papery, her grip tightening as if that alone could stop Mrs Wilson’s relentless withdrawal from life. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, you already have.’
There was the merest hint of a curve to Mrs Wilson’s mouth which Rachel took to be a smile. Taking a step back, Rachel waited for the old lady to fasten the buttons on her dress. She had to accept that Mrs Wilson was in control of her own destiny and she willed her to make the right choice.
‘I suppose I could take a look at that rose garden you’ve been droning on about,’ Mrs Wilson said.
After being dropped off at Hope’s school, Rachel could hear an audible groan as Martin’s ancient Volvo turned the corner. When the car had disappeared out of sight, she felt her heart tug a little but then smiled. At some point in the last month their dreams had been transformed into an actual plan – perhaps not the definite, written-in-stone kind – but one that inexorably linked their lives together and that had been made apparent today when, without thinking, Martin had said, ‘when we’re married …’ They had both blushed and pretended not to notice but his words still rang in her ears like the peal of a church bell. Her smile broadened as she stepped through the school gates. It might be clichéd but she really did feel as if she was walking on air.
There were of course some major obstacles to overcome before their lives could be merged and their future assured. She still only got to see Martin for a snatched hour at the end of her shift and then one blissful night together each week. This week she had found a bright pink toothbrush waiting for her in his bathroom and a new red silk nightdress and dressing gown hanging on the bedroom door. It was certainly progress, but more dramatic changes were required and that notion filled her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation in equal measure.
Hope didn’t yet understand why her Mummy had changed her routine and had continued to complain, but in spite of the inevitable challenges Rachel’s new relationship would bring, they were heavily outweighed by the positives: that feeling of walking on air for one.
The school bell had already sounded by the time Rachel reached the playground but she didn’t panic. She had her routine planned to perfection and arrived in time to see the side door open and Hope’s teacher step out, eager to hand her excitable charges back to their parents. As she joined the throng, a couple of other mums smiled and Rachel did her best to pretend the grin on her face had been directed at them all along. Half a dozen children, laden with lunchboxes, school bags and precious works of art, were discharged before Mrs Carnegie looked over to Rachel. Rather than call Hope to the door, the teacher beckoned Rachel over. Like a naughty schoolgirl, she dropped her head as she approached, her cheeks flushed with guilt although she didn’t know what for.
‘Hope needed a little quiet time today,’ the teacher began in a hushed tone so they wouldn’t be overheard.
‘Oh,’ Rachel said in dismay. Hope had never been in trouble at school before but it was clear by the way Mrs Carnegie emphasised the words that ‘quiet time’ wasn’t a good thing.
‘Hopefully it was just a storm in a teacup, but she did become quite upset.’
‘I’ll have a word with her,’ Rachel said as, on cue, a small face peered around the door. Hope’s long lashes brushed against her cheeks as she fluttered her eyes at her mother. She was the picture of innocence but Rachel didn’t doubt for a moment that her daughter had heard the exchange between teacher and parent.
As they began the short walk home, Hope slipped her small hand into Rachel’s and began to skip.
‘So,’ Rachel said, ‘what have you been up to today?’
‘Michael Jones threw up after lunch. He went blurgh, all over the floor,’ Hope said dramatically, ‘and splashed Tasha’s shoes. It was disgusting!’
‘It sounds it.’
‘What are we having for tea? Can we have fish fingers and chips please, Mummy?’
‘I was going to make Spaghetti Bolognese as a surprise for Nana. It’s her favourite,’ Rachel said. She wanted to have a serious talk with her mum and although pasta wasn’t going to make what she had to say more palatable, it was worth a try.
‘Fish fingers are her favourite too,’ Hope told her helpfully.
The little girl was looking to her mum for a response but Rachel was momentarily distracted by the battered Volvo parked at the top of the road.
‘Martin?’ Rachel said, greeting him as if they were practical strangers.
He smiled softly and winked at her. ‘Fancy meeting you here. I was just on the phone to one of my clients,’ he said waving his mobile at her. ‘He was wondering where I’ve been for the last couple of hours when I was scheduled to be on site.’
‘Oh,’ she said, still none the wiser. Martin hadn’t objected to holding off from meeting her daughter until they were both sure of their feelings for each other, so she was at a loss to explain why he would contrive a meeting and there was no doubt in her mind it was contrived. Had his slip up today made him think again? Was he eager to meet the girl who might one day become his step-daughter? While those thoughts only fuelled Rachel’s excitement about the future, she needed more time to prepare Hope for a proper introduction. If Martin wanted a glimpse at the family he might one day inherit, it was going to be just that.
Hope pulled at Rachel’s hand as she stared at the man with neatly trimmed dark hair and hazel eyes which hadn’t left her mum’s face. ‘Sorry,’ Rachel said, ‘this is my daughter, Hope. Hope, say hello to Martin.’
‘Hello,’ she mumbled with another tug at her mum’s hand.
‘Hello, Hope. It’s nice to meet you. Have you had a good day at school?’
Hope shrugged.
‘What’s your teacher’s name?’
The little girl mumbled, ‘Mrs Carnegie,’ before turning to Rachel. ‘Can we go now, Mummy?’
‘In a minute,’ Rachel said a little too brightly. She was standing stock still, trying to disguise the fact that her daughter was dragging on her arm.
She had known Martin’s people skills weren’t the best but it looked as if children would be a new challenge entirely. He appeared even more nervous than Hope. ‘What’s your favourite subject?’ he tried again. ‘Mine was chemistry.’
Silence.
Rachel gave Martin a smile of encouragement which he latched onto like a life buoy. ‘I suppose I’d better get going but I’ll see you again soon. Both of you,’ he added, more as an afterthought.
After watching Martin’s car recede into the distance for the second time that day, Rachel no longer felt as if she was walking on air but wading through a mire.
‘You shouldn’t talk to strangers,’ Hope said.
‘Martin isn’t a stranger, sweetheart. He’s a very nice man.’
‘Nope,’ the little girl corrected, ‘he’s a bad man.’
‘Hope,
