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Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Dawn Goodwin
  3. WHAT I NEVER TOLD YOU
  4. Copyright
  5. Contents
  6. Dedication
  7. Prologue
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. Acknowledgements
  55. About the Author
  56. An Invitation from the Publisher

When I emerge from the loo, I stand in the doorway for a moment and watch them. Her mother is telling her father something, her hands animated and her smile wide. He is listening to her with intensity, then he reaches out a hand, pale against her dark skin, and touches her face with affection. Tracey’s little brother says something then and they all look at him and laugh. He has a yellow ribbon in his hand and points to Tracey’s hair, which is pulled into a low ponytail again. She leans over and he ties the yellow ribbon around her hair in a big bow.

Tracey beams at him and he claps his hands in delight.

As she straightens up, she notices me standing in the doorway and says, “Great! The skirt fits!”

“Yes, thanks. Nice ribbon.”

“Yellow is his favourite colour and he wants me to wear it in my hair today.” She is unapologetic about it, about him.

“Excellent,” her father says. “It looks amazing, Alistair. Right, let’s get going then as I have to get back for a delivery.”

“Helen, you are welcome any time to come and visit,” her mother says as we file out of the house. “Come for tea one day after school – I’m sure Tracey would love it if you could. I make a mean chicken curry.” I smile politely back at her.

I pile into the back seat of the Land Rover. Tracey sits in between me and Alistair, who is watching me with curiosity. I don’t want to stare at him, with his open face and big brown eyes, so I look out of the window instead and see her mother waving us off enthusiastically. My dirty school skirt is tucked into my school bag at my feet and suddenly I’m really pleased I ended up in the mud.

The engine starts up simultaneously with the radio, and Tracey and her dad start singing along to the song playing. By the time we pull up to school, we are all singing and laughing, my earlier dark mood and argument with my own father a distant memory.

11

NOW

“I’m just not feeling it yet, Hels,” Sharon said.

Helen rubbed at her forehead. The headache that she thought had dispersed this morning was back with an insistent vengeance. She had headed home from the bookshop soon after her assistant, Jenni, had arrived for her afternoon shift. Jenni covered the shop for Helen a few afternoons a week and on Saturdays so that Helen could write. The village was still small enough that during the winter it was closed on Sundays.