Return To Sender

by Zoe Barnes

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

The double christening of her sisters' two kids gets Holly Bennett thinking. She would seriously love to have a baby one day, but for the first time in ages being adopted has become a stumbling block for her. Does she want to start a family of her own when she doesn't even know who she really is or where she's come from?

With an on-off boyfriend who she's swiftly falling out of lust with, Holly decides to move back to her home town to be near her adoptive family. Who knows, it may be the change she needs to get her life back on track - and the place to be if she wants to begin tracing her roots.

But these roots prove trickier to trace than Holly has expected. That is, until she hires her own oh-so-sexy private investigator to take charge...

Release date: December 15, 2011

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 352

Sample

London – The Offices of Payne, Rackstraw and Bynt

A champagne cork hit the ceiling and everyone cheered. Everyone except Holly Bennett, who just sat at her desk and stared
blankly at the telephone. Mechanically she replaced the receiver on its stand as words screamed silently inside her head:
This is not happening, and I’m not going to believe it. This is not happening to me.


A spent party popper floated down, draping its blue tendrils over Holly’s computer monitor. She barely noticed. Her mind was
a hundred miles away in Cheltenham, where her mother was slowly, almost imperceptibly, dying. And it wasn’t fair. It just
wasn’t fair. Maureen Bennett was only fifty-six, for God’s sake! People didn’t die at fifty-six any more, everyone knew that.


Don’t leave us, Mum. Please, you can’t leave us.

Holly’s hands clenched into tight fists of anger and grief. Motor neurone disease: if she hadn’t heard the diagnosis from
her mother’s own lips, she would never have believed that a woman so full of life could suddenly have so little of it left. How long had the consultant said? A year, maybe eighteen
months; and with each day that passed she would find it a little harder to walk, to talk, to express the effervescent personality
Holly and her dad and sisters had loved for so long. At the end, the doctors said, she wouldn’t even be able to breathe by
herself any more. That’s when the family might have to take the decision to … to …


A single tear welled up in the corner of Holly’s eye, and she wiped it away on her sleeve. This was no time to fall apart.
Her head was swimming, but she forced herself to think about practical things. Of course when she’d asked about getting help
in, Mum had told her not to worry, that she and Dad were managing fine on their own; but that was just typical Maureen, trying
not to be any trouble to anyone.


Holly knew Mum was going to need help and plenty of it, but where was it going to come from? Dad was a wonderful husband and
father, but he was nearing retirement age and he couldn’t do everything on his own; and on a postman’s wage he certainly couldn’t
afford to pay for round-the-clock private nursing care. Holly’s two younger sisters both lived in Cheltenham, but Grace was
recovering from a miscarriage, and as for Jess … Well, Jess was seventeen and something of a loose cannon; she was having
enough problems just trying to avoid being kicked out of hairdressing college.


So there was only one solution.

Deep in thought, Holly started as someone laid a hand on her shoulder.

‘Hey, you’ve gone awfully quiet,’ said Murdo in his soft Scottish burr. ‘Are you all right?’

Holly swung her chair round to look up at him and saw genuine concern on his lean, handsome face. Tall, dark, considerate and loaded, Murdo Mackay was every young girl’s dream.
He and Holly had been together for almost three years – virtually ever since she arrived in London to try her luck in advertising
– and although they had had their ups and downs like any couple, he had never once let her down.


‘No, I’m not all right at all,’ she confessed. ‘I just had some bad news. Really bad. Mum’s …’ She halted, unable to say the
words out loud and choking on a sob.


‘Something’s happened to Maureen? Holly, what is it?’

‘Do you mind if I explain later?’ She forced down the beach-ball-sized lump in her throat. ‘Look, do you think Bill Rackstraw
would see me right away? This afternoon? Only I … I think I’m going to need some time off work. Quite a lot of time, actually.’


Murdo shrugged. ‘He’s a decent enough guy, you know. I’m sure a couple of weeks won’t be a problem.’

‘Not a couple of weeks, Murdo,’ she said with a sad shake of her head. ‘I’m talking about a year. At the very least.’

Eighteen months later: St Mungo’s Church, the Bluebell Estate, Cheltenham – one blustery Sunday afternoon in March …


‘It’s got a very pointy head,’ hissed Auntie Gladys from the second pew on the right, leaning out into the aisle to get a
better look at the star of the christening. ‘Are you sure it’s quite … normal?’


As she stood by the font, lighted candle in hand, Holly averted her eyes from Auntie Gladys’s towering purple hat with the
bobbing peacock feather and battled to maintain a straight face. Corpsing in the middle of a christening would never do. Luckily,
eighteen-year-old Jess, Holly’s sister and baby Aimee’s mother, was too busy juggling the yowling infant to have heard her
aunt casting aspersions, and her partner, Kev Hopkins, looked as though it was taking every ounce of his concentration not
to be eaten alive by his uncomfortable new suit. Aspiring singer-songwriter that he was, Kev was not really a suit person.


Bless him. I do love my family, thought Holly with a sudden, enormous surge of godmotherly affection. Even Auntie Gladys,
and that’s saying something.


Strictly speaking, the Bennetts weren’t actually Holly’s family. Or rather they were, but in a legal rather than a biological
sense, since Holly had been adopted as a tiny baby after being abandoned on the steps of the local hospital. That didn’t make
the slightest difference to her though; as far as she was concerned they were her family – always had been and always would
be. If anything, the fact that she was adopted made everything more special, because her parents hadn’t just been presented
with a pink, sticky bundle in the delivery room and told to get on with it: they’d actually chosen her.


At the thought of her parents, Harry and Maureen, a little pang of sorrow twisted Holly’s heart. If only Mum could have been
here today, she thought. She’d have been so proud of Jess and Grace – her two younger daughters – having their babies properly
christened in church. Proud – and just a little surprised, mused Holly with a smile and a flick of her chestnut hair, recalling
the almighty family row there’d been a few years before, when Grace and Steve were getting married and Grace had been her
usual emphatic self, refusing to entertain any thoughts of a church wedding on the grounds that it ‘costs a bomb and it doesn’t
mean a thing if you don’t believe in God’.


And here they were today, all gathered around the font in their cost-a-bomb christening outfits, watching Grace and Jess’s
children being inducted as miniature members of the Church of England. Obviously parenthood makes you see things differently,
mused Holly. Maybe one day in the not-too-distant future I’ll find that out for myself. And she wished with all her heart
that Mum hadn’t been taken away from them so soon, before she even had a chance to hold her grandchildren in her arms. If God does exist, and I
ever get the chance to meet him, Holly thought grimly, he’s going to have a few hard questions to answer.


It was a typical mad March day on the optimistically named Bluebell Estate. Outside the church, rain was hammering down on
the unappealing, concrete egg-box roof while the wind whipped up a miniature twister of old chip wrappers and crisp packets,
but at least the sound of two healthy babies yelling their heads off drowned out the din of a metal dumpster blowing over
in the gale.


Holly couldn’t help smiling at the thought of upwardly mobile Grace and Steve in an unlovely place like this. They could have
gone to a picturesque old church somewhere more posh, like Prestbury or Leckhampton, and ended up with much nicer christening
photos. But as Jess had pointed out to Grace, this was where Mum and Dad were married all those years ago, and if it was good
enough for them, it was good enough for their grandchildren too. So the concrete egg box it was.


As the ceremony came to an end with the closing prayers, and the rain turned to the clatter of hail, an elbow in the ribs
jolted Holly back from her reverie.


‘Psst. Auntie Holly.’

‘Uh?’

Jess thrust something soft and strangely moist into her arms. ‘Take her for a minute, will you?’

‘W-what?’

‘I’m bursting for the loo. Just hang on to her for a mo and I’ll be right back.’

Jess legged it down the aisle to the toilets at the back of the nave, leaving Auntie Holly and her three-month-old niece to
sort themselves out as best they could.


Holly wrinkled her nose. ‘Pooh, you smell,’ she commented with a grimace that turned into a grin. ‘Are you sure you haven’t
done something nasty in your nappy? Must be great being a baby,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘You can be really antisocial and
everybody still loves you.’


As Holly was pondering the wonders of life as a three-month-old, Grace materialised at her side, looking impossibly slender
in close-fitting designer separates.


‘Did you notice?’ she asked.

‘Notice what?’

‘Your poor little sister couldn’t even afford a hat to go with her outfit. And I bet it all came out of a catalogue. She and Kev are really struggling to make ends meet, you know.’


It wasn’t the first heavy hint Grace had dropped, and Holly wasn’t slow on the uptake. ‘Are you suggesting I ought to help
them out?’


‘Well, it wouldn’t hurt.’ Grace wasn’t one to mince her words. ‘And I know for a fact you haven’t touched a penny of the money
Mum left you.’


‘Just because you’ve spent all yours—’ began Holly.

‘Some of us have family responsibilities,’ cut in Grace, quick as a flash.

‘Yes, and some of us are loaded – and I’m not talking about me. Face it, Grace, you and Steve aren’t short of a penny or two.
I’m more than happy to help Jess out, but I think you should divvy up your share as well. These days I’m just a humble post-lady,
remember; you and Steve are on your way to your first billion!’


Grace looked embarrassed. ‘Yes, well, business isn’t booming every week of the year you know, and Steve has to keep back enough
to reinvest in the business. And as for you delivering the post instead of doing a proper job, when’s that going to end?’


Holly coloured slightly. ‘You know why I do it. I came home to look after Mum, and Dad found me a job down at the local sorting
office.’


‘Mum passed away a year ago, Holly. A whole year. How come you’re still here? Why aren’t you back at your desk in London,
dreaming up killer adverts, instead of just picking up the odd bit of freelance work here and there?’ Grace’s gaze fixed on
the sleeping bundle in Holly’s arms. ‘Or if you’re tired of being a success, you could marry Murdo and become a yummy mummy.
Either way, you can’t spend the rest of your life shoving junk mail through people’s letter boxes.’


‘I … I’m just not ready to go back to London,’ stammered Holly, not enjoying this interrogation very much. ‘Not yet.’

‘Like I said, you can’t play at being Postwoman Pat for ever.’

‘I know.’ Holly stroked Aimee’s tiny hand, and the fingers instinctively curled around hers. A thrill of warmth and love passed
through her. You’re my god-daughter and my niece, she thought. And I’m going to do everything in my power to give you a happy
life. At least that’s one thing I’m certain about in my topsy-turvy world.


‘You know,’ remarked Grace with a twinkle in her eye, ‘you look rather good with a baby in your arms. Motherhood kind of suits
you. And I bet Murdo agrees, don’t you, Murdo?’


Holly had been so lost in her conversation with Grace and her own infatuation with Aimee that she hadn’t noticed Murdo silently
striding through the remnants of the congregation to join them.


‘What’s this that I’m agreeing to?’ demanded Murdo, sliding an arm round Holly’s shoulders.

‘I think she’d make a great mum, don’t you?’


Holly swallowed hard as Murdo looked deep into her eyes and answered: ‘Oh, absolutely.’

‘Well, don’t leave it too late,’ said Grace with a laugh as she swept off to find Steve. ‘You’re not getting any younger.’

But I’m not even thirty yet, Holly protested silently as she picked at the buffet in the church hall. OK, so maybe I will
be before the year’s out, but for now I’m twenty-nine and holding, and it’ll be years and years before I have to start thinking
about ticking biological clocks.


All the same, she admitted to herself, I would dearly love to have a baby. Not right now, perhaps, but some time soon. I really,
really would. The question is, do I want to have one with Murdo? It’s a big question, she thought, and whatever other people
might think, I don’t have the answer. Not yet. And I’m not going to be one of those people who get pregnant and then think
about it later.


As she speared a midget sausage roll with a cocktail stick, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass-fronted cabinet
where the church football team kept its one and only trophy. The young woman who gazed back at her was no dazzling beauty,
but could have been pretty if her nose hadn’t been too long. The dark eyes were large and long-lashed; the shoulder-length
chestnut hair rebellious but shiny. She was neither tall nor willowy, but there was a certain instinctive grace in the way
she moved. Holly wondered, just for a second, if she’d got that from her mother. And if so, which one: her adoptive mother,
who’d loved to dance … or her biological one, who remained a total mystery?


It wasn’t the first time Holly had wondered about where she came from, but seeing Adam and Aimee come into the world, and being a part of their lives as they grew, had made her think
more and more about becoming a mother herself. And, as what had begun as a vague inclination grew into a real yearning, Holly
also longed to know who had given birth to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her adoptive parents; on the contrary, she
adored them with all her being. But the fact remained that some unknown woman had given birth to her, and then, for some equally
unknown reason, had abandoned her on the hospital steps.


I have to know, she thought. Because whoever that woman is, bad or good, she’s a part of who I really am. But … what about
Maureen? What about the wonderful woman who brought me up? How would she have felt if I’d told her I wanted to find my birth
mother? Am I deceiving myself if I say she’d have given me her blessing?


‘What’s up, love?’ asked a familiar voice beside her. ‘Why on earth are you standing over here, all on your own?’

She turned round. ‘I’m fine, Dad. Just, you know, thinking.’

‘About your mum?’

She nodded. ‘She’d have loved today. She’d be so proud of Grace and Jess.’

Holly’s father ruffled her hair, the way he had done when she was a little kid. ‘She’d be proud of all of you. She always
was. Now, come back and join the others. It’s not the same without all my girls together.’


At the other side of the hall, Holly’s two sisters were deep in conversation.

‘… and that’s why I worry so much,’ confided Jess to her sister, in a hushed yet urgent whisper.

‘You think I don’t?’ Grace stroked Adam’s soft curls as the baby boy slept on her shoulder. ‘Every time I look at this little
one, I think what if—’


It was at that moment that Harry Bennett bore down on them with Holly in tow: ‘Well, well, if it’s not my other two favourite
daughters!’ Harry looked from one to the other with slight uncertainty. ‘Not butting in, are we?’


‘No, Dad,’ said Grace, in a voice that suggested the opposite. ‘Of course you’re not.’

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Holly.

‘Of course it is,’ replied Jess, switching on a smile. ‘So, are you two enjoying the do? Not bad, is it?’

‘You’ve done a great job,’ agreed Holly.

‘Mind you,’ mused Jess, ‘I never want to see another seafood bloody canapé as long as I live.’

‘Where’s Aimee?’ Holly asked.

‘Kev’s taken her to the loos to change her nappy,’ explained Jess. ‘It’s his turn.’

Harry chuckled. ‘You’ve got that lad well trained.’

‘Of course I have,’ replied Jess smugly. ‘Start as you mean to go on – that’s right isn’t it, Grace?’

‘Absolutely. And if all else fails, ban sex for a week. It never fails.’ She grinned. ‘Mum taught me that one.’

Harry turned crimson. ‘Oh look, isn’t that your Auntie Gladys over there?’ he cut in. ‘Why don’t I just pop over and have
a quick word?’


And with that he fled, intent on nabbing Auntie Gladys by the vol-au-vents.

‘Grace, that was wicked of you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so embarrassed,’ remarked Holly.

‘Sorry, couldn’t resist it.’ Grace yawned. ‘I mean, it’s just so easy.’

‘Mum always said that,’ reminisced Holly. ‘She once told me that when they were first dating, he accidentally wandered into the women’s changing rooms at the swimming baths and you
could hear the screams for miles – not the women’s, Dad’s!’


There was laughter and a brief silence. Then: ‘Mum never told me that story,’ said Grace, making it sound like an accusation.

‘It was soon after I came back from London,’ Holly explained. ‘She still talked a lot then.’

‘To you, anyway.’

‘Well, yes. But then I was the one who spent the most time with her,’ Holly pointed out with mild irritation.

In the space of a second, her mind replayed all the days, hours and minutes she had spent with her mum during her illness.
Yes, there had been a lot of talking in the beginning, but at the end, only silence. Because the disease had taken away almost
everything, even her voice. Everything but the light in her eyes, and at the end even that went, too.


After a moment, when the pain had gone from her chest, Holly continued: ‘She’d have revelled in all this.’

Grace scanned the room, taking in all the aunts, uncles, big hats, posh dresses and profiteroles, and sighed. ‘Wouldn’t she
just. And to think I kicked up all that fuss about not getting married in church. I’d hire Westminster Abbey and do it all
over again if only it would bring her back.’


Holly stroked Aimee’s peach-soft cheek as she gurgled in her mother’s arms. ‘I know she’d have adored this little one,’ she
remarked to Jess. ‘She really is beautiful; I’ve never seen anything so perfect.’


‘Well, she does … seem that way,’ replied Jess, warily.

Holly felt her heart plummet in her chest. ‘Is there something wrong with her? You’ve never mentioned anything before.’

Grace laid a hand on Holly’s arm. ‘No, no, everything’s fine, at least we think it is; same as it is with Adam. Jess just
means … because of Mum’s illness, we can’t ever be sure, can we? We can’t be sure if something’s been passed on. And even
if we did know, what could we do about it? There’s no cure for motor neurone disease.’


A nasty chill raised all the hairs on the back of Holly’s neck. ‘But I thought Mum’s specialist said it wasn’t hereditary.’

‘In eight or nine out of ten cases,’ Jess corrected her. ‘In the tenth one, there’s a chance it might be.’

‘That’s a pretty small risk,’ ventured Holly.

‘Not if you turn out to be the tenth case,’ retorted Grace.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Grace. ‘But you see, Jess and I probably won’t know until we’re in our forties whether or not
we’re going to get MND, by which time Aimee and Adam could have kids of their own – unless they’re too scared to have them,
not knowing what they might be passing on.’


‘Actually, Kev and I were thinking we might try for donor eggs some time when I accidentally got pregnant,’ revealed Jess.
‘It was one hell of a shock, wasn’t it Grace?’


‘Donor eggs! You never said …’ Holly’s brain reeled. It was as though someone had just torn up all her family certainties
and scattered them out of the window. ‘My God, yes, you’re right; I had no idea …’


She was dumbfounded. And it hurt, knowing that Jess had chosen not to confide in her. Why was that? She must have talked it
over with someone: Grace, probably. All of this was going on in my own family, she thought, and I knew nothing about it. Not
a thing. Am I exceptionally stupid? Or don’t they feel like they can confide in me any more? Have I become an outsider?


For the first time in her life she was truly aware of an invisible division between herself and her sisters, and it didn’t
feel good.


‘What about you and Steve?’ she asked Grace. ‘You must have agonised about having a baby, too.’

‘We decided it was just about worth the risk. But it wasn’t easy.’

Holly recalled the morning of their mother’s funeral. Stony-grey faces and a sky to match. Holly was so absorbed in her loss
that she’d barely noticed Grace having to rush out to be sick. Later, she’d admitted that it wasn’t a stomach bug at all;
she was expecting a baby. She’d wanted to say so before, but the council crematorium seemed a grotesque place to announce
the imminent arrival of a new life. With hindsight, it felt curiously fitting. As great-uncle Bill had put it, with his usual
tact: ‘One in, one out – that’s life for you. ’Spect I’ll be next.’


‘I’m sorry, I … I just didn’t think,’ stammered Holly. ‘I guess I was too wrapped up in missing Mum.’

‘At least it’s not a problem you’ll ever have to worry about,’ remarked Grace with a hint of coolness.

Holly didn’t get it straight off. ‘What isn’t?’

‘Having a baby!’ Grace tossed her immaculately highlighted locks impatiently and spelled it out. ‘With mum and you not being
– you know – related.’


For one short moment, Holly could have hit her. ‘She was my Mum just as much as she was yours!’ she protested.

Jess intervened. ‘Of course she was. I’m sure Grace didn’t mean it like that.’ Her gaze locked with Grace’s. ‘Did you, sis?’

There was a fraction of a second’s hesitation, then Grace smiled and said, ‘Of course I didn’t, Hol. Trust you to be so oversensitive.
All I meant was that if you have kids you won’t have to worry about passing on MND to them, because we’re biologically related to Mum and you aren’t. And whichever
way you look at it,’ she breezed on before Holly could get a word in edgeways, ‘it’s not quite the same thing, is it?’


It was Wednesday – Holly’s precious day off from delivering the post. But you’d never have known it.


Instead of sleeping in until she felt like ambling downstairs to make herself some toast, she let the six o’clock alarm shriek
her into consciousness, levered herself out from underneath the duvet and staggered zigzag fashion to the bathroom.


Normally she’d have squandered half the day being lazy, and the rest catching up with the freelance advertising projects she
took on to keep her hand in and her brain active. Not today though. Today, she was driving her sister to the back of beyond
to pick up a load of frocks. Why? Because it was all for charity. And you couldn’t say no to charity, could you?


She cursed the word as she exfoliated herself into life. Why had she let Grace persuade her to go and fetch the designer outfits
for her charity fashion show? It wasn’t as if she was even being very nice to her at the moment – not that she’d been particularly
nice to anyone who wasn’t rich since she and Steve moved up in the world. Why did I agree to do it? she lamented. I must have been off my head. Just my luck
that Dad has to work today. I’m sure I could’ve wheedled him into doing it instead.


Mentally deranged or not, by seven she was on the road in her dad’s old ex-post office van. I’m sure Grace could drive this
thing herself if she wanted to, Holly grumbled to herself as she rattled along Whaddon Road. She just doesn’t want to be seen
driving a battered, rusty-red Transit in her designer heels.


Over on the posh side of town, at 5 The Avenue, Holly could see Grace waiting in her lounge, behind the floaty voile curtains
that kept prying eyes off her extensive collection of Swarovski crystal animals. As the rust-heap on wheels squealed to a
stop, Holly could almost feel her sister’s mortification. She couldn’t help smiling to herself. Chances were, nothing quite
this ghastly had been spotted in the area since the night all the lead was nicked off the local church roof.


Head down, Grace scuttled out of her brand-new Regency-style town house and made a dash for the horrible rusty-red thing that
dared to call itself a van.


‘Let me in before somebody sees!’

‘Too late, they already did.’ As Grace scrambled in beside her, Holly pointed to the twitching blinds at number seven.

‘Does it really matter?’ she enquired as they headed out of town on the A40.

Grace stared at her. ‘God, but you’ve gone downhill since you left the great metropolis. The sooner you let Murdo rescue you,
the better.’


‘What if I don’t want him to?’

‘Then you’re even dafter than you look.’

They looked at each other, held defiant eye contact for a couple of seconds and both burst out laughing, just in time for
Holly to swerve out of the way of an oncoming Mercedes. At least the tension was gone.


‘So tell me exactly what we’re doing today?’ demanded Holly.

‘I told you, we’re picking up some outfits for the charity fashion show. You know Tammy Hyde-Cooper?’

‘Er … no.’

Grace shook her head in disbelief. ‘Yes you do. She’s the one who writes that column in the Telegraph – the one who’s married to that guy who presents Mighty Motors on Channel Six.’


Holly registered a brief flicker of interest. ‘The one with the nice bum?’

‘No, the fat one.’

‘Ah.’ The flicker died.

‘Well, her best friend is this really trendy couture designer, and she’s only talked her into letting us have some of her
frocks and stuff for the show. Isn’t that amazing?’


‘It’d be more amazing if I didn’t have to drive you all the way to rural Hampshire on my day off,’ Holly replied candidly.
‘So how did you meet this Tammy what’s-her-face, anyway?’


‘I recognised her at a charity dinner, so I went up and told her how wonderful her column is,’ Grace replied proudly. ‘She
asked about my charity work, and we got along like a house on fire.’


‘And is it wonderful? Her column, I mean.’

Grace shrugged. ‘No idea. I’ve never read it. But that’s not the point, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’

Grace’s eyes shone with fervour. ‘Not when it’s all in a good cause. And you can’t overestimate the value of good contacts.’ She leaned closer. ‘Your Murdo’s well heeled. Don’t suppose
he knows anyone useful? Didn’t you say his mum met David Beckham once?’


Holly laughed. ‘Yes – at a bus stop, and he was five years old at the time. Somehow I doubt that he’d remember. Now come on,
girl, get reading that map! I hope this isn’t going to take all day. I’m on baby-sitting duty tonight.’


Ten and a half hours later, a rather smart red Mazda two-seater drove slowly onto the Bluebell Estate and parked outside Crocus
House. Holly winced as she eased herself out of her beloved car – the one luxury possession she’d retained from her life in
London – stretc. . .