BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

Poor Freya was in agony. ‘Well, then she must stop.’ Her tears began again. ‘I’m sorry, Mumma, we love you too much. You must stop.’

Bronte looked stricken. This was the key to her, I suddenly understood. This was what I’d missed: she adored her children.

59

As soon as I’d seen Freya and Eden off the premises, I made for the office, itching to focus on the timeline of Bronte’s relapse. I was nearly certain I had it figured out—then Brianna intercepted me with a dense little package. ‘I’m guessing it’s from another grateful customer.’

I should have kept going but Brianna was keen to see what it was—a giant hunk of nougat, as it transpired.

Brianna recoiled. ‘I’ve a literal phobia of that stuff. Aren’t you worried it’ll pull out all of your teeth?’

‘No. I love it.’ But I knew someone who’d love it more—Nola’s husband Harry. Nougat was his thing.

I was so fond of Harry. Obviously, he’d never know me as well as his wife did because Nola knew literally everything about me. But simply by opening his front door to me dozens of times a year, an affectionate warmth had built up.

It must be strange being the partner of a sponsor, seeing people arrive at your home, in all kinds of states, good and bad—but not being privy to any of the details.

It had been the very same for Luke. Like the time I’d been sponsoring a lovely woman called Jessamay. She’d been doing very well, then suddenly relapsed three times over five months. Her girlfriend, Britt, threatened to leave if she did it again. Then it actually happened—Jessamay slipped and Britt left.

Jessamay rang me in a terrible state and I told her to come to my apartment. Somehow Luke got to the door first and Jessamay flung herself against him. ‘Oh, Luke! I relapsed! Britt left me! Could you talk to her, please, tell her—’

Looking terrified, Luke cut his eyes to me. ‘I’m sorry to hear th—’

‘Jessamay.’ I took her hand, led her into my bedroom and tried to calm her. We talked for a long time and then went to a meeting. Afterwards, I walked her back to her apartment.

When I finally got home, Luke hopped up off the couch, full of anguish. ‘Is she okay? Has Britt really left her?’ Then, ‘I know. It’s none of my business. You can’t tell me. But that was hard to see.’

I compressed my mouth, trying to stop the words from jumping out.

‘I know you can’t tell me,’ Luke repeated. ‘But has Britt really gone? What if she doesn’t come back?’

‘Maybe it’s for the best.’ That wasn’t an actual divulgence of facts, I told myself. It was a hypothetical answer to a hypothetical question.