the house.
As much as Ellie wanted to be wrapped in the comfort of her own family, for the moment, she had kept the truth from them, having asked the Danvers to do the same. Still great friends with the Laings, they had been reluctant, but agreed to Ellie’s wishes not to worry them, understanding her reasons.
Andrew Laing’s blood pressure had always been fairly high. A career that he found both stressful and rewarding had only contributed to a genetic propensity to readings higher than was ideal. He’d been making changes and things had appeared to be going in the right direction but on a visit about eight months ago, Ellie had found her father looking grey and her mother looking worried. He’d laughed it off, saying that it was fine, his attention more focused on the bruise on his daughter’s temple, something she had explained away as a tennis injury from a friend’s wayward racket. Thankfully, they’d accepted it. She had wanted to tell them everything – how much Carl had changed since they’d moved in together and how she wasn’t sure what to do now, that he’d promised it would never happen again, and had surrounded her with attention and gifts since it had happened – but couldn’t. She’d always valued her parents’ opinions but looking at them both that day, she knew she couldn’t ask them about it. Not right then. They clearly had enough to worry about. As Carl’s behaviour got worse, so had her father’s health and she’d had to time her visits to when any bruises she had were out of sight.
Six months ago, she’d been woken with a call from her mother who, in an eerily calm manner, had told her that they were at the hospital and that her dad had suffered a massive heart attack. Her mum’s calm manner had frightened Ellie more than any hysterical crying could have done. It was almost as though she had already accepted something that her daughter just wasn’t prepared to. She couldn’t even remember the drive that day and had ended up with a fine in the car park as her mind had been on her dad rather than feeding a meter.
Andrew Laing’s heart had stopped once in the ambulance as they raced to the hospital, but the paramedics had managed to resuscitate him, his distraught wife watching on. Having been informed at the nurse’s station that her dad was still in surgery, Ellie had run to the waiting room and found her mum, and together they had just sat. And waited. Several hours later, the surgeon had come to them, his face unreadable. Ellie’s mum’s brave façade had crumbled before he’d even opened his mouth. When he told them that her husband was stable but critical, having once more arrested on the operating table, Ellie thought her mum’s heart would break from sobbing. She’d held her as tightly as she could, almost as if by holding her so close she could keep her, and perhaps both of them, from falling apart.
She’d finally persuaded her mum to get a little rest but not until she’d been allowed to see her husband, just for a few moments. The medical team understood that she’d needed that moment, that reassurance that the man she loved was still here, at least for now and hopefully for a lot longer yet. After, Ellie had sat there holding her mother’s hand as her head lay in her lap, a reversal of roles for the night.
Thankfully her dad had fought for his life and it had been the catalyst for her parents changing their lifestyle in a more dramatic way. They sold the large house in Surrey they’d lived in since returning home to England, cut down on their social commitments and found a small, but beautiful cottage in a tiny village down by the sea in Cornwall. It had recently been renovated to a very high standard so there was nothing to be done but relax and enjoy the life that had been spared. It had been a huge scare for all of them and, however much he told his wife and daughter that they were fussing, Ellie knew her dad had been scared too. The ease with which he’d agreed to her mum’s plan of cultivating a much quieter life proved that. The change had been good for them and Ellie had no intention of putting any undue stress their way. She would tell them, in time. And she knew they’d be upset with her for not telling them – but she also knew they’d understand.
‘Ellie, darlin,’ Molly said, pushing the auburn curls back from the forehead. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she whispered, pulling the young woman to her.
‘Mind her ribs, Mama,’ Sandy warned, her own voice thick with emotion. Molly wrapped an arm around each of them and together they walked back to the house.
‘Thanks for letting me stay here.’
‘Don’t be silly, honey. Of course you’d stay here.’
Ted Danvers studied Ellie’s face as she walked up the steps. Leaning down, he kissed the unbruised cheek as he gently hugged her.
‘You’ll be alright now.’
Ellie nodded. He was right. She would.
‘Right!’ Molly said, discreetly wiping her eye. ‘Let’s get you people something to eat.’ With that, she chivvied them all inside and Ellie was soon wrapped up in the warmth and love of the Danvers’ family home.
*
A few days later, Ellie and Sandy were preparing dinner together in the kitchen, with the aid of a bottle of wine, when they heard a key in the front door. Ted and Molly had gone out earlier and weren’t due back for a while yet, so grabbing another quick sip of wine, Sandy went to investigate. In the hall, she met Ben and his wife Cyndi slipping off their coats.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her tone wary.
Ben pulled a face at his sister’s unusually reserved greeting. ‘Nice to see you too, kid.’
Sandy shifted her weight, before throwing a quick glance back towards the kitchen. When she didn’t offer any further explanation for her lack of enthusiasm, Ben continued.
‘We were just passing through. Thought we’d stop and say hi.’ He bent and kissed her on the cheek, ‘And see what’s for dinner, obviously.’ He grinned and Sandy smiled back. Ben’s smile tended to make people do that – it was infectious. Plus, she loved the fact that, despite everything, he didn’t change. His mum’s cooking was still the best in his eyes. She noticed Cyndi standing serenely behind her husband, running a hand over her already perfect hair. Of course, Sandy pondered, he probably didn’t have a lot to compare it to, excepting his own. From what she gathered, his wife was not a natural in the kitchen. And by ‘not a natural’, she meant ‘had never cooked in her life and had no intention of starting now’.
Cyndi had apparently tried insisting on a cook and while Ben had always attempted to do whatever made his wife happy, he’d remained firm on that subject. The thought of someone else being in the house most of the day made him feel uncomfortable. He’d explained to Sandy as he had tried explaining it to his wife, that if he was writing and fancied a sandwich he wanted to be able to pad in and make himself one without feeling like he was in the way in his own home. While Sandy understood, Cyndi had merely pointed out that he would just be able to ask the cook to make him one, completely missing his point. He’d given up trying to explain but had insisted on no cook. If she wanted one when he was away and she remained behind – not that she ever tended to – then that was fine with him. But until then, either he’d cook or they’d get take out. Or see what his mom had in the oven.
‘Hey, Cyndi.’
‘Hello.’ Cyndi gave the briefest of smiles as she stepped towards Sandy and did two air kisses. It was her latest habit. Oh man!
‘Um, Ben.’ Sandy began as she finished mentally rolling her eyes and took Cyndi’s beautiful and very expensive coat. ‘Ellie’s staying for a few days.’
‘Really? That’s great! I didn’t know she was coming over. I haven’t seen her in years!’ Ben cast his mind back, trying to remember when he’d last seen her, and couldn’t, although he
