there are plenty of positives. The hours I work fit around taking care of my daughter and I get to meet lots of interesting people like you. In fact, getting to hear people’s life stories is the part of the job I love most.’
Mrs Wilson had fallen silent and when Rachel turned back to her, she was nose deep in her book again. Undeterred, Rachel carried on talking as she unpacked the suitcase. ‘It’s not something I plan on doing forever though. All my friends, the ones who weren’t daft enough to get pregnant at eighteen, are busily working their way up the career ladder, reminding me where I should be. But Hope is six now so I’m starting to think it’s time to play catch-up. I’m planning on going back to finish off my education if I can. That’s certainly what my boyfriend wants me to do.’
Rachel had to stop what she was doing as her stomach did a somersault. She and Martin had been dreaming up all kinds of plans but it was the first time she had mentioned them to anyone else. They had known each other for over a year now but had only been dating for three months and as yet he remained a distinct and separate part of her life. At home she was a single mum who worked part-time to make ends meet, living with her own mum who knew better than most how to bring up a child on your own. But for those few snatched hours when she could get away, she was a young woman with ambition, on the arm of a man who believed in her. Those two worlds had yet to collide.
‘I actually met Martin here at Sunny Days,’ she explained. ‘He came here regularly to visit his mum but she was very ill by then. He read to her a lot but they couldn’t hold a conversation so he started to talk to me.’
Martin’s mum had early onset Alzheimer’s and he had looked after her at home for as long as he could. When Rachel met him, he had seemed lost and lonely so of course she had reached out to him, and that was when he had sneaked into her heart. She hadn’t been looking for a boyfriend, quite the opposite, in fact. Hope’s dad Nick had been the first to break her heart, deserting her before the baby was even born; then, a couple of years ago, she had become engaged to Dan. When that relationship failed, it wasn’t only Rachel who had been devastated but Hope too. So she had resigned herself to a single life until Martin had come along to remind her that she wanted so much more than that. She would just have to tread very carefully this time, although the fantasy world they were concocting between them was already making her head spin.
‘I can’t imagine him being able to get a word in edgeways with you,’ Mrs Wilson said.
Rachel smiled. Martin was quite introverted and shy and at first she had indeed overpowered the conversation. Some people thought him aloof but once Rachel had broken through his protective shell, he had opened up to her and she to him.
‘I’m a good listener too,’ she said, and with perfect timing took out a framed picture from the suitcase. ‘Is this your family?’
The photograph looked as if it had been taken in the late fifties. The only wrinkles on the woman’s face were laughter lines, but her eyes, though brighter and less jaded, were unmistakeable. A young Mrs Wilson was holding hands with a young boy with golden locks who appeared to be about the same age as Hope. Behind them stood a man, his arm at home around the woman’s waist and his smile a replica of the boy’s.
Watching from her bed, Mrs Wilson’s features softened but her voice caught when she said, ‘Put it on the windowsill for me please.’
Before Rachel could ask any more, there was a knock at the door and Carol popped her head around.
‘Is everything all right so far, Mrs Wilson?’ she asked.
Mrs Wilson’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s what I expected.’
‘There’s a craft workshop this morning starting at ten thirty. Rachel can help you down to the main reception room if you’re interested.’
The smile was tight on Mrs Wilson’s face making her words pinched. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘OK, maybe once you’ve settled in,’ Carol conceded, and then looked over to Rachel, her eyebrows raised. At first, Rachel thought she was giving her the challenge to get Mrs Wilson out of her room but there was something else on her mind. ‘A very large bouquet of flowers has arrived in reception for you. I wonder who they might be from.’
The glow from Rachel’s cheeks was enough to stop Mrs Wilson returning to her book once Carol had left them in peace. ‘The flowers will be from Martin,’ Rachel said. ‘We have a date tonight and I’ll be staying over for the first time so he’s obviously out to impress.’
‘He’s not your daughter’s father then?’
‘No, Nick’s long gone. To cut a long story short, we started dating at sixth form and I became pregnant soon after. I gave up my studies but Nick had plans for the future and for a while I was part of them. But he did so well at his A levels that he won a scholarship in engineering which took him to America. He left before Hope was born and didn’t look back.’
‘I don’t suppose any of us can guarantee a happy ending,’ Mrs Wilson said as she stared at the photograph silhouetted against the sunshine streaming through the window.
Rachel’s laugh was hollow. ‘I can agree with that. My last relationship didn’t end well either so I want to be absolutely sure I’m making the right decision this time and not only for me but for Hope too. She hasn’t even met Martin yet but I think … I have to believe that Martin will stay the distance,’ she added as her stomach flipped for the second time.
‘You don’t sound so sure.’
‘Like you said, none of us can guarantee a happy ending,’ she said as she tried to silence the self-doubt. ‘Now, what about this?’ She was holding up a calendar that had been at the bottom of what was now an empty suitcase. ‘There are a few spare screws dotted around the walls if you’d like me to hang it up.’
Mrs Wilson turned her head away as if she couldn’t bear to look at the calendar, and yet she pointed to the wall immediately opposite. ‘Could you put it up there, please?’
When Rachel went to hang it, she noticed it was open at September with a beautiful scene of a country lane covered in fallen leaves. She was about to turn the pages back to June but Mrs Wilson stopped her.
‘No, keep it where it is,’ she told her.
‘It must be an important date,’ Rachel said as her finger rested on a circle that had been scratched around Sunday 8 September in red ink. ‘Something you’re looking forward?’
‘Resigning myself to, more like. Now, if you don’t mind,’ Mrs Wilson said, picking up her book again.
Unable to think of an excuse to stay and with a long list of other duties ahead of her, Rachel reluctantly left Mrs Wilson in peace. As she reached the door she glanced back and caught the old lady staring, not at the pages of her book, but at the wall opposite. She had a look on her face that gave Rachel a shudder.
Mrs Wilson’s eyes didn’t flicker, her attention held captive by the calendar – and yet from nowhere she asked, ‘What’s your favourite colour?’
The question ought to have surprised Rachel, but she had heard from other staff during the changeover that they had all been asked the same thing. So far, no one had managed to give the old lady a satisfactory answer but Rachel was willing to give it a try. Looking over towards the autumnal landscape she considered a lie but then swept her hand across the starched material of her tunic. ‘I should have mentioned that the other
