The Day That Changed Everything

by Catherine Miller

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

This stunning tale will make you laugh and cry in equal measure, hold your loved ones close and see the beauty in the little things in life. Fans of Jojo Moyes, Jodi Picoult and Diane Chamberlain will love this moving and uplifting story.
For Tabitha, the day that changed everything started like any other. She woke up, leaving her husband Andy sleeping. Downstairs, she boiled the kettle and enjoyed a cup of tea as the sun rose. Upstairs, Andy's alarm sounded, and Tabitha took him a freshly brewed coffee, like every other morning. She called his name, she nudged his shoulder. But Andy wouldn't wake up. Three years later Tabitha is trying her hardest to get by in the shadow of her grief. She may have lost the love of her life but she won't give up on the family they dreamed of. Fostering troublesome teenage girls and a newborn baby is a chance to piece together her broken heart. But being a mother isn't easy, and neither is healing the heartache she carries around.
‘An emotional read!... I do warn you to have some tissues available!... An emotional rollercoaster.' STARDUST BOOK REVIEWS

Release date: January 17, 2020

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Twenty-four hours can change everything. There would be many twenty-four hour periods in Tabitha Sanderson’s life. Some, she would never recall. This one, she would never forget. This was a day destined to unravel her world. This was the day that changed everything.

This day, like every weekend morning, without fail, she woke before Andy’s alarm. It was an annoying habit her forties had gifted her with – the inability to lie in despite not having to go to work. As soon as she was beginning to surface, her thoughts liked to declare themselves as wide awake. It was no surprise today, though. She’d not slept well at all. The previous night hadn’t let her.

Not wanting to wake her husband, she slid her feet into fluffy slippers, wrapped herself in her dressing gown and tiptoed out of their bedroom unheard.

Even though she craved the ability to have a lie-in, it suited her to wake before Andy at the weekends. It meant she got a bit more me-time in the bathroom. She was able to languish longer in front of the mirror, inspecting the lines around her dark mahogany-brown eyes that her age-defying creams were having no effect on. She was able to exfoliate with added precision, and carefully, indulgently, moisturise every inch of her skin. It was some alone time, a chance to try and lessen the effects of a long week teaching, but today, as she brushed her long, chestnut-brown hair and folded it up into a bun, as she pampered and prepped, she was concentrating on the added worry of what had happened the night before. In the early fog of morning none of it made sense.

The second part of her morning weekend ritual was to slip downstairs, boil the kettle and enjoy a cuppa on her own. But the worry weighing on her mind was taking the shine off what she usually considered to be a luxury.

Lofty, their whippet, raised his dark head from his slumber on the sofa, but deemed it too early to follow Tabitha to the kitchen. She didn’t blame him.

In this pre-dawn moment, when Andy was yet to rise, she needed to relish the chance to think. She needed to figure out exactly what to do.

The kettle crescendoed and she made tea for one, figuring it was too early to make Andy a coffee. She’d do that on round two. By then, she might have come to a decision.

Lofty was kind enough to adjust his position so Tabitha joined him on the sofa, caressing his black floppy ears as he laid his head on her lap.

The stone farm cottage was always cold in the mornings. The wood burner had long petered out and the only warmth was from the sleeping dog beside her and the steaming mug in her hand. She grabbed the fluffy blanket she saved for such occasions and wrapped it around them both.

The one-bedroom cottage was perfectly formed, but ancient. It was part of Owerstock Farm and had been gifted to Andy and Tabitha by her in-laws as their wedding present. Andy’s parents were from a long-standing line of farmers and the cottage was part of their estate. She’d managed to get their home to suit both of their tastes. It was very hyggeligt; cosy and tranquil, but not quite large enough for the future she’d dreamed up for them.

Nursing her tea, Tabitha’s thoughts returned to the previous evening. All she knew was that she didn’t know who or what to believe. That made her very uncomfortable. Her best friend, Melissa, had been acting differently recently, but did that mean any of it was true?

Lofty nudged her, a reminder that she wasn’t permitted to pause her stroking efforts. She loved how the dog was always able to keep her mind in the present. She needed to stop worrying about other people’s problems.

An alarm sounded upstairs and the time for contemplative tea-drinking was over. Tabitha got up to boil the kettle again, this time with Lofty trailing her in the hope of being offered breakfast.

Despite having been given his dry biscuits, Lofty followed her up the stairs while she made the coffee delivery to Andy. It made her smile; the dog was always scared of missing out on something – as if she were delivering a freshly made bacon sandwich on the sly.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The alarm was still sounding out as she made her way up, the incessant noise continuing while her husband snoozed heavily.

His days on the farm were long, the week often leaving him exhausted, and he set an alarm at the weekend so he didn’t sleep the day away like a teenage boy. He always saw it as a waste if they didn’t get to spend time together when they both had a day off. It was a joy that he’d choose to make use of that time and spend it with her. They had some making up to do today, she thought with a smile.

But when she walked through the bedroom door, Andy wasn’t stirring. He must have had an even more gruelling week than usual. The vibration of his alarm rang out, his phone rattling on his bedside table.

Lofty jumped onto the bed and started licking Andy’s ear.

‘Coffee,’ Tabitha said, not feeling quite so concerned about being the one to wake him now that Lofty was doing a royal job of it.

The dog barked, nudging Andy with his little wet nose.

‘Lofty, don’t do that.’ Licking was quite adequate as a wake-up method.

Carefully placing the mug on Andy’s bedside table, Tabitha snoozed the alarm on his phone.

‘Andy,’ she said. She brushed some of his blond hair away from his face and rocked his shoulder.

He was stone cold. It was as if she’d placed her hand on one of the cottage-wall stones rather than on the warm sleeping body of her husband.

‘Andy,’ she said, louder this time.

Lofty barked and nudged, nudged and barked.

‘ANDY!’

Cold hands. Cold face. Cold lips as she brushed her fingers against them.

Lofty’s nose was warmer than her husband as the dog continued to nudge and bark at both his humans. It was his attempt at alerting Tabitha to something she’d already realised.

Her husband. No signs of life.

Shards of fear coursed through Tabitha’s very being. This couldn’t be happening. And yet…

The alarm went off on Andy’s phone again. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The three-minute snooze alarm. She’d never known that life could change at such a pace.

Finding herself on autopilot, Tabitha picked up the beeping mobile, silenced it and dialled the three-digit number she’d never used before.

But when they answered, she didn’t know what to say. What emergency service did she require when she already sensed it was too late?

Tabitha showed Max and Syd to their bedrooms before giving them a tour of the rest of the bungalow. It was important that they had their own space where they would feel safe and at home. At least that was what she’d been taught as part of the foster training. And as this was Tabitha’s first placement it was all she had to go on.

‘What the fuck is this?’ Max looked at the bunkbeds with disdain. ‘We’re not ten.’

Tabitha winced at the language, failing to hide the gasp that went with it. The two girls smirked at her.

It wasn’t that she was surprised by their use of language. They were teenagers after all. She was sure she had been effing and blinding when she was fifteen. It just wasn’t how she’d ever pictured this moment. She had worked so hard to get to this point. She’d overcome so much and met so many requirements within her foster training. She’d built this home precisely for the purpose of her future foster kids. She’d dreamed of welcoming some children who would love the place as much as she did. Perhaps it was too early to hope for any appreciation. And fair enough, the décor wasn’t exactly aimed at adolescents, but she’d not been ready for the disgust they were showing.

‘They’re bunkbeds. It’s The Bunk-a-low.’ Tabitha smiled at the silly nickname she’d come up with when she’d neared completion of converting the barn with her father’s help.

The conversion project had taken over a year and right from the point the plans were drawn, Tabitha knew she was building it with fostering in mind. The barn was laid out to offer maximum accommodation with each of the children’s rooms complete with bunk beds. There were three bedrooms, two along one side leading straight into the large L-shaped open space. The longer section led to Tabitha’s bedroom, a family bathroom and an office-cum-snug that could be used as an extra bedroom if it was ever necessary. She’d gone with neutral blues and beiges for the main living area, with the children’s bedrooms in a fern green with accents of primary colours in all the furnishings. She’d deliberately made it so it was changeable and the cushions and duvets could soon be swapped to taste.

The beams of the old barn were on show throughout the property, displaying the age of the original building. The kitchen provided a complete contrast. They’d been given permission to build an extension beyond the original footprint to house the stylish, modern kitchen, and the wall of glass gave a view of the large field that was Tabitha’s back garden. It was designed so that anyone visiting would be able to appreciate the difference between the old and the new. It was much like Tabitha: there was an old version of her and a new one. She just hoped her beams were less apparent.

When it came to furniture, they’d added bunkbeds with the hope she’d be able to accommodate the more complex fostering placements. Maxine and Sydney (although, she’d been warned never to use their full names) fitted that bill perfectly. Fifteen-year-old identical twin girls who had a failed adoption behind them and were on the brink of independence, but not quite. If Tabitha were being honest, she would have probably preferred some five-year-old rug rats. When she’d set out to foster, she’d never imagined the children would end up being taller than her.

‘Bunk-a-low. What kind of name is that? More like Crap-a-low,’ Max said.

‘Eloquent.’ Tabitha raised an eyebrow, wondering what she’d really let herself in for.

‘These aren’t even long enough for us.’ Max chucked her bag on the floor and launched herself onto the bottom bunk to demonstrate, her near six-foot frame cramped in the bed.

Syd remained as she was, the quieter of the two. Thankfully, with Syd’s hair cropped shorter and dyed jet-black, Tabitha wasn’t going to be in the position of struggling to know who was who.

‘Look, how are we going to sleep here? They’re going to have to move us again.’ Max got up. ‘Pathetic,’ she said, spitting her syllables as she went.

‘Hold on. I haven’t even shown you round the whole place. The beds fold out.’ There was plenty of adaptable space. She’d thought about most scenarios when she’d been planning.

‘What is it we need to see?’ Syd spoke for the first time. ‘The kitchen. The bathroom. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. It’s all the same. Come on, Max.’ Syd chucked her bag on the floor.

Together they bundled past Tabitha and headed towards the front door.

‘Hang on. You can’t go.’ Panic hit Tabitha, knowing how woefully unprepared she was for this kind of complication. Max and Syd had been an emergency placement. There was nowhere else for them to go and she felt duty bound to help them out, even if this wasn’t the picture of perfection she’d had in her imagination.

‘Course we can. You can’t make us stay,’ Max said.

Balls and botheration. Tabitha hadn’t managed to be a foster carer for ten minutes without losing both her charges. A grip of determination took a hold of her. This was about the bigger picture. Not just this moment.

‘I can’t make you stay, but I can ask you to be back for dinner at seven.’ There was a steely resolve in her voice. ‘I’m not insisting, because I don’t think you’d listen if I did. I’m asking you to come back because if we screw this up it means next time there are two little kids who fit in those bunk beds I won’t be allowed to offer them a place to stay. Crap-a-low or not, it’s my home and for tonight it’s the only place you have. We can talk to social services tomorrow if you don’t want to stay. But tonight it’s your home as well.’

Rather than storming out like she expected, the girls stood in the doorway listening to her mini-speech.

‘Keep your hair on, Tabby. We only want to scope out the area. We’ll be back,’ Max said, her identical twin still brooding.

‘By seven,’ Tabitha replied, confirming what they already knew.

‘Sees ya later.’ Max pulled a baseball cap from her back pocket and shoved it over her long auburn hair.

The girls sauntered off down the short garden path, the pair of them so similar, and yet so different. Tabitha watched them, already starting to fill the role of concerned mother, as they strutted down Orchard Lane, wanting to make it known they were the new kids in town. Only this was a village. They’d give her next-door neighbour, Mrs Patterson, a bit of a shock if she was pruning her petunias, but that was about all they’d manage. Still, the knowledge that they’d left their bags was something to cling onto. Plus there wasn’t much trouble they could get themselves into without her hearing about it.

But that comfort soon slipped away because when seven came and went, the girls were nowhere to be seen.

With no prior experience of these things, Tabitha was at a loss as to what to do. If they had mobile phones she would call them, but they needed to be set up with new ones. And she didn’t want to ring the social worker yet and admit she’d already lost the children in her care. As a teacher, she’d never had this kind of trouble. She didn’t need it starting up now.

At least dinner wouldn’t be ruined. She’d known the slow cooker would become her friend and after seeing a video tutorial for slow-cooker lasagne on Facebook she was giving it a go. From the looks of things it appeared to have come out perfectly. She’d not tested it because she was hoping that the twins would return and they would be able to eat together like a family. She was clinging onto at least one facet of the dream coming together.

But instead of the idyllic family-dining scene that had previously played in her head, she was pacing round the farmhouse table and benches like a lioness trapped in a cage. She so desperately wanted it to work out. But what was she supposed to do now they’d not returned? She was already regretting not following them when they’d left.

The social worker had warned her that the sisters would be a handful. For the past two years they’d been with a family who had four older boys. They decided to adopt girls and thought older children would blend in more easily with the existing family. But when the adoptive mother had ended up unexpectedly pregnant, Max and Syd had started to play up. Apparently driving a car directly into the porch pillars (and bringing down parts of the house with it) was the final straw and the adoption was called off.

‘They insist it was an accident,’ the social worker had said, but by that point it was too late to convince anyone within the family that it was anything other than intentional. The twins hadn’t been far off being charged for criminal damage. It was a final straw in a series of bad behaviour.

Hearing their story had made Tabitha want to help. She knew where rock bottom was at and, if anything, this whole idea was to help pick herself up from there. Maybe she was capable of doing it for Syd and Max as well.

Lofty traipsed round her ankles reminding her that she’d been so caught up in getting everything ready today, she’d neglected to take him for a walk.

‘Come on then,’ she said, realising she should be attempting to stay cool and think rationally.

At least she would be able to settle her worries by looking for them. Taking Lofty for a walk had been one of the things she’d thought would have been nice to do together. She had imagined giving them a brief tour of the small village, introducing them to some of her neighbours, as Lofty barked happily beside them.

It hadn’t taken long to integrate into Little Birchington when she had moved there nearly three years ago. The Bunk-a-low had been quite the project and many of the neighbours had introduced themselves to her rather than the other way round. Originally it had been a storage barn and Tabitha had bought it, not knowing if planning permission would be granted. Thankfully it had been and she’d been able to carry out a lifelong dream of doing up her own place. And while the build had been a hive of activity, there wasn’t one villager who hadn’t popped by to say hello and thank her for sorting out the eyesore. Most of them had gone out of their way to visit her, as there were only three residents including her along Orchard Lane.

As Tabitha followed Lofty outside, Mrs Patterson was pottering about in her front garden, as always.

‘Did you see where the girls went?’ she called out. It was a relief to know that her neighbour should at least have some idea of which direction Max and Syd had headed.

Mrs Patterson nodded and started to ease off her gardening gloves. ‘I think you probably need to come and join me for a cup of tea.’

Tabitha nodded. ‘Come on, Lofty. This way.’ The dog was busy sniffing the hedgerow across the lane, but happily followed knowing his owner wouldn’t be the only one offered a biscuit. ‘Do you know where they are?’

‘I do,’ Mrs P. . .