Single Mother

by Samantha Hayes

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Literary Fiction; Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; Noir; Thrillers; Crime Fiction; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

"She’s nowhere," Mel cries frantically down the line. "She’s completely disappeared." Mel can hardly breathe her chest is so tight. She lets out the sob she’s been holding in. "And it’s all my fault...." I nearly threw the letter about the inheritance away with the recycling. Late for work, worrying about how I would afford new school shoes for Kate, I just assumed it was a mistake. But perhaps moving to a new home in a quiet seaside town would be the fresh start we both need. Away from the school bullies making Kate’s life a misery, and out of the clutches of my dangerous ex. But in this new place where nobody knows our names, why do I hear locals whispering behind my back and have the uneasy feeling that my daughter is hiding something from me? Am I reading too much into the threatening messages left around our new home? Are the glimpses of my ex’s battered red truck real, or imagined? I will do anything to protect my daughter. She’s all I’ve ever wanted and all I really have, but the moment I opened that letter and accepted the gift, I walked us right into a dangerous trap. I need to get Kate to open up about the secret she’s keeping, but she’s not spoken a word since she found that little pile of bones buried in the garden. Days later, she goes missing.... A jaw-dropping, addictive, and totally twisty psychological thriller that will have you sleeping with the light on! Perfect for anyone who loved The Girl on the Train , Friend Request , or The Wife Between Us . Listeners love Samantha Hayes: "Oh my life! This book had me captivated from the very first page!... I loved this book! There are some huge shocks and twists which will have you gasping!... Clever, captivating, devious, exciting and non-stop. I highly recommend this book!" (The Book Reviewing Mum Blog, five stars) "OMG!... Hits you between the eyes with the most perfectly placed plot twist that had never even crossed your mind! You certainly won’t see where this one is going so just buckle up and enjoy the ride.... A brilliant page-turner! It has an incredibly satisfying ending that sent shivers down my spine and an exquisite twist that made my heart sing! Loved, loved, loved it!" (My Chestnut Reading Tree, five stars)

Release date: January 5, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Drizzle mists the air as she walks briskly through the deserted streets, the bag heavy in her hand. Her hood is up, her head down, watching her feet tread the wet pavement. It’s early – barely past dawn and too early even for commuters. The station is only just opening as she arrives. She thinks she’ll probably be the only person buying a ticket today and not actually going anywhere.

She’d been awake all night, and the decision was made. No looking back. A night filled with screams and blood-soaked sheets. Her man nowhere to be found – not that he’d be any use anyway. As ever, she’d coped with it all herself. Life was filled with one problem after another. Things to be dealt with. To be cleaned up and taken care of. Miserable, but it’s how things were now, what she was used to – the weight bearing down, wearing her down, crushing her to death. She couldn’t see a way out. Maybe she didn’t want to.

She buys her ticket – one-way, of course – and heads towards the platform. Time to wait, time to think, grateful there’s no one else around to hear should there be any noise.

The air smells of diesel as she sits on the wooden bench, waiting. But at least she’s out of the rain. The bag is on her lap, both her hands resting gently on top. Some kind of comfort. She looks at her watch, noticing several other passengers gathering on the platform. She’s far enough away from them not to be noticed.

Things used to be good once, she thinks with an inner smile. Fun and carefree, her big dreams unshattered, every day a breeze. She remembers the parties in London, the alcohol and cigarettes, the boys hungry for her, the wild outfits she wore – tiny suede skirts and long white boots, low-cut chiffon dresses with ruffles. She adored those boots. Wore them until they greyed with age.

Several blue and yellow trains pull up to various platforms and, eventually, one grinds up to platform six. She heads down to the furthest end of the train, opens a door on the last carriage and gets on, walking down the aisle past all the empty seats, trailing her hand along their velvety backs.

At the end of the carriage, she places the bag she’s carrying in the overhead luggage rack, above seats forty-seven and forty-eight. She looks left and right. No one there. She wonders who, if anyone, will be sitting in these seats.

Not her, she thinks, making sure the bag is secure before she turns and heads for the nearest exit door. Once she’s off the train, she walks briskly back to her car, the rain having stopped and the autumn morning sun now a slash of red hanging over the town.

She will drive home and get on with her day, get on with her life. And if she has to do it again, she will.

Mel stares at the recycling box. It’s overflowing. She’d asked Kate several times last night to take it down to the bins at the back of their building but, as ever these days, her daughter had remained in her room. With everything that’s happened recently, she hadn’t wanted to get heavy with her.

‘Kate, breakfast’s ready. Hurry, or you’ll be late for school,’ Mel calls out, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. No reply. ‘It’s eggs,’ she adds, not needing to shout. Their flat is only small. The single bedroom belongs to Kate, while Mel sleeps on the sofa bed, hiding away the duvet and pillows every morning before Kate emerges. She keeps her clothes in a cupboard on the small landing. Space is tight, but they get by.

Egg, actually, Mel thinks, spooning the small amount of scramble onto a piece of toast. She hears Kate’s bedroom door open and, a moment later, she comes into the kitchen wearing her school shirt, no tie, and her pyjama bottoms underneath. Her hair is unbrushed, the strawberry-blonde strands a frizzy halo around her pale, slim face.

‘Where are your school trousers, love?’ Mel says, pouring half a glass of orange juice for her. It’s all that’s left.

‘In my room,’ she replies without looking at Mel. Kate slides onto the chair, picking up her knife and fork. Mel notices the blush blooming on her cheeks, knows her daughter too well. ‘Thanks for this, Mum.’

Mel sits down beside her, coffee mug between her palms. ‘Kate—’

‘Don’t, Mum,’ she replies, shovelling in her breakfast, still not looking up. ‘Really, it’s fine.’

Mel reaches out a hand to Kate’s forearm. She’s thin, Mel thinks. ‘You know I’ll listen and—’

‘Mum!’ Kate says – not a shout, exactly, more a choked hiccup. She snatches her arm away.

‘OK, OK, love.’ Mel gets up, scraping back the chair. She grabs the empty egg box and juice carton, cramming them into the recycling box, squashing everything down. Then, trying to appear busy, hoping that by backing off Kate will open up about what’s been bothering her these last few days, she sorts through the pile of junk mail that has accumulated on the kitchen counter.

‘Where does all this stuff come from, eh?’ she says, trying to sound bright. She doesn’t want the day to get off to a bad start. A worse start, she thinks, wondering how she’s going to tell Tony, the landlord, that she can’t quite make the rent this month. ‘Pizza flyers, takeaway menus, and look…’ She holds up a leaflet, waving it about. ‘This one is offering to jet-wash our driveway.’ She shakes her head. ‘Didn’t they notice we live in a first-floor flat?’

One by one, Mel stuffs the papers into the recycling box: local free newspapers, letters to ‘The Occupier’ – most likely trying to sell her insurance policies for appliances she doesn’t own, or pre-pay her own funeral. She hesitates over a couple of envelopes, tentatively slicing open the flap with her finger. When she sees they’re bills – red reminders – she tosses them into a separate pile on the counter. They’ll have to wait.

Then a smart cream envelope catches her eye – better-quality than the usual junk mail. Plus it has her actual name and address printed on the front, and a local return address on the back. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she quickly tears it open, half pulling out the contents.

‘Someone’s certainly gone to town to get my attention with this,’ she says, rolling her eyes at the wodge of wasted paper. When she sees it’s nothing more than what appears to be a legal scam, she stuffs that into the recycling box too.

‘How do they get away with it?’ she says, shaking her head. She drains her coffee mug. ‘No doubt they want cash upfront before I “claim what’s mine”.’

Kate stares up at her, dark circles under her eyes and the whites tinged pink. ‘Claim what’s yours?’ she says, offering a little smile.

She’s trying to appear normal, Mel thinks. For my sake. If Kate got her own way, she’d stay off school today. Stay off school for ever. Mel has to admit, she’s tempted to allow her a day’s respite – but then what about her work? She can’t afford to take a day off, nor risk upsetting Dragon Boss. At twelve, Kate is too young to be left home alone. It kills her to know those girls at school are giving her daughter such a hard time. Kills her, too, that Kate won’t allow her to speak to the head teacher to get the bullying dealt with.

‘It’ll make it ten times worse, Mum. I’m begging you, please don’t say anything,’ Kate had pleaded the first time she’d opened up about what had been going on, admitting why her belongings had gone missing, why one side of her hair had been hacked off, her blazer torn, why there were bruises on her shins. ‘They’ll probably move on to someone else soon, when they get bored of me.’

Since that day, Mel had been fighting every cell in her body not to go steaming into the head’s office at Portman High. It was getting harder each day to keep the promise she’d made to Kate.

‘Claim what’s yours, as in?’ Kate continues, scraping her plate. She knows as well as Mel that food is not to be wasted. Several times in the last month, Mel has gone without dinner so Kate can eat.

‘Didn’t look to find out,’ Mel says, shrugging and bagging up the recycling into two bulging refuse sacks. She dumps them by the door ready to take out when they leave. ‘Right, love, go and finish getting dressed and I’ll drop you at school on the way to work.’

Kate clears away her plate and heads off to her bedroom. A few minutes later, she reappears, her hair neatly brushed and secured in a long ponytail down her back, her tie straight, her blazer buttoned up – admittedly now on the snug side, stretching across her shoulders. The sleeves are riding up past her wrists.

Mel stares at her daughter as she stands there, her school bag slung over her shoulder.

‘Oh, Kate…’ she says, wanting to hug her, scoop her up, do everything she can to make this better for her.

‘Don’t say a word, Mum, please.’

‘But…’

Kate holds up a hand to silence her. ‘It would have been worse if I hadn’t done it, OK? There’s a chance one of them might actually think it’s… you know, cool.’ She gives a little laugh then, makes a coy face at the thought of anything associated with her being construed as cool.

Mel closes her eyes for a beat before dropping her car keys and bag on the table. She gets down on her knees in front of her daughter. ‘Wait,’ she says, folding up an inch or two of the freshly hacked fabric of Kate’s school trousers. ‘Try them like this,’ she adds, standing back to admire her work, while also heartbroken that her daughter has felt the need to do this. There was no way Mel could have afforded new school trousers this month. Kate dashes off to her bedroom to check the mirror, returning with a grateful smile.

‘Thanks, Mum. They look much better,’ she says quietly. ‘Proper pedal-pusher chic. Who knows, I might start a new trend.’

Half an hour later, Mel pulls up at work, her heart sinking as she spots Josette’s brand-new white BMW parked in a disabled bay outside the care home, even though her boss wasn’t due in until lunchtime. It about sums her up, Mel thinks, squeezing her beat-up Fiesta into a spot under the trees where the pigeons always mess on the bonnet.

‘Hi, Angie,’ Mel says cheerily as she heads into the staff room. Her colleague, another carer, is just coming out, already in her uniform and ready for the handover. Angie smiles, returning the greeting.

Mel knows that, despite her worries, her anxiety and fears for what the future holds for her and Kate, it’s a sum total of nothing if she doesn’t keep her job. Josette seems to have eyes everywhere, and zero tolerance for her staff’s personal lives. The only time Mel ever took a sick day, her boss docked her pay. While it was most likely outside of HR law, Mel wasn’t about to argue and risk getting sacked. She needed every hour she could work while Kate was at school, and every penny that brought in.

‘Michael…’ Mel says, reminding herself to reply to him as she hangs up her coat in her locker. In the morning’s rush, she’d forgotten to text him back. Just like she’d also forgotten to take down the recycling bags.

Oh yes, please do call round later! I need some Micky cheer. And I can work 10–5 in the shop on Sat again if you need xx

She hits send and puts her phone back in her bag, wondering what she’d do without him – her best friend, confidant and all-round go-to guy. She changes into the clean uniform hanging in the top of her locker, turning a blind eye to all the junk that’s accumulated in the bottom over the months. She checks herself in the full-length mirror, tucking back a strand of dark hair that’s escaped her ponytail, before heading off to get the handover reports.

It’s as Mel’s heading out of the staff room later that afternoon when her shift is over, having changed back into her own clothes, pleased as punch with her lucky find and keen to pick Kate up from school to give her the bag she’s clutching, when she literally bumps into Josette, who’s striding down the corridor, a large mug of coffee in her hand. The scalding liquid sloshes down Mel’s front, making her jump back and let out a squeal as her hands sweep frantically at the mess, pulling her T-shirt away from her smarting skin.

‘My office, if you would, please, Melanie,’ Josette barks. ‘Now,’ the taller woman adds, ignoring the look of pain on Mel’s face.

Standing in Josette’s office – all antique furniture, plush carpet and a huge potted palm in front of the tall window – Mel tries to ignore her throbbing skin, wanting nothing more than to douse it in cold water. But she knows it’s more than her job is worth not to listen to Josette. She’s got that look on her face.

‘It’s about Bob,’ Josette says, not having even uttered an apology. Rather, in the corridor, she’d thrust her half-empty mug into a passing care assistant’s hand and ordered her to bring her a refill immediately. ‘Do you always have to wear such ridiculous tops?’ she adds, scowling as she sits behind her desk.

‘Bob?’ Mel asks, suddenly panic-stricken, glancing down. KEEP CALM is printed across the front of her T-shirt, which Mel is now struggling to do. ‘Is he OK?’ She’d only been with him yesterday afternoon and, while he seemed fine, she can’t deny that his respiratory issues have worsened over the last few months. She prays he hasn’t been taken into hospital overnight.

‘As fine as you can be at ninety-six with COPD,’ Josette replies, sipping on the coffee that’s just been handed to her. ‘But there’s been a complaint.’

‘A complaint?’ Mel says, wondering if she should also sit down. ‘About what?’ She sits down anyway, dumping her handbag and the carrier bag on the floor beside her. Her mind races, wondering what Bob – dear, kind, gentle, affable, funny, good-natured Bob – could ever have to complain about. He’s her favourite resident. Yes, he’s not been in the best of health lately, but he’s all there mentally. Sharp as a button. And he loves life at The Cedars, getting involved with all the home has to offer. Not to mention his daily constitutional walk around the grounds, albeit with two sticks now and an accompanying carer.

‘Yes, Melanie. A complaint. From his son.’

Josette sits sideways behind her mahogany desk, her long legs crossed, her tight skirt rising above her knees, tapping a pen on the edge of the desk with one hand. She flicks her glossy dark hair back over her shoulder with the other hand, still looking as fresh as she did at the start of the day. Mel only gave herself a cursory glance in the staff room mirror as she changed out of her uniform, preferring not to look too long at the tired face staring back, the dishevelled hair and smudged eyeliner.

‘I… I don’t understand. Is everything OK?’

‘No, Melanie. No, it’s not,’ Josette says, suddenly standing and striding over to the huge window facing out over the lawns and the ancient cedar tree. She turns abruptly – a tall, slim silhouette against the sunlight streaming in. ‘Bob’s son says a large amount of cash has gone missing from his father’s room.’

‘What?’ Mel says, twisting round. She grips the arms of the leather chair. ‘That’s terrible. But… but residents don’t keep money in their rooms. Do they?’ Mel knows that cash is discouraged, that any extras residents may wish to purchase are handled by an in-house card system and added to the bill. The Cedars has its own little shop, selling books, magazines, a few luxuries. Plus there’s a hair salon on site.

Josette pulls a face, tightening the already tight skin on her forehead and cheekbones.

‘Apparently, Bob’s son had left him three hundred pounds in cash for emergencies. It was in a jacket pocket in his wardrobe. Not within our guidelines, of course, but we can’t prevent such instances. But what we can prevent is theft. When Bob’s son visited on Sunday, he went to check the cash and it was gone. He categorically states it was there two days before, on the Friday.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Mel says. ‘Maybe Bob hid it elsewhere and forgot.’ She doubts that’s true. Bob’s mind is sound, even if his body isn’t quite as robust these days.

‘His son turned the room upside down. No cash.’ Josette strides back over to her desk, towering above Mel in her patent black heels. She perches on the corner of the desk, arms folded across her white blouse. ‘Do you know anything about this, Melanie?’

‘Me?’ she replies, instantly feeling her cheeks redden. She can’t help it. ‘No, no, of course not.’ She swallows. ‘I’d never—’

‘Money’s tight as a single mother, am I correct?’ Josette says, staring down at her. Her dark eyes bore out from beneath her straight-cut fringe.

‘Well, yes, but I don’t see—’

‘So if you were, say, helping Bob to get dressed and the cash fell out of his pocket or, indeed, you discovered it in there, it’s also correct to assume it would be very tempting for you to slip it into your own pocket. Yes?’

‘No!’ Mel says as firmly as she can without making matters worse. She absolutely won’t be accused of something she didn’t do. ‘Of course I didn’t take Bob’s cash. I’m not a thief, Josette. Surely you know that? I’m a good employee, and—’

‘Were you caring for Bob on Saturday, Melanie?’

‘He was on my list, yes,’ Mel replies, willing the burn in her cheeks to subside. She pushes back her shoulders and holds her head up. She won’t be bullied into admitting to something she didn’t do. She’d be fired for sure, and there’s no way she can afford to lose her job. ‘I was working alongside Clara. She’ll vouch for me.’

‘Were you ever alone with Bob in his room?’

‘I really don’t see why—’

‘Just answer, please, then we can wrap this up so I can report to the family. Naturally, they’re very distressed.’

Mel sits there, her mind melting into a mix of not understanding any of this to actually wondering if she may have somehow, inadvertently or accidentally, gathered up Bob’s cash by mistake. And she’s also conscious that she’s going to be late picking Kate up from after-school club.

‘I… I was alone with Bob for some of the time, I guess, yes,’ she replies quietly, thinking back, her eyes narrowing as she tries to remember. ‘But that’s not unusual. Clara may have been called to help with someone else, or maybe went to fetch something. You know how busy it can get.’

Josette remains perfectly still, her arms clamped across her chest, her long legs stretched out in front of her as she sits on the edge of the desk.

‘I took him for a walk. The weather was nice and he likes the fresh air.’

‘Which meant putting a jacket on, I’m assuming? It’s only April, after all.’

‘Yes, yes, I helped him into a jacket. And he wore his tweed cap. But honestly, I don’t recall seeing any cash. And if I had, I’d have mentioned to Bob about keeping it safe and reported it to the duty manager.’

‘What colour was the coat?’

It’s as if Josette isn’t hearing her – hearing only what she wants to hear to dig herself and her care home out of an awkward situation. If she gets fired, Mel knows Josette will have her replaced within a matter of hours through the agency. She’s expendable.

‘Green?’ Mel says.

‘Are you asking me or telling me?’

Mel takes a breath, glancing away briefly, forcing herself to keep calm. ‘It was green. A dark green corduroy coat with a brown collar. I remember commenting on how smart it was.’

Josette says nothing for a beat, just stares at her, as if she’s waiting for more to come out. But Mel doesn’t have anything else to say. She just wants to go and fetch Kate, imagining her standing alone outside the school gates. She can’t help the brief glance at her watch.

‘Do you have somewhere better to be, Melanie?’

‘No, sorry. It’s just my daughter… I have to fetch her and—’

‘What’s in there?’ Josette says, lightly kicking the carrier bag on the floor with her court shoe.

‘Just something I picked up for Kate. A pair of trainers,’ Mel replies, looking down at the supermarket bag.

The tightening of Josette’s jaw, the narrowing of her eyes, doesn’t go unnoticed by Mel. And neither does the thumping in her own heart. She doesn’t deserve this grilling.

Josette sits down behind her desk again, resting her elbows on the polished wood, her fingers steepled together in front of her face. ‘You can go now,’ she says, turning to answer her phone, ignoring Mel completely as she gathers her belongings, says goodbye and leaves.

‘What a nightmare,’ Mel mutters under her breath as she slams the car door, throwing her bags onto the passenger seat. How, after nearly three years of loyal service, could Josette possibly think that she would steal money from a resident? From anyone?

Quickly, she lifts up her T-shirt to examine her scalded skin. Sure enough, there’s a red patch about the size of her palm just to the left of her navel. She blows on it, desperate to get home for some ice.

Mel shakes with anger as she drives away, trying to calm herself before picking up Kate. As soon as she’d left Josette’s office, she’d messaged her daughter to say she was on her way. But Kate hadn’t replied yet.

‘Come on, come on,’ she says impatiently at the lights. Every set seems to be changing to red as she approaches the junction. Finally, after taking a couple of shortcuts, she pulls up outside Portman High, scanning the street where Kate usually waits.

There’s no sign of her.

It’s only her second term – such a huge contrast to the primary school she loved – and she’s not made any friends yet. In fact, she knows the opposite to be true. ‘Kate, Kate, where are you?’ she whispers, calling Kate’s phone. It rings out, going to voicemail.

‘Dammit,’ she says, her heart rate rising. She dials again, just as she spots someone – a thin and stooped female figure – coming round the corner from the street just beyond the school. She squints, praying the figure resolves into Kate as she gets closer. At the same time, an old, rusty red van pulls slowly out of the turning, cruising alongside the person, and only when the figure flicks a quick wave at the van does it speed off. The light flares off the windscreen as it passes so Mel doesn’t see the driver.

She gets out of the car, leaning against the open door, relief flooding through her. ‘Oh, Kate, thank God. I was worried about you. You normally wait for me along here.’

‘Hi, Mum,’ she calls out more cheerily than expected, raising her arm. ‘Sorry!’ She picks up her pace into a run, her bag bouncing against her side as she approaches. She opens the car door, breathless. ‘I… I just went to see if you’d parked round the corner,’ she says, pre-empting Mel’s next question.

‘You know I always meet you here.’ She pauses, watching as Kate does up her seat belt and dumps her school bag at her feet. ‘Who was that?’ Mel asks, glancing down the road in the direction the van had sped off.

‘Who was what?’ Kate replies, glancing at her phone, her shoulders drawn up to her ears. ‘Sorry I missed your call, Mum. My… my phone was still on silent from classes.’

‘Who was the person in the van you were waving at just now?’

‘Van? I didn’t see any van,’ Kate says. ‘What’s for tea? I’m starving.’

After having to park the car several streets away – not unusual in their part of town – Mel unlocks the outside door of their flat, noticing that more of the faded blue paint has peeled off and flaked onto the pavement. She glances through the window of the fish and chip bar to the right, above which their tiny place is located. Tony is in there with a couple of his young staff, shaking the fryer baskets as they prepare for the evening shift. He looks up, giving Mel a wave before wiping his hands down his apron. She waves back, smiling, dreading having to ask him for a rent extension.

‘Can we, Mum, please?’ Kate says, noticing Tony has spotted them. Mel knows Kate will be salivating from the smell of fish and chips just as much as she is. It’s an easy option and would make Kate’s evening perfect, especially with what she’s about to give her.

‘We’ll see. Let’s get in first, OK?’ Which really means ‘let me see how much I can wring out of my overdraft’. Mel wants nothing more than for Kate to chill out in front of the TV, watching her favourite show with a hot, steaming parcel of fish and chips on her knees.

She lets Kate inside the narrow entrance hall first, locking the door behind them after they’re inside. She stops still as her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, with Kate running up the stairs two at a time.

‘Odd,’ she whispers to herself, shaking her head and picking up a couple of letters from the mat. She swears she just got a whiff of cigarette smoke – not fresh, but rather the stale smell of it on someone’s clothes left lingering in the air. Maybe it followed us in from outside, someone in the street with a cigarette, she thinks, shrugging as she heads up, the carrier bag still in her hand and as yet unnoticed by Kate. She flicks the light on after she lets them both inside the inner flat door, putting Kate’s shoes on the rack after she kicks them off, heading straight for her bedroom.

‘Oh, great,’ Mel says, rolling her eyes when she sees the two black bin bags of recycling. She could ask Kate to take them down, she supposes, bribe her with the promise of a fish supper, but she’ll need to look in her purse first. The electricity will need topping up in a few days and she has to get more petrol before the end of the week. Until payday, every penny counts. Mel kicks one of the bin bags in frustration, wishing she could afford more things for Kate.

If it bloody well wasn’t for… she thinks angrily, before stopping herself, determined not to fixate on him. I’m better than that, she tells herself, sighing as she sees that the bin bag now has a split down one side.

‘Fancy a cuppa, Kate?’ she calls out, taking her purse from her bag. ‘Fifteen pounds twenty-seven,’ she whispers, knowing that’s easily enough for a portion of cod and chips – twice over if she were to treat herself too. But equally, she knows that there’s some food in the cupboard that she was planning on using tonight – a tin of tuna, some canned tomatoes and some pasta. She should probably use that up.

Before she can call out to Kate again, Mel’s phone pings an alert.

I’ll be with you in five xx

Mel smiles, feeling a rush of warmth spread through her. Thank God for Michael. Her oldest friend and the person who gave her the strength to finally take a stand against Billy, the courage to leave. And Kate adores him, sees him as an uncle. A father, even. Her Saturdays wouldn’t be the same if she wasn’t able to hang out at For the Record, Michael’s music shop, listening to her favourite bands, helping out with stock and dealing with customers. Mel knows he’s been through hard times himself – right back from when they first met in the children’s home – and together, somehow, they’ve always got through.

She goes to Kate’s bedroom door, stopping outside. She hears her daughter talking in a low voice. Odd, she thinks. She rarely talks on the phone, preferring to message. She shrugs, hoping that she’s fin. . .