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
He quickly smiled, reassured her. ‘Don’t be daft. I’m here to look after you.’
She woke the next morning feeling spent. Looking over at Tim, she saw he was already awake and was lying silently, staring at the crack in the curtains where the autumn sunlight was streaming through. She put a hand on his arm and he turned. He looked tired and she tried to remember who had fallen asleep first the night before.
‘Morning,’ he said.
She kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then she got up to go to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror over the sink, she saw that her once-few grey hairs now covered nearly half her head. Lines were etched around her eyes. Shadows fell under them. Something was missing. She tried smiling but the muscle movement in her face felt alien, so she dropped it.
She came out of the shower to find Tim had left the bed. Also, his clothes weren’t where he usually put them, folded neatly on the floor on his side, his ‘floordrobe’ as he called it, and for a moment she panicked that he’d got dressed and was downstairs wanting to go home, but then she could hear him, making breakfast. She could smell bacon. He must be ‘helping me get my strength’, she thought with a pang. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she would stay over at his flat and he’d lie in bed, enjoying watching her put her clothes on. They’d only been dating a few weeks before all this had happened. She was aware that it probably wasn’t what Tim had signed up for.
She wasn’t much in the mood for eating, and took her time getting dressed. She pulled on underwear and a T-shirt and that was about as far as her energy could take her. She sat heavily on the bed and wondered if the pain would ever go away.
Everyone else from the inquest had probably woken up that morning thinking of new things, something different. Now the inquest was over, the driver had dealt with the last of his inconveniences and could just get on with his life. Becky had been tidied away, the process had been processed and she knew she would never recover from it. It sickened her that no one had done anything, no one had changed anything, no one had taken responsibility. They had all just hidden behind the word ‘accident’. Her head fell into her hands. The rules were wrong. There would have been a way for the driver to have seen Becky. There had to be. This happened far too often in London. Why hadn’t the lorry had the right mirrors? she lamented. Why hadn’t the lorry had the right mirrors? It seemed so simple. And if it weren’t that, it would be something else simple. Simple compared to the way she was feeling. She held her head, folded over onto her knees and wondered how long she could stay there.
It came to her so suddenly she launched herself upright. She nearly fell, had to grab the end of the bed while the dizziness passed. Then she heard Tim calling. Maybe she would have that bacon sandwich. She pulled on some jeans and made her way to the kitchen. He smiled when he saw her and switched the kettle on. ‘Right, your tea is coming up. And I hope you’re hungry . . .’