One Last Second

by Sam Vickery

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Religious & Inspirational; Literary Fiction; Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

‘ What an amazing unputdownable story! I started reading this book just before bed last night and the next thing I knew it was the early hours and I’d finished it. I couldn’t stop reading, I just had to know how it would end… My heart broke for Maddie and I was on the edge of my seat… one that will stick with me forever!’ Blogging for the Love of Authors and their Books, 5 stars I sit here beside her stroking her tiny hands as she sleeps and she looks so perfect. It never crossed my mind that something would be wrong with my sweet girl and I’d be powerless to do anything to help her. When Madeline ’s six-year-old daughter Tilly collapses one Sunday night, Madeline’s world is turned upside down. Racing to the hospital, she imagines the worst scenarios in her mind, but when they arrive the doctors say that Tilly is fine. Madeline’s ex-husband Adam and her best friend Laura think Madeline is being overprotective, that Tilly fainted because of her fussy eating. But Madeline is sure something is seriously wrong with Tilly. She can feel it. And she believes that a mother’s instinct is never wrong. Adam and Laura begin to believe that Tilly would be safer in their care, but Adam has no idea about the secret Laura has been hiding. And then Tilly’s symptoms worsen, and Madeline realises that she may have to risk losing custody of Tilly to have any chance of saving her life… One Last Second is an emotional reminder of just how far a mother will go to protect her child. Readers of Jodi Picoult, Diane Chamberlain and Kate Hewitt will never be able to forget this heartbreaking and beautiful story. What readers are saying about One Last Second : ‘Wow! This book blew me away… Will make you think and break your heart in equal measure and is a breathtakingly beautifully written story of a mother’s love. I will be looking out for more from this author.’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘This one pulls you in and tugs at your heart. Make sure you have plenty of tissues on hand. A tear-jerker for sure.’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘ Wow! Such a brilliant read! A devastatingly frank, honest depiction of the power and intensity of a mothers love and belief and the lengths she will go to to protect her child!... I really didn’t want to put it down and read it in one glorious sitting! ’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘This book is so heart-rending!!... Beautifully written… It draws you in right from the first page and I couldn't stop myself from turning the pages to reach the end.’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘A stunningly heartfelt novel, written so beautifully. I read it in one go and felt a whole rollercoaster of emotions. ’ NetGalley reviewer, 5 stars ‘ A wonderful powerful novel about parenthood and the love of your child… Fast-paced, packed full of emotion and will keep you turning the pages into the night. Utterly unputdownable. ’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘Gripped me from the word go and took me on an emotional journey of the sheer strength of a mother's love… Absolutely heartbreaking and heart-warming. A must read for sure. ’ Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars ‘ I read this book in four hours drinking in each scene wanting Tilly to be okay… Sam Vickery is hot on the heels of Jodi Picoult and Diane Chamberlain in how she portrays all sides of the issue to get the full picture but most importantly with emotion and sensitivity at the heart.” Goodreads reviewer, 5 stars

Release date: July 15, 2020

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 316

Sample

If I could have stopped him from taking her, I would have. Not because he was a bad father, but because these weekends without her were torture for me. I was utterly alone and I had nobody to blame but myself.

I fingered the bodice of what would become a sequinned octopus costume, moving it slowly beneath the needle, trying hard to keep my mind focused on the task at hand and failing miserably. The sewing machine jammed for the third time in a row and I hissed with frustration, throwing the cheap blue satin to one side and glancing up at the clock on the kitchen wall. Without the hum and whirr of the machine, the slow, methodical tick was the only sound to be heard in the empty house. Barely fifteen minutes had passed since I’d last looked at the wide purple clock face, willing it to speed up.

I hated these weekends alone. The ghostly creaks and moans of the old Victorian terrace that was far too big for just me. I’d known when Adam left that everything was going to change. But somehow I’d glossed over the realities of what my life would be like when we were no longer a family of three. I’d pictured me and Tilly together. Not him taking her for long weekends, me spending hours sitting on her vacant single bed, anxious and frightened in a way I hadn’t been since I was a teenager.

I stood up, resisting the urge to go upstairs again. I’d developed a habit that was fast becoming an obsession of checking beneath the beds, inside the wardrobes multiple times throughout the day and night. What I was expecting to find there, I wasn’t entirely sure, but still, my imagination played havoc with me any time I found a window I’d left unlocked, a door slightly more open than it had been when I last passed it.

I knew it was a symptom of being alone. I’d never had these fears before the divorce, and when Tilly was here, I was far too busy taking care of her to give in to the stories that ran wild in my mind. Adam would be appalled if he could see how far I’d let my anxieties escalate. It was thinking of him, the irritated roll of his eyes, that made me pause, forcing myself not to go through the ritual now.

Instead, I wandered through to the living room, pressing my face close to the window as if I could hurry them along. He would be on time. Adam was obsessed with punctuality, a fact that had been a constant source of conflict when we’d been married. It had seemed petty then. What difference did it make if we were ten minutes late to a party? Or if we missed the train to London and had to catch the next one? I had never been able to understand why it upset him so much – it wasn’t as if we wouldn’t get there in the end.

But now that fundamental part of his character, which I’d considered a flaw, was the only thing that kept me going on these endless weekends without our daughter. He would arrive at 6 p.m., as agreed. So why did I spend all afternoon waiting, hoping that this time he’d get here sooner?

I paced back to the kitchen, glancing at the clock again. Five minutes. I could manage five more minutes. The unfinished under-the-sea-themed costumes lay piled across the kitchen table, the shiny satin taunting me. The fabric was a nightmare to work with, but I would make it work. I always did in the end.

The parents who commissioned me to make the colourful costumes for their children’s birthday parties and school plays didn’t care that the material was cheap and had a short lifespan. They only cared that I could create something that looked incredible, that their child would be besotted with, that didn’t cost the earth. I stacked the costumes, popping them into the big cardboard box I used to keep things out of Tilly’s reach when I wasn’t working, then picked up my empty coffee cup.

I washed it up at the sink rather than putting it in the dishwasher, desperate to keep my hands busy in those final few minutes. The warm water rushed over my fingers, soothing despite the August heat, and I let my eyes drift to the clock again.

The sound of tyres on the gravel of the driveway made my heart leap, and I placed the cup on the draining board, roughly drying my hands on a tea towel and rushing for the front door. I reached it before the engine cut out. Even a year on, Adam still refused to park out on the road. Just another of the little ways he dug his heels in and refused to let go of the life he’d left behind. It made no difference to me, but I worried that he wasn’t moving forward. I knew he still held on to the hope that things would go back to how they were before.

Flinging open the door, I broke into a wide grin as Tilly clambered out of the back of Adam’s BMW and ran to me with her arms outstretched. Her dark-blonde waist-length hair was matted and tangled again. She was blessed – or cursed – with the same wild curly tresses as me, an unruly lion’s mane that looked perpetually messy no matter what you did to it. As a result, Adam deemed it a lost cause and frequently forgot that it did actually need a brush through it on a regular basis. The longer he left it, the harder it was to fix, and the grumpier Tilly would be about having it done.

I shook off my frustration, lifting Tilly into my arms, her six-year-old body still light and easy to scoop up. I dreaded the day I could no longer do this. Breathing in the musty scent of her, ascertaining that she hadn’t been near a bar of soap since I’d bathed her last either, I pressed a kiss to her neck.

‘Hey, sweetie. I missed you.’

‘Me too,’ she murmured. She threw a pointed glance over her shoulder towards Adam as he strolled towards us, then wriggled out of my hold and slipped under my arm. I heard her footsteps on the stairs as she disappeared from view.

‘Tilly,’ I called. ‘Say goodbye to your daddy!’

‘Don’t bother. I’m in her bad books,’ Adam said gruffly, folding his arms across his chest.

He was dressed in his usual chinos and Oxford-style shirt, his brown leather shoes buffed to a bright shine. His collar was open, a nod to the fact that it was Sunday, but for Adam, this was as far as dressed-down went. I was pretty sure he didn’t even own a pair of jeans any more. He ran his fingers through his slicked-back chestnut hair and pursed his lips.

‘Not again?’ I said. ‘What for this time?’

‘I’ll give you three guesses but you’ll only need one.’

‘Adam. We’ve talked about this.’

‘You’ve talked. I didn’t agree.’

‘So, what? You’ve dug your heels in and she’s gone hungry, is that it?’

Adam’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘No, that is not it.’ He paused for a moment, taking a breath as if readying himself. We’d had this argument a thousand times since he’d moved out, but something felt different this time, as if he’d been preparing for this conversation, and now that it had started he wasn’t going to stop without saying his piece. ‘Quite frankly, I’ve had enough of it, Maddie,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘You’re spoiling her.’

‘Spoiling her?’

‘She’s learned that if she refuses to eat the food you give her, you’ll just give in. You always do. Well, I’m sorry if it makes me the bad guy, but I’m not going to just bow to the demands of a six-year-old any more. She needs a balanced diet. Nutritious food. Not plain toast and bloody pancakes three times a day!’

‘Of course she does,’ I replied quickly, hoping to stop the argument before it really began. ‘I’m not disagreeing with you, Adam. But it’s better that she has something to eat than nothing at all. It’s not as if she’s got reserves – there’s nothing of her.’

He gave a derisive snort and I gripped the door frame, trying to keep my cool. Adam and I had spoken time after time about how best to approach disagreements with Tilly. I didn’t agree with his strict, unbendable approach. It made no allowances for her feelings, her needs, and as a parent I always wanted to understand the motives behind her behaviour. Adam, on the other hand, felt that she should do as she was told without question, something instilled in him by his grandparents, who had brought him up. He accused me of being too soft on her. I thought he needed to listen more and give her a break. It had been a bone of contention throughout our marriage and had only worsened since Adam had moved out.

The image of Tilly staring at a plate of food she wasn’t able to eat, while her stomach spasmed from hunger pains, made my eyes sting with emotion. She had never been a great eater, but in the past year, it had escalated. I was the first to admit it, but I was certain it had nothing to do with being fussy.

She’d had so many tests as a baby to try to get to the bottom of her vomiting after feeds. I would spend hours breastfeeding her, only to have her throw up what seemed like everything. I’d cut dairy out of my diet so it wouldn’t come through my milk. When that hadn’t worked, I’d cut out spicy foods. Garlic. Nightshades. Nothing had made the slightest difference. Eventually, the gastro specialist we’d been referred to had written the vomiting off as reflux, but I hadn’t agreed with her. If that had been the right diagnosis, her symptoms would have improved when she started eating solids. She would have got better, not worse.

It was true that she was sick less often after starting on solid foods, but only if we let her guide us at mealtimes. There were a handful of foods she was able to manage with no noticeable after-effects. Plain rice. Toast. Wholegrain pancakes and a couple of fruits and vegetables. But if we veered off the safe list, she’d suffer with bloating, constipation and, in some cases, projectile vomiting. Adam had insisted it was classic fussy toddler syndrome, while I’d continued to press for more investigation, but once we had the diagnosis of reflux down on paper, the doctors all seemed to lose interest in our complaints. And Adam, no longer worried that she was harbouring some awful condition, had stopped giving her the benefit of the doubt and gone head to head with her over every plate of food.

I knew that he considered it a bonus of our divorce that he could take control of Tilly’s mealtimes without my interference during his days with her, and from what I’d heard from the pair of them, it wasn’t going well. I’d noticed more and more that she would have hardly any appetite for days after she’d been to his flat, her stomach round and gassy, and over the past year, she’d been sick with increasing regularity. It had gone from once every couple of months to practically every few weeks now, and I was sure there were times she was sick in his care that he conveniently forgot to mention to me. He was pushing her too hard, but he just wouldn’t listen to me.

‘Maddie,’ he said, taking a step towards the house as if he were going to try and come inside. I moved subtly to the right so there was no space to pass by me. He shook his head, frowning. ‘Look, I know you worry. That’s why you give in. You can’t stand to see her go without a meal. But you’re too soft on her. If she was really that hungry, she’d eat.’

‘It’s not that simple, Adam. You know that better than anyone.’

Adam sighed, his shoulders slumping. ‘Do you really think I want to spend my weekends at loggerheads with her? I want to enjoy our time together. It’s precious to me, the little access I get.’ I looked away, guilt flooding through me. The hardest part of ending our marriage was knowing that Adam would no longer see his daughter every day. It was cruel, really, and I got no pleasure from his pain. But how else could it have worked if I didn’t want him under my roof? What choice did I have?

‘I want to be able to have fun with her, Maddie. Do the normal dad stuff, you know? Not argue over a plate of food. All I’m asking is that we work together on this. We need to be consistent. United. Can’t we do that?’

I sighed, rubbing my temples. ‘I’m not going to gang up on her, Adam. We need to be on her side. Figure out why she struggles with eating.’

‘I think making a big deal out of it is only making it worse.’

‘No, it’s not.’ I rubbed my temples again, my head throbbing. ‘I can’t talk to you about this now. I need to feed our child before she wastes away, and you’re missing the point completely.’ As usual.

‘No, Madeline. I’m not. And until we start working together on this, she’s the one who’s going to suffer. Think about it.’ He turned away, walking slowly back to his car.

‘What did you offer her to eat?’ I called after him.

‘Why does it matter? Like I said, she needs to learn to get what she’s given.’

‘You’re too hard on her, Adam. You’re not being fair.’ I didn’t wait for him to drive away before storming inside, slamming the door shut. I leaned my head back against it, trying to steady myself, breathing in slowly as I waited for my anger to disperse. I didn’t want Tilly to see me like this, the frustration rippling through me in palpable waves. It wouldn’t be fair to her – I would hate to think she might feel caught in the middle of our disagreement. I closed my eyes, determined to put Adam out of my mind, for now, at least. Finally I straightened up, running my fingers through my hair.

‘Tilly!’ I called. ‘Are you in your room?’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ her sing-song voice answered from above.

‘Come down here, please, darling.’

There was a thud, as if she’d dropped a toy on her bedroom floor, then slow footsteps. I waited at the bottom of the stairs, watching as she descended slowly.

‘Has Daddy gone now?’

‘Yes. Didn’t you want to say goodbye?’

She shrugged, not meeting my eyes. I leaned against the banister.

‘I heard you fell out.’

She folded her arms across her narrow chest. ‘He won’t listen to me. He never does.’

I breathed in deeply, feeling completely caught in the middle. As angry as I might be with Adam, I didn’t want Tilly to pick up on that. I couldn’t remember it ever being difficult like this with my own parents. They’d always been so in tune with each other, on the same page with every aspect of parenting. I was lucky. They’d never been strict or unfair with me; they were so easy-going, always happy to let me make my own choices, figure things out for myself. I had admired that and respected them all the more because they hadn’t tried to tell me what to do but instead taught me how to make my own choices. I wished Adam and I could present a united front as my parents had, but he seemed to want to control Tilly in a way that appeared to border on unhealthy.

‘Are you hungry?’ I asked, dropping down to my haunches to look her in the eye. ‘I can make you pancakes?’

Her serious little face broke into a smile. ‘Yes please, Mummy.’

I watched her skip into the kitchen, relieved to have her home again. It was like a light had been flicked on in the house. No monsters were lurking in the dark corners of my imagination now. The creaks were nothing more than hot water expanding the pipes.

I mixed fresh batter, pouring it into the sizzling pan, watching it brown and bubble. It seemed ridiculous to me now that just an hour ago I’d been jumping at every noise: checking under the bed with a rounders bat grasped in my shaking hand, imagining predators that had snuck in the back door whilst I was working at my sewing machine. An empty house could be so intimidating at times, but Tilly’s presence made my anxieties fade away.

I poured her a drink, using a dropper to add some liquid vitamins to it, keeping my back to the table so she didn’t see what I was up to. She wouldn’t like it if she thought I was trying to trick her. See, Adam, I thought, mixing the liquid briskly with a wooden chopstick. I do care about her getting a balanced diet.

Sliding the pancakes onto a plate, I carried them and the drink over to Tilly, placing them on the table and moving swiftly away. I made a show of clearing up, not wanting her to feel watched as she ate. She hated to feel under pressure. All the same, I cast covert glances her way every now and then, pleased to see her chewing thoughtfully as she watched the birds landing on the little wire feeder we’d hung by the back door. She swallowed a bite of pancake then took a deep drink from her glass.

‘I bet that feels better?’ I smiled as she popped the last bite into her mouth. She nodded, though she didn’t tear her gaze away from the blue tits pecking at the nuts and seeds.

‘Shall we get you in the bath, then? It’s nearly bedtime and you’ve had a long day.’

She pushed the plate away and stood up. There was a glazed look to her eyes and I wondered how early Adam had got her out of bed. He was one of those perpetual early birds, and as such could never seem to grasp the fact that not everyone enjoyed rising at the crack of dawn.

‘Mummy,’ she began. She swayed a little, and her hand darted out towards the table for support. ‘I… I feel funny.’

I opened my mouth to speak but didn’t get the chance to. Tilly’s eyes rolled back and I stood rooted to the spot as she fell forward, hitting the kitchen floor with a resounding smack. ‘Tilly!’ I screamed, my legs springing into action. I ran forward, scooping her into my arms, struggling with the dead weight of her as I tried to see her face. There was blood trickling from a cut above her eyebrow, but she was breathing.

‘Tilly, darling, wake up, wake up!’ I cried, rolling her onto her back on the cold kitchen floor. I brushed her hair from her face, panic coursing through my veins. Her eyelids flickered, then opened slowly, and she stared up at me, uncomprehending.

‘What are you doing, Mummy?’ she murmured.

I sucked in a shuddering breath and scooped her into my arms as if she were no bigger than a newborn baby. Grabbing my car keys from the hook, I made for the door. ‘I’m taking you to hospital, that’s what I’m doing.’

The café was filled with weekend tourists, who glared at me as I defended my table in the window. I watched exhausted parents argue with their small children over the extortionate prices of the cakes they were demanding. Elderly couples visiting on coach trips to see the swarming pavilion and check out the cute little lanes, caught their breath over a pot of tea before the return journey.

Not for the first time, I wished I lived somewhere quiet, rural even, a place where I could drink my coffee in peace, rather than smack bang in the most popular area of Brighton. Not that I didn’t love the beach, the food, the beautiful countryside just a stone’s throw away, but I could do without the tourists.

I glanced at my watch, then peered out of the window, wondering where Adam was. We’d arranged to meet at half past six, but it was getting on for seven now and there had been no message to warn me he was running late. He and I had a standing arrangement to meet twice a month for dinner after he dropped Tilly back with Maddie, so that we could catch up on each other’s news. We’d got into the habit back when the two of them were still married, though it had been the three of us then, but Adam and I had continued to meet even after their divorce. It had been a relief to find that he was just as keen as I was to continue our friendship, and I was glad to have been able to be there for him through the divorce, though I sometimes got the feeling that Maddie would have preferred me to pick a side.

I usually chose a pub out in the countryside, preferring to escape the hubbub of town, but this was Adam’s week to pick the place, and he’d sent a text first thing to say he was sick of sitting in traffic, telling me to meet him here. It was close, and convenient, but that was about all it had going for it. I sighed, sipping my coffee.

‘Excuse me? Can I steal this seat?’

I looked up, shaking my head at the woman, who already had one hand on the frame of the chair. ‘No, sorry, I’m saving it for a friend.’

She released it reluctantly, muttering something under her breath as she backed away. I looked down at my watch again, frowning. It wasn’t like Adam to run behind schedule, and on the rare occasion he did, he would always call to apologise. I hoped he hadn’t got caught up in some row with Maddie again. It was becoming more and more usual for them to fall out after his weekends with Tilly.

Madeline had been my best friend since we were seven, and when she’d started dating Adam at fifteen, he’d slotted into both of our lives. We became like the Three Musketeers, doing everything together. The two of them had been in the front row of the audience at my graduation ceremony, cheering louder than anyone else. Madeline and I had held sweaty hands as we huddled nervously together in the back of the small aeroplane Adam had chartered after getting his pilot’s licence, quietly hoping he was as good as he claimed and we weren’t about to plummet into the English Channel. The three of us had sat in silent awe at the first moments of their daughter’s life, each of us knowing just how privileged we were to be a part of that moment. I had a thousand stories about our time together, their lives so interwoven with mine it was impossible to separate either one of them from my memories, but since they’d divorced a year ago, everything had changed.

Now, no matter which of them I spent time with, I felt guilty. For two people who had been in love to the point of obsession, the split had been anything but amicable. It had come suddenly, and I still didn’t understand the reason for it, but it was clear that Adam still held on to a hope that Madeline would take him back. Privately, I didn’t think he stood a chance. She was impulsive at times, but when she made a decision, she stuck with it.

A trickle of sweat ran between my breasts and I put my coffee down, wishing I’d bought an iced tea instead. The air conditioning was no match for the sweltering August evening. I glanced out of the window again and sighed in relief as I saw Adam striding confidently towards the café. He stood out from the crowd, not just because he was half a foot taller than anyone else, or because he was dressed in chinos and a shirt despite the fact that it was Sunday – it was his commanding presence that made him so noticeable.

I saw the way people moved aside as he passed, the double takes from women, who thrust back their shoulders, lowered their lashes. Not that Adam looked at them. He never seemed aware of the attention he drew. Even so, I pressed the back of my hand to my lips, hoping I didn’t have froth from the coffee on them.

Adam walked into the café, spotted me and gestured to the counter, joining the queue to get a drink. I dragged my gaze away, determined not to stare like every other woman in the place. I waited impatiently, feeling increasingly claustrophobic as more people pushed inside, jostling for tables and calling to one another. Adam’s voice carried as he ordered a black coffee, and I looked up, watching tensely as he made his way over to the table.

‘I know, I know,’ he said, placing his mug down and slumping into the empty chair. ‘I’m late.’

‘And let me guess, it’s not your fault,’ I teased, folding my arms, though I felt my lips curl into a smile. It was impossible not to smile at Adam.

‘You know I’d much rather be here, catching up with you, than arguing with her.’

I shrugged. ‘And I’d much rather the three of us could hang out like we used to, rather than me being piggy in the middle,’ I said, handing him a laminated menu.

‘You and me both,’ he said with a frown. ‘I miss it. The way it was before.’

I nodded. I did too. The ease of it all, the lack of conflict. I didn’t bother to ask what the fight was about, despite my desire to be supportive. I knew well enough to stay out of their disagreements unless I wanted to find myself thrown into the ring.

A young waiter with spiky brown hair and a nose piercing came over to take our food order, saving us from having to queue up at the counter again. I put my menu aside, waiting for him to leave us alone before resuming our conversation. ‘So, how was Barbados?’ I asked, hoping to move onto lighter subjects.

‘Windy,’ he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘Loads of turbulence on the way over, but the return journey wasn’t too bad.’

‘No sightseeing?’

He grinned. ‘No time. You know how it is – I barely see the world outside the hotel most of the time. It’s a pretty short stopover.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m off to New York tonight.’ His smile was tight and I got the distinct impression he was still simmering over his row with Madeline. He sighed, his gaze drifting towards the window, and I wondered if there might be more to his low mood than he was letting on. I let him brood in silence for a moment, unsure how to break through the tension. The waiter reappeared carrying two plates piled high with pasta, plonking them down in front of us and leaving without a word.

I picked up my fork, spearing a cherry tomato on the tip, then popped it in my mouth and bit down, the tart juice bursting over my tongue. ‘But you do love it, right?’ I probed, drawing his attention back to me. ‘Being the captain of a commercial airline? It’s what you’ve worked for.’

‘I know. And I do love it. But honestly, Laur, I’d give it all up if I could have my family back.’ He scooped up a forkful of the steaming pasta, chewing thoughtfully. ‘I want to be there when my daughter wakes up in the morning. I’m sick of being made out to be the bad guy, the weekend dad who can never get it right.’

‘Tilly doesn’t think that, Adam. She loves you.’

‘I know that. But… take today, for example. I fell out with her because she wouldn’t eat her food, and now I’ve had to walk away with her still angry and upset with me. I won’t get to see her again until next weekend. What is that going to do to our relationsh. . .