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
Later, when she’d picked Becky up from Iris’s and was putting her in the bath, she looked at her daughter’s soft hands, the baby fat almost disappeared, as she poured water from an old plastic cup over her head to ‘make a waterfall’ and knew she’d never ever desert her, no matter what she did. She didn’t need her parents, nor a useless boyfriend – all she needed was Becky.
SEVENTEEN
2018
Tim met her at Victoria station and they walked hand in hand towards Belgravia.
‘I got to both the other houses on the list,’ said Kate. ‘Met with Sunita and Ben Jones, who have two small children. She’s had breast cancer but is clear now. Then at the last address I met another lady – Beryl Hart.’
‘She OK?’ asked Tim.
‘Perfectly fine.’
‘Thank God!’
‘But her husband died last year. Yes,’ she said, before he could ask, ‘from cancer.’
‘Flipping heck! All those people in one village? Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?’
‘I know. I looked up the population. It’s only just a thousand.’
‘So, what . . . is the water poisoned or something?’
Kate shook her head, flummoxed. ‘Can’t be.’
‘And do they all know? About each other?’
‘I don’t think so, not the full picture, anyway. Some are aware of one or two ill people but seem to think it’s a coincidence. They’re just caught up in their own lives, trying to get well. Trying to keep things juggling. More than one have had to give up jobs because of illness, or because they need to look after their sick children. I just have this feeling . . . I don’t think Becky was doing an article on what it was like to move from the big smoke to the country. Or at least, not the idyllic version of rural life as we were led to believe.’ She looked up. ‘We’re here.’
They’d made it to the restaurant Greg had picked out. It was quietly expensive: waves of smooth taupe linen, soft lighting, exquisite wooden picture carvings of rice paddies on the walls.
‘Oh, God, you didn’t tell me it was oriental,’ said Tim quietly as they followed the maître d’ to the table.
‘Is that a problem?’ whispered Kate. ‘Do you not like the food?’
‘It’s not the food, it’s the chopsticks. I can’t use them.’
‘So? Ask for a fork.’
‘I’ll look like a right wally.’
‘No one will mind.’
‘I’m not showing you up.’
‘Kate!’ exclaimed Greg, getting up from his chair as they approached. He clasped her hand warmly and then turned to Tim. Kate introduced them.
‘Delighted to meet you,’ said Greg, shaking Tim’s hand.
As they sat down, Greg tapped the wine menu. ‘Do both of you like champagne? I thought it would be nice to have a toast, a moment to mark what Kate has achieved.’
Kate had never actually tried champagne, not the real stuff, and she suspected this restaurant only did the real stuff. She thought it probably wasn’t something Tim would drink often either but they both nodded, and Greg leaned back and raised a finger towards the bartender, who seemed to automatically know exactly what he wanted as, very soon afterwards, a silver ice bucket on a stand was brought over and a cork was popped.