Amanda Brooke - If I Should Go

‘I can’t imagine him being able to get a word in edgeways with you,’ Mrs Wilson said.

Rachel smiled. Martin was quite introverted and shy and at first she had indeed overpowered the conversation. Some people thought him aloof but once Rachel had broken through his protective shell, he had opened up to her and she to him.

‘I’m a good listener too,’ she said, and with perfect timing took out a framed picture from the suitcase. ‘Is this your family?’

The photograph looked as if it had been taken in the late fifties. The only wrinkles on the woman’s face were laughter lines, but her eyes, though brighter and less jaded, were unmistakeable. A young Mrs Wilson was holding hands with a young boy with golden locks who appeared to be about the same age as Hope. Behind them stood a man, his arm at home around the woman’s waist and his smile a replica of the boy’s.

Watching from her bed, Mrs Wilson’s features softened but her voice caught when she said, ‘Put it on the windowsill for me please.’

Before Rachel could ask any more, there was a knock at the door and Carol popped her head around.

‘Is everything all right so far, Mrs Wilson?’ she asked.

Mrs Wilson’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s what I expected.’

‘There’s a craft workshop this morning starting at ten thirty. Rachel can help you down to the main reception room if you’re interested.’

The smile was tight on Mrs Wilson’s face making her words pinched. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘OK, maybe once you’ve settled in,’ Carol conceded, and then looked over to Rachel, her eyebrows raised. At first, Rachel thought she was giving her the challenge to get Mrs Wilson out of her room but there was something else on her mind. ‘A very large bouquet of flowers has arrived in reception for you. I wonder who they might be from.’

The glow from Rachel’s cheeks was enough to stop Mrs Wilson returning to her book once Carol had left them in peace. ‘The flowers will be from Martin,’ Rachel said. ‘We have a date tonight and I’ll be staying over for the first time so he’s obviously out to impress.’

‘He’s not your daughter’s father then?’

‘No, Nick’s long gone. To cut a long story short, we started dating at sixth form and I became pregnant soon after. I gave up my studies but Nick had plans for the future and for a while I was part of them. But he did so well at his A levels that he won a scholarship in engineering which took him to America. He left before Hope was born and didn’t look back.’

‘I don’t suppose any of us can guarantee a happy ending,’ Mrs Wilson said as she stared at the photograph silhouetted against the sunshine streaming through the window.

Rachel’s laugh was hollow. ‘I can agree with that. My last relationship didn’t end well either so I want to be absolutely sure I’m making the right decision this time and not only for me but for Hope too. She hasn’t even met Martin yet but I think … I have to believe that Martin will stay the distance,’ she added as her stomach flipped for the second time.

‘You don’t sound so sure.’

‘Like you said, none of us can guarantee a happy ending,’ she said as she tried to silence the self-doubt. ‘Now, what about this?’ She was holding up a calendar that had been at the bottom of what was now an empty suitcase. ‘There are a few spare screws dotted around the walls if you’d like me to hang it up.’

Mrs Wilson turned her head away as if she couldn’t bear to look at the calendar, and yet she pointed to the wall immediately opposite. ‘Could you put it up there, please?’

When Rachel went to hang it, she noticed it was open at September with a beautiful scene of a country lane covered in fallen leaves. She was about to turn the pages back to June but Mrs Wilson stopped her.

‘No, keep it where it is,’ she told her.

‘It must be an important date,’ Rachel said as her finger rested on a circle that had been scratched around Sunday 8 September in red ink. ‘Something you’re looking forward?’

‘Resigning myself to, more like. Now, if you don’t mind,’ Mrs Wilson said, picking up her book again.

Unable to think of an excuse to stay and with a long list of other duties ahead of her, Rachel reluctantly left Mrs Wilson in peace. As she reached the door she glanced back and caught the old lady staring, not at the pages of her book, but at the wall opposite. She had a look on her face that gave Rachel a shudder.

Mrs Wilson’s eyes didn’t flicker, her attention held captive by the calendar – and yet from nowhere she asked, ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

The question ought to have surprised Rachel, but she had heard from other staff during the changeover that they had all been asked the same thing. So far, no one had managed to give the old lady a satisfactory answer but Rachel was willing to give it a try. Looking over towards the autumnal landscape she considered a lie but then swept her hand across the starched material of her tunic. ‘I should have mentioned that the other reason I was drawn to the job was the uniform,’ she said. ‘Pink. My favourite colour is pink.’

The only response was an almost imperceptible sagging of Mrs Wilson’s shoulders and Rachel had an unnerving feeling that the old lady was no longer in the room but travelling down the country lane in the photograph with its carpet of red and gold.

‘Hope, are you still there, sweetheart?’

Rachel could hear the TV blaring in the background and the occasional slurp as her daughter ate her breakfast, and yet Hope’s own silence was deafening.

‘I missed our kisses and cuddles this morning,’ she continued. ‘We can have double when I pick you up from school later, I promise.’ As she spoke, Rachel’s fingers gently traced her chapped lips. She felt a tingle down her spine as her body relived memories of the night before, but her mind was focused only on mending bridges with her daughter. She closed her eyes. ‘Please, Hope, talk to me.’

There was a mumbled response.

‘What was that, sweetheart?’

‘I had a bad dream and I wanted you but you weren’t there,’ Hope said. ‘I was crying and crying. Where were you, Mummy?’

Rachel glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. She was standing in the main entrance hall at Sunny Days after Martin had dropped her off. She was earlier than normal but still had to get changed. She wished she could have used the extra time to be with her daughter.

Rachel normally only spent a few snatched minutes at the beginning of the day with Hope, but up until today, she had at least been there to see her tumble out of bed. Her mum took her daughter to school but working an early shift meant Rachel could finish in time to pick her up. It was an arrangement that usually worked well but she wished she didn’t have to wait until the afternoon to make it up to her little girl. ‘I had a sleepover with a friend, that’s all. I told you I wouldn’t be home, remember?’

‘Nana made me some milk and read me a story.’

‘And did it make you feel better?’

Hope didn’t reply but from the swish of hair against the phone, Rachel guessed she was nodding her head. Raking her fingers through her own dark locks which were hanging loosely over her shoulder, Rachel wished she could stroke her daughter’s hair. ‘Good. And I’m very, very sorry, Hope. Really I am.’

‘OK, but don’t do it again,’ Hope said in a firm, deep voice that held an unshakeable belief that her Mummy wouldn’t be letting her down in the future.

Rachel couldn’t decide upon a half-truth or a downright lie but was saved from answering by her mum. ‘Say goodbye to Mummy and then go upstairs and brush your teeth,’ Karen told her granddaughter.