rinse.’ Helen took the showerhead and allowed the warm water to do its job. ‘Bloody hell! When did you last have your roots done?’ she mocked affectionately.
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Well, that’s tomorrow sorted then. We’re going to get ourselves pampered.’
Lying in bed that night, Penny listened to the house gently settling around her. She heard Simon see Helen out of the front door, thanking her again. She turned and looked at the bunch of Christmas roses and winter honeysuckle in the blue jug on her windowsill. Helen had put them there, knowing that they were her favourites. Old friends and family … She closed her eyes and felt so grateful. Tonight she could have been in a mortuary, but instead she was in her own bed, surrounded by her true family and the scent of honeysuckle.
At her parents’ house she could remember the breakfast table always had a cut-glass vase of fresh flowers perfectly in the centre, but with the atmosphere crackling with barbed comments from her mother and patient responses from her father. She would always arrive late for school having been hurried and harried and, more often than not, having forgotten some vital piece of homework or kit in the flurry. Life was chaotic and loud and tense.
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