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
‘Mine’s called Lucky,’ said Arnie, spontaneously hugging it. ‘Like me,’ he added, ‘because I’ve got my own pet!’ He held out his hand. ‘Here, Lucky!’
Kate looked at the small six-year-old boy who’d be going into hospital again in a few days’ time and wished with all her heart that he would indeed be lucky.
THIRTY-NINE
Wednesday, 22 February 2017 – two days before the accident
Try as she might, she just couldn’t focus on her work. Which was bad, because her interview was in only a couple of days’ time, but Becky found her gaze wandered around the office, her mind distracted by the fact she’d called Adam to apologize three times and not once had she got through, nor had he called back.
The first time had been later on Valentine’s night itself. She’d come home to an empty house and called Adam while she made cheese on toast in the kitchen, her mum’s enormous bunch of roses in a large vase on the table in front of her.
She fingered the soft petals as she waited for him to pick up, feeling her stomach twist when he didn’t.
‘Hi, Adam, it’s me, Becky. I haven’t behaved brilliantly and I’m sorry. I don’t want it to end like this so . . . please will you give me a call?’
She’d checked her phone all the next day but there had been nothing. No call, no text. She’d come home from work to find her mum completely loved up, she and Tim sending and receiving text messages like teenagers, her mum guffawing at some joke, which she’d shared with Becky. ‘Look! He thinks I look like a Hawaiian lady,’ she’d said, then held out her phone with a photo of the two of them both mysteriously garlanded with flowers over their winter coats and Becky had smiled indulgently.
When Kate had asked about Becky’s own date, Becky had been matter-of-fact: ‘Think I might have blown it, Mum.’ Kate had been so sympathetic and sorry that Becky had had to make out it was more of a mutual thing and both were fine about it. But she wasn’t fine. She wanted to see Adam again, as she really enjoyed his easy friendliness.
She tried him again the following evening and then at the weekend, when her mum was out with Tim – and staying over at his house (but only if Becky was OK with it). Becky had sent her off and contemplated a Saturday night alone, made all the more poignant by remembering she’d been having dinner with Adam only the week before.
Three messages were enough. He clearly wasn’t going to contact her again, and she would only humiliate herself by pursuing it. Instead she had to concentrate on her interview. She desperately wanted the job, but she knew that Piers was going to be very hard to beat.
Terence was conducting the interviews and Becky had agonized over whether or not to tell him about the herbicide story. Stories about illnesses and herbicides had appeared before but this one was different, she could sense it. She knew she was onto something, but a crucial element was missing, this she sensed too, and she wished with all her heart she’d not been so stupid with Adam.