over her, chafing the same raw places. She tried to put her feelings into words.

‘For years I felt like I was always alone, no matter what. Even though I knew you were around, and Daniel.’

Her mother’s head dipped.

‘It’s like I’m coming out of his shadow,’ Laura continued. ‘He’s not there, following me wherever I go.’

‘We’re both coming out of his shadow.’ Her mother reached across and squeezed her hand. ‘I know we haven’t been close, darling, as far as mothers and daughters go, not for a long time. But I’d like to change that.’

‘Me too.’

Their eyes met. Above the nearby borders, bees hummed and climbed in and out of flowers.

Laura picked a head of clover. ‘Any news of David?’

‘Last week he asked if I’d go walking with him one weekend in Dorset.’

‘Did you say yes?’

‘I said I’d go – once I’m back from Texas.’

‘Playing hard to get?’

‘Maybe.’ Mum smiled. ‘It’s been a while, I’m a bit rusty when it comes to romance. He’ll jolly well have to be patient!’

They laughed in unison. Since her father’s death, she’d felt closer to her mother than she could remember. If only the same were true with Daniel. She’d not seen him since the funeral. They had tentative plans to meet soon, for his birthday, unless he took off for a contract overseas instead.

Her thoughts drifted, punctuated by the rumble of wood pigeons. In a short time, so much had changed. Her father was gone and was no longer able to harm anyone, and her mother would get along fine without him – that was clear. Hopefully, her brother would learn how to get along without the father he’d always imagined. As for herself… the bad dreams hardly came at all now. She was finally getting on with her life. That desperate, hopeless girl of a few months ago would soon be a memory.

Laura looked up at the trees along the edge of the garden. How wonderful they were in their haloes of green. Her fingers played among heads of clover.

I’m alive, right here, right now.

With that thought came a stirring of excitement, a childish wonder at the possibilities of the world. It lay open to her like a meadow waiting to be explored, full of secret places where rare birds and butterflies lived, and plants that had no names. Perhaps it had been waiting for her all along, only she’d never noticed.

She lay there for a while, looking up at the sky, watching clouds slowly form, break apart and reform.

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Thank you to the first editor of my manuscript, Philippa Brewster, the team at Bloodhound and all the writers who have who have helped me with nearly endless revisions of this novel. To name a few: Joanna Stephen-Ward, Richard Rickford and Alan Franks from the old days of the Richmond Writers Circle; Hillary Bailey, Gail Robinson, Iris Ansell and Margaret d’Armenia from the former novelists’ group, and Gail Cleare, Kate Murdoch, Kali Napier and Ann Warner from the many authors I’ve got to know online. Your help has been invaluable.

Copyright © 2018 Jennie Ensor

The right of Jennie Ensor to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.