Chapters (55)
- Cover
- ANNA WHARTON
- Dedication page
- 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
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Praise
- THE IMPOSTER
On the way back to the kitchen, Maureen stops to show Chloe into the living room at the back of the house. Patrick is sitting on a squashy grey leather recliner that looks out of patio doors, watching the horse racing on the TV. They have a big teak sideboard, not too dissimilar to Nan’s, and settled within it – the reason Chloe is here – that framed photograph of Angie. She fails to suppress a gasp, but luckily Maureen doesn’t hear her above the sound of the TV. She’s busy pointing out something in the garden to Patrick, a bird she’s seen, perhaps. She tells him to turn the TV down. Chloe can’t take her eyes off the photograph, or maybe it’s the other way round – as if Angie is the one watching her.
Chloe shuffles uncomfortably under her gaze. Not that Maureen notices. She carries on talking, oblivious. When she glances back Chloe makes sure she nods and smiles, her eyes constantly flickering back to Angie up there on the sideboard in her navy pinafore and her bunches. Would it be too much of a giveaway to ask about her? Will she get another chance to be this close to the Kyles again?
‘She’s pretty,’ Chloe says. Unable to resist.
Maureen smiles up at the picture, her voices softens. ‘Yes, our Angie.’
Chloe waits for something more, not daring to ask. But that’s it. Nothing more. The words hang there in the air between them. She decides not to press it. Instead she scans the rest of the room: a crossword book on the pouffe, a gold carriage clock on the sideboard, a plate painted with a wintery scene on the wall. Maureen and Patrick must only be in their fifties, yet this room, this house, feels so old-fashioned. It’s like they’re stuck in a time warp. As if not having a child grow up in their home has aged them prematurely.
‘Chloe likes the room, Pat,’ Maureen says. ‘But she’s got a few other places to see.’
‘Right,’ he says, not looking up from the telly.
Maureen turns to Chloe.
‘Don’t mind him, he’s not used to a lot of change.’
The two women go back into the kitchen. The garden is bathed with sunlight now. Maureen looks at her washing and tuts. ‘S’pose I could chance putting it out again.’
‘Would you like a hand?’ Chloe says. ‘I really wouldn’t mind.’
Maureen stares at her a moment. Was that too much?
‘Thanks, Chloe, but you must have so much you’ve got to get on with.’
‘Honestly,’ she says, ‘it’s no bother. In fact, I’d like to.’