For Better, For Worse

by Nora Kay

Genres: Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Jenny Richardson believes that marriage is for ever. Her life centres around her husband Paul, her daughters - fifteen-year-old Wilma and ten-year-old Katy - and their Perthshire home. Then one day Paul destroys it all. He has fallen in love with glamorous Vera Cuthbertson, and nothing will ever be the same again. When Jenny sets out to find a job, armed with more flattering clothes and a more attractive hair style, she finds not only a job but also admirers. But part of her still yearns for the certainties of her old life. A time will come when she will have to decide whether to go back or to strike out in an entirely new direction.

Release date: April 25, 2013

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 448

Sample

Jenny Richardson turned her head when she heard the back door open. It was usually left unlocked until the girls got back from school.

‘Hello, dear,’ she said sounding surprised. ‘What are you doing home at this time? I thought you said—’

‘I know what I said,’ he interrupted, ‘I said I wouldn’t be home for the evening meal and that still stands.’ He had taken up a position in the middle of the kitchen, a tall, good-looking man with broad shoulders who held himself well. His dark business suit was regularly pressed and with it he wore a white shirt and a dark blue tie with thin gold stripes. ‘When do they get in?’ he added.

Jenny frowned. She knew he was referring to the children but why ask such a question? He knew, or he certainly ought to know, when the school got out and the time of the bus.

‘The girls get dropped off at the end of the road and they should be home some time between half past four and a quarter to five. Why?’

He ignored that and glanced at his watch. ‘We can count on being alone for the next – say – three quarters of an hour?’

‘I should think so,’ Jenny said quietly. She put down the vegetable knife and dried her hands on the towel. The family had their main meal of the day at six o’clock and Jenny had just started on the preparations. The girls took sandwiches preferring them to school dinners and Paul got himself a snack lunch in a restaurant close to Easton & Hutcheson, the well-established engineering firm where he worked as an accountant.

Something was wrong, Jenny could feel it. Why else would Paul be home at this time?

Jenny Richardson was a pleasant-looking woman of medium height with a tendency to put on weight if she wasn’t careful. Her thick, dark chestnut-coloured hair had a natural wave and she wore it short. It was easy to look after, requiring only a trim every four or five weeks. For special occasions she would have a shampoo and set but those times were few and far between. Jenny didn’t mind, she was a home lover devoted to her husband and their two daughters. She didn’t bother about fashion and wore what she thought suited her.

Thoughts kept clicking round in her head. Had she imagined it or had Paul been tensed up of late? If he was it could only be due to overwork. It angered Jenny that the firm was for ever piling on extra work. She did all the complaining, not Paul. He said that was the wrong thing to do if you wanted to get on and her husband did. He wanted it quite desperately. As for Jenny she would much prefer that he relaxed. If promotion came, well and good, but she was perfectly content. Indeed Jenny considered herself very fortunate. They managed to pay the mortgage on their three bedroom, semi-detached villa with enough left over to give them a reasonable standard of living. Paul had the use of a company car which meant they didn’t have the expense of buying one. All they had to do was provide the petrol.

Jenny frequently counted her blessings. She had a handsome husband who worked hard to provide for his wife and two daughters: Wilma, fifteen, had blonde hair and long thin legs; Katy, just turned ten, was a happy-go-lucky girl with brown curly hair and laughing blue eyes. They had been blessed with two lovely daughters. The pity was that she hadn’t given Paul a son but it wasn’t too late, it could still happen.

‘We’ll talk better in the sitting-room,’ he said abruptly.

Jenny took off her apron, put it over the back of a chair and followed him. Had Paul lost his job? Surely not. It didn’t seem very likely. According to reports the firm had a full order book and even if they hadn’t the white collar workers wouldn’t be affected. It would have to be something very serious before that happened. Paul was a much valued member of staff. He was popular, that was evident at the office Christmas parties. He moved around with confidence, joked easily with his seniors and spoke courteously with their wives. No, his job was safe, she was sure of that. Then suddenly Jenny was smiling with relief, remembering her husband’s little idiosyncrasies. He liked to pretend he had bad news when, in fact, it was the opposite. Jenny considered it juvenile and irritating but Paul appeared to find it amusing. He liked, he said, to see the changing expressions. Alarm giving way to joy. They sat down. Jenny waited with her hands in her lap and a smile hovering at her mouth.

The room they were sitting in had a tiled fireplace with a large gilt mirror above it. Jenny’s mother hadn’t been too happy about it hanging there, not with two young girls in the house. She said it was a dangerous place to hang a mirror but Paul disagreed and the mirror remained where it was. There was a shabby moquette suite that had twice been recovered and a large square of carpet which had been turned round to hide the signs of wear. When she and Paul had started out in married life most of their savings had gone on a deposit for the house. They had decided to make do with second-hand furniture and replace it when they could afford to, only that had to be shelved when Jenny found herself pregnant. Then refurnishing got pushed further and further down the list as more pressing needs took away their savings. This was to be the year when the house got a facelift. Downstairs first and then the bedrooms unless it was going to be too much of an upheaval and the upstairs could be left until the following year.

‘What’s so funny?’ he said, sounding annoyed.

‘You, Paul. This is your little joke, getting me worked up and worried. I think I know what this is about. You’ve got your promotion, that is it, isn’t it?’ She almost beamed.

He looked blank.

‘You did say you stood a good chance,’ Jenny faltered.

‘Oh, that!’ he said dismissively. ‘I got it weeks ago, didn’t I tell you?’

Jenny shook her head. He knew he hadn’t. Had he done so there would have been some kind of celebration. Her mother would have looked after the girls and they would have gone out for a meal. A very special meal, possibly with champagne. Not that she liked champagne but Paul did. And what he liked she tried to like too. Jenny was suddenly very afraid and her mouth had gone dry.

‘What is this all about, Paul?’ She waited for his answer, every sense strung taut.

There was a film of perspiration on his brow and Paul’s finger had gone to the inside of his collar as though it had suddenly become too tight.

‘There is no easy way of saying this—’

‘Saying what?’ She felt cold, so very cold yet the room was warm with the May sunshine streaming in.

‘I’m leaving you, Jenny.’ There it was out, he had said it.

She stared at him. ‘You can’t do that,’ she said stupidly.

‘I’m afraid I can and I am,’ he said gently. He hated hurting her but it had to be done now, not put off any longer. This was a turning-point in his life, he kept telling himself. He was gloriously and hopelessly in love. That he had fallen out of love with Jenny was no fault of hers, yet she was the one to suffer most. The children would suffer too but not so much and he would see them from time to time. That was something they would have to arrange.

‘Why do you want to leave me?’ she whispered.

‘Jenny, I’m in love with someone else,’ he said softly, ‘these things do happen you know.’

‘I’m aware of that.’ To other couples, she added silently, but not to us. It wasn’t possible that Paul was telling her their marriage was over. Or was it?

‘It’s not true, you can’t mean it.’ She was shaking her head. Paul was going through some sort of crisis, a temporary madness. It was well known, wasn’t it, that men of a certain age, forty or thereabout, had a need to prove that they were still attractive to women? A sort of last fling. She hadn’t expected it of Paul but she would be good about it, be prepared to forgive and forget. No, that was asking too much. To forgive was one thing, to forget quite another. One had no control over one’s memory. The bad memories would surface from time to time and sadly it would be like discovering a weakness and never again being able to trust the one who had behaved so badly.

‘I do mean it, Jenny, and please try to keep calm.’

‘I am calm.’ And I am, she thought, I’m shattered but remarkably calm. It shocked her a little that she could be so calm when her whole world was falling apart. But, of course, none of this was happening, this was some sort of nightmare and she would waken up with her world secure.

‘Jenny, are you listening?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘Believe me, I hate having to hurt you.’

She did believe him. ‘Then don’t, you don’t have to,’ Jenny said quietly.

‘You just won’t accept it, will you?’ Paul was sounding exasperated. ‘Our marriage is over, Jenny, get that into your head. If we are both honest we know it has been over for some time.’

‘That isn’t true,’ she said hotly.

‘All right, tell me this, when did we last make love?’

Her soft: brown eyes were full of pain but there was anger there as well.

‘That’s rich coming from you. You were the one who turned away. You were always too tired or just not interested. Innocent fool that I was, I put it down to overwork and exhaustion. Now I know the reason. You had her, you didn’t need me.’ She shook her head wonderingly. ‘All that time you were unfaithful to me and I never suspected, not for a single moment. I trusted you, Paul, and I honestly thought we had a good marriage, that we were a happy family.’

He shrugged. She wished he wouldn’t, he seemed to do a lot of it. ‘We did,’ he said, ‘but we all change.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Perhaps you should have.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

Another shrug. ‘Maybe you’ve got too settled.’

‘Boring, uninteresting?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘It’s what you meant.’ She waited for him to deny it but he didn’t.

‘Who is she?’

Paul took his time about answering as though he was reluctant to part with the information.

‘Her name is Vera Cuthbertson,’ he said at last.

That rang a bell. ‘Isn’t that the name of Andy’s secretary? Wasn’t it she who got Miss Dewar’s job?’

‘Yes.’

It was all coming back. Miss Dewar had been plain and efficient, a good reliable secretary who had taken a great pride in her work and encouraged others to do the same. Her replacement had come as a shock and Paul had told Jenny about the new member of staff being a stunning-looking girl with excellent qualifications. She remembered being secretly relieved that she wasn’t Paul’s secretary and telling him laughingly to keep his distance, that he had three girls at home, two young and one not-so-young, who adored him. He had laughed and said there was absolutely no danger. Why would he look elsewhere when he had a lovely wife and two smashing daughters? Yet here he was talking about leaving them and presumably going to live with this Vera Cuthbertson. Was it possible to hate someone you hadn’t met? Yes, it was, when that person was going to ruin your life and cause heartache to two innocent little girls.

‘The girls, think about them.’

‘I have, believe me I have. Children are remarkable, they very quickly learn to adapt.’

‘Do they?’

‘Yes, they do and ours will. Jenny, for heaven’s sake, this is 1952, the world is changing. Couples no longer stay together just for the sake of appearances. In our parents’ day they did and it caused a lot of misery. Our generation has more sense. They look at it sensibly and get out.’

‘They get out, as you term it, when the marriage has failed but ours hasn’t, Paul. We don’t yell at each other, we don’t have rows. Perhaps the occasional disagreement but nothing serious. No marriage remains on a high all the time.’

‘I’m not getting into an argument. I arranged time off to tell you that I’m leaving you, Jenny, and that is it. Of course, you and the girls will continue to live here and I’ll pay the mortgage. Obviously you’ll have to make do with less but you can always get a job. What a good thing you kept up your typing – good typists are always in demand.’ He was talking much too quickly.

‘You’ve got it all worked out,’ Jenny said bitterly. She remembered being pleased when Paul got her a good second-hand typewriter. Some firm he knew had gone into liquidation, everything had to be sold and the typewriter had been a genuine bargain.

‘Yes, I have got it worked out. You need to know the financial position.’

Jenny hadn’t been thinking about the financial position, that worry would come later. What she was thinking about was getting her more worked up by the minute. She could feel her colour rising.

‘All that talk about extra work, all those late nights at the office. I felt so sorry for you and so angry at the firm and they were only excuses. You were with her, weren’t you?’ she said accusingly.

He shrugged and sat more comfortably in the chair. ‘Some of the time but there was extra work as well.’

How could I live with someone for sixteen years, she wondered and yet not know them? She closed her eyes for a moment to lessen the pain.

‘How long has this been going on?’

He shrugged.

‘Don’t do that,’ she shouted. ‘I asked you, how long?’

‘A few months, I can’t say exactly and keep your voice down.’

‘Why? In case the neighbours hear? Possibly they know already. Isn’t it always the wife who is the last to know?’

‘I’m sorry, I really am.’

‘So you keep saying. How old is she?’

‘What difference does that make?’

‘None, but I’d like to know.’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Single?’

‘Yes.’

‘No problems for her then?’

‘No,’ he said looking increasingly uncomfortable.

‘She gets her clutches into a married man and breaks up a family. That doesn’t say much for her.’

He remained silent.

‘You are forty, quite an age gap.’

That angered him as she knew it would. Paul had hated that step from thirty-nine to forty. He could very easily pass for early thirties with his youthful appearance, his fresh complexion and his plentiful dark blond hair. Nevertheless there was no denying what was on the birth certificate.

‘It doesn’t bother us, the difference in ages.’

Liar, she thought. It bothered him that the years were slipping by or he wouldn’t flinch the way he did when he was reminded of his age. Jenny was thirty-eight and didn’t mind anyone knowing.

‘I give it a year at the most then she’ll tire of you, dump you, Paul, and look for a younger man.’

He smiled, so sure of himself. ‘I don’t think so and I’m more than willing to take the risk.’

‘What are they saying about it in the office? They can’t fail to notice what is going on.’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care. It has nothing to do with them. It’s our business, Vera’s and mine and no one else’s.’

‘I beg to differ. This is very much the business of your wife and children.’

‘I’m trying to sort that out.’

‘What are you going to tell Wilma and Katy?’

‘I’ll leave that to you, you’ll make a better job of it.’

She gave a strangled laugh. ‘Oh, no, Paul, I’m not having that, you can do your own dirty work. None of this is my doing.’

‘Why are you so determined to make this as difficult as possible? I thought better of you, Jenny.’

‘I thought better of you too.’ She was shaking but surprisingly her voice was quite steady.

‘I’m going.’ He got up and just then came the sound of voices and the back door opening.

‘Too late, Paul, here they are.’ She walked ahead of him back to the kitchen and lit the gas under the kettle. Six o’clock was a long time for them to wait for their meal and a scone or a piece of plain cake helped to keep away the hunger pangs. It struck her then that from now on there would be no need to wait until six o’clock.

Two pairs of eyes registered surprise.

‘What is Daddy doing home at this time?’ Katy demanded of her mother as though her father was incapable of answering for himself.

Wilma threw her bulging schoolbag on to one of the kitchen chairs. It stayed for a moment then fell to the floor. She waited for Jenny to tell her to pick it up and not to be so careless. She didn’t. Wilma looked surprised to be let off, waited another moment or two, then lifted the bag and put it on the chair. Her mother was smiling and managing to look stricken at the same time. Her father was smiling too in a funny sort of way. She wondered if they had had a row and she and Katy had arrived home before they could sort out whatever it was. They didn’t row much, come to think about it they didn’t row at all. Not a real barney just the occasional disagreement. Not like her friend Evelyn’s parents who, according to their daughter, were either shouting insults at each other or barely speaking. Wilma didn’t believe it was as bad as Evelyn made out, she always had to exaggerate as though that made it more interesting.

‘Don’t your parents ever fight?’ she’d asked.

‘Not really. If they don’t agree they just agree to differ.’

Evelyn couldn’t quite understand that. ‘Must be awfully boring in your house,’ she’d said.

‘Daddy has something to tell you both, that’s why he is home at this time,’ Jenny said with false brightness.

‘Something nice,’ Katy said hopefully.

Paul shot his wife a look that was close to hatred and she found herself trembling. Jenny realised in that moment how unpredictable were human relationships and how quickly they could turn to hostility or worse. She wished now she hadn’t antagonised him. Had she not she would have been spared that look. It seemed to speed up the end.

On the other hand why should she protect Paul? He wasn’t the one to suffer. That young woman, that Vera Cuthbertson, would be waiting for him with open arms. Jenny tried to imagine Vera Cuthbertson’s home. Probably it would be a modern flat, maybe she called it an apartment, and it would have every latest convenience.

Jenny was feeling the bitter pain of rejection. She had lost out to a younger and more beautiful woman. She wasn’t the first to go through this and she wouldn’t be the last. People would pity her, she would be pointed out as the abandoned wife and she didn’t want to be pitied. Some would put part of the blame at her door saying men didn’t stray unless there was something lacking in the marriage. She couldn’t think where she had failed. Her whole life had been devoted to her husband and family. She had been a good wife. What more could she have done? Nothing.

The children, what of them? She would learn to contend with the pain and humiliation but the girls, how would they deal with the situation? They were so different. Wilma would try to hide her suffering and that could leave its mark in later life. Fifteen was a difficult age, her own mother described it as half woman, half child. Katy would be inconsolable for a short time then she would recover as happier events took over. Lucky Katy who could never be sad for long. Wilma was the worry. Their first-born enjoyed a close bond with Paul. She had always adored him and Jenny had accepted second place. Their other daughter had evened things up, it was always her mother she ran to with her troubles. Damn you, Paul Richardson, Jenny said silently, damn you for what you are putting us through.

‘Nothing for you two to worry about.’ He was smiling that crooked smile she had always loved. ‘It’s just that your mother and I have agreed to separate for a while. I won’t be living here.’

There was a stunned silence. Jenny bit back the words. She had been about to say that she had agreed to nothing of the kind but what was the use. This wasn’t quite so final for the girls. It was wise to be civilised about these things and who knows, perhaps in a month or two Paul would realise his mistake. He had been a good husband and father, perhaps he could be those again. She would leave the door open. Pride was something she couldn’t afford. It seemed impossible to Jenny that only a little time ago, hours just hours, she had been so sure of Paul. Had that been her mistake? Had she taken him for granted? She still loved him, you didn’t just stop loving someone. What did stop was respect. How could you respect someone who put his own selfish pleasure before the happiness and well-being of his family? In her book that was despicable.

‘Where are you going to live, Daddy?’ Katy asked as she reached for the biscuit tin and had it removed from her hands.

‘No, Katy, no biscuits, you’ll get a scone and butter when I’m ready.’ Katy made a face. ‘Daddy, where—’

‘Not very far away.’

‘Can we come and see you?’

‘Not right away but later on.’

‘You can’t leave Mum and us.’ Wilma sounded horrified.

‘Wilma, don’t upset yourself. I’ll see you both from time to time and now I must get back to the office.’ He sounded flustered and desperate to be on his way. ‘First though I need a few things from upstairs.’

Jenny, needing something to do with her hands had made the tea and was splitting scones and buttering them. She looked up. Your clothes, you mean?’

‘Yes, I’ll take some and pick up the rest in the next day or two. I’ll phone you first.’

‘What for? You have a key.’

‘It was to give you time to get them packed.’

She drew in her breath at the nerve of him. After an inward battle she said quietly, ‘Very well, I’ll fold your suits, I’ll do that for you. There are a number of shirts and some underwear and socks in the dirty-clothes basket. I’ll sort them out and put them in a separate bag. You can see to the laundering of them yourself.’

He was very obviously taken aback. ‘Surely—’

‘Absolutely not,’ she said firmly.

He gave her a long look which she returned. It had been a small victory, but still a victory of sorts. No wonder Paul was shocked, it was so unlike her to be disobliging but already she was changing, she could feel herself doing so. Surely it was diabolical cheek to announce that their marriage was over and expect her to do his washing or at least what was in the tub. His mistress could jolly well do it.

Without another word Paul went upstairs. They heard drawers opening and shutting then a little later heavy feet on the stairs. Rather than face them he was going to use the front door. They heard it shut and looked at one another.

‘Daddy’s gone,’ Kate said unnecessarily.

‘He’ll be back,’ Wilma said sitting down at the table. Katy was already there and Jenny poured the tea. Her hand wasn’t quite steady and some of it spilled into the saucer, ‘Did you have a quarrel or something?’

‘No, Wilma, there was no quarrel.’

‘All right, no quarrel. Dad didn’t walk out without a reason. You can tell us. We aren’t babies, I’m not anyway.’

Why not just tell them? It would be common knowledge before long that Paul Richardson had left his wife and was living with another woman. She began crumbling the scone on her plate.

‘Why are you doing that?’ Katy demanded. Something would have been said if she’d done it.

‘Doing what?’

‘Making that mess with your scone?’

‘I didn’t realise I was doing it.’ She paused and moistened her lips. ‘You had better both listen. I was going to try and spare you, but I think that would be a mistake. Your father didn’t tell you the truth. This isn’t a short separation and I most certainly didn’t agree to it. The truth is your father is leaving me—’

‘For good?’ Wilma gasped. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘It was just as big a shock for me.’

‘Why would he leave us?’ Wilma said miserably.

‘He told me he had fallen in love with someone else.’

‘Do you know her?’

‘No, but she is someone who works beside him. Apparently she is very lovely and he wants to be with her.’

‘What will we do?’ Wilma whispered.

‘We’ll manage, darling, we have each other and there is always a way as your gran would say.’

‘But nothing will ever be the same?’

‘No, Wilma, nothing will ever be the same.’

Katy began to cry.

After a night of tossing and turning in a bed that was too big for one person, Jenny waited until it was her usual time for getting up. Her head ached and she took a couple of aspirins washing them down with a glass of water from the bathroom. She had never been one for wandering about in a dressing-gown, preferring to dress straight away in one of her older skirts and a jumper. Once the housework was completed it would be time to put on something better. That was the way she had been brought up. What was important, what she must do, was keep to routine as much as possible. There wouldn’t be the same rush since it was one less for the bathroom. Paul had gone first and taken a long time. He wouldn’t be rushed and cries of ‘Hurry up Daddy’ were ignored. Occasionally Katy had to wash herself at the kitchen sink.

If they could get over the first few mornings it would become easier, or was that wishful thinking? Jenny felt the weight of responsibility and wondered if she was strong enough to cope. She had to, there was no one else. Paul had opted out and she alone was left to care for her daughters.

They came into the kitchen together, both in school uniform and looking smart. The usual banter was missing and they sat down at the table like two schoolgirls in a restaurant who had been told to behave properly. There was a muttered good morning in answer to their mother’s greeting. Jenny filled the toast rack, took it to the table, and joined them. The unoccupied chair drew all eyes and Jenny wished she had removed it to somewhere else. She should have thought about that.

‘Mum, will Daddy stay away for ever?’ Katy was dragging her spoon through the cereal without making any effort to eat.

‘Yes, you were told that last night, don’t you ever listen?’ Wilma said angrily.

‘Mum!’ she wailed.

‘I know, dear, that wasn’t very nice.’ Then turning to Wilma. ‘There was no cause for that. Katy is a lot younger than you.’

‘She doesn’t listen though, does she?’

‘I do so. Doesn’t Daddy love us any more?’ Katy said on the verge of tears.

‘Of course he loves you both, that won’t change. It would hurt him terribly if he thought you believed otherwise.’

‘Why has he stopped loving you?’ she sniffed.

Jenny gave a sad smile. ‘Maybe he’s just grown tired of me. Please, could we leave it there? When you come home from school we’ll talk again if you want that and remember that bus isn’t going to wait for you,’ she warned.

‘I need the bathroom,’ Katy said scraping back her chair.

‘At the double then.’

They heard her racing up the stairs.

‘Mum, I’m sorry, I’m not blaming you, it’s just I can’t understand.’

‘I know, dear, it’s a difficult time for us all and that includes your father. I’m sure he misses you and Katy.’

‘If he did he wouldn’t be leaving us,’ she said in a hard voice.

Jenny shook her head wearily. ‘I’m not sure about anything any more.’

‘I’ll skip school and stay with you.’

Jenny looked at the young anxious face and felt like weeping only she must not. She had to put on a brave face. Wilma wasn’t making this an excuse for a day off, she liked school.

‘No, darling, that was thoughtful of you but I’ll be all right. We just have to get on with life without Daddy.’

‘Will you phone Gran and tell her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Maybe she’ll come over and keep you company.’

‘Yes, maybe.’

Katy had come downstairs and Jenny almost chased them out of the door. She waited. It was possible to see the bus approaching and there it was on the brow of the hill. They would catch it but only just. She closed the door and was about to start clearing the table when grief caught up with her and the tears came. She couldn’t stop them and putting her head down on the table Jenny gave in to a paroxysm of weeping. After the outburst she felt drained but it had helped. She could face the housework, get that over and done with quickly then phone her mother. Grace Turnbull, her next door neighbour and a good friend, would have to be told. Perhaps she already knew and couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She would find out. There was still some tea in the pot and Jenny poured it into her cup. It was lukewarm but she drank it.

Jenny’s mother had only recently had the phone installed. She and Paul had suggested when her father was alive that they should think about a phone, but her father had refused saying it was an unnecessary expense, that they had managed all these years without one and for an emergency wasn’t there a phone box at the end of the road? No more had been said. Tom Scrimgeour was a dour man, honest and outspoken, qualities not always appreciated. His wife seldom complained, she knew the futility of it. Tom Scrimgeour was the man of the house and his word was law.

After his death and a decent interval, Janet had the phone installed and began to have a social life. Jenny and Paul had encouraged her to take up bridge where, they said, she would meet new friends. And no it wasn’t too difficult, it was just a case of concentrating. At first she had been reluctant, it was a big step for someone like her, but she had taken that step and never looked back.

Jenny went through to the hall, sat down on the chair beside the phone and dialled the number.

‘Hello?’ Her mother sounded out of bre