Contents (71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THIRTY-EIGHT
2018
Kate stepped off the train, her bag weighing heavily on her shoulder, and she shifted it to stop it cutting into her skin. Her discomfort was intensified by the heat. It was a corker of a summer’s day and the air smelt green, of plants and their perfumes in the warmth of the sun. She passed the start of the public footpath with its thigh-high nettles, where countless bees hummed greedily, dipping in and out of a gnarled, woody buddleia. As she exited the station, Kate paused for a moment before going to Rob’s taxi ‘office’. He’d sent her a message, short and to the point, asking if he could see her and had refused to elaborate further until they were together.
He’d heard the train and stepped out, seeing her on the pavement. She waved and made her way over. Her eyebrows went up as she came closer – he had a purplish-black eye.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, gruffly.
‘No problem.’
She waited for him to suggest somewhere they could talk but he just stood there awkwardly.
‘Shall we go for a drink? Lemonade in The Wheatsheaf?’ suggested Kate.
Rob was embarrassed. ‘Um . . . maybe not there.’
‘Don’t tell me you got that –’ Kate pointed at his eye – ‘in the pub?’
‘Been barred for a week.’
‘Right.’ She looked behind him at the office. ‘You got anything cold in there?’
‘’Fraid not. There’s a vending machine on the platform though.’
He bought two chilled fizzy drinks from the machine and they sat on a bench facing the railway tracks, the heat warping off the gleaming metal. It was quiet: no cars, no people. The pop of the ring-pulls cut across the sounds of nature: birdsong, a hoverfly. They each took a welcome drink and Kate was beginning to wonder how long it might take for Rob to let her know why he’d asked to see her. She glanced across at him and he was staring into the middle distance.
He sensed her looking and turned his head. ‘There’s been a development,’ he said abruptly.
Kate was wary. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘Cancer’s come back.’
‘What? You mean . . . Abby?’
He nodded. ‘Different one, though. Brain cancer.’
It was a moment before she could speak. ‘I’m so sorry, Rob.’
‘She’s got to have an operation to cut it out. Because of the nature of the tumour, it has to be this special consultant. He’s in a hospital up in London.’
‘But he’ll see her, right?’
Rob nodded. ‘Surgery, then depending on how much he can get out, might be radiotherapy as well. We’re going to need to find a place right near the hospital. It’s gonna take a few weeks.’
‘When?’
‘In the next couple of months.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s gonna cost. Rent up in London, no wages for a few weeks. More than I’ve got.’ He paused. ‘I’ve had an offer of some cash.’
‘That’s good . . .?’ said Kate, questioningly.