than the second year.’ She forced a smile. ‘Family problems.’
‘Well, that’s a great shame.’ Mrs Forbes gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You could always go back to it, you know. It’s never too late to start again.’
That, Selena thought, is what I keep telling myself. Maybe it’s time I believed it.
‘One day, perhaps,’ she said. ‘I mean, I’d love to, but right now I have—other priorities.’
‘Well, do bear it in mind for the future.’ Mrs Forbes got to her feet, collecting her bags. ‘I hate to see talent wasted.’ She patted Selena on the shoulder. ‘Maybe when your family problems are behind you.’
Except, thought Selena, watching her go, you don’t know the half of them. And I can never tell you, or anyone else, what happened two years ago.
Or that I’m still struggling with the aftermath.
SHE SUPPOSED SHE ought to move. Go back to the store and buy some of the clothes she’d seen. The absolute minimum would do and was all she could afford anyway.
But being accustomed to living on not much could stand her in good stead if her life changed in the way she hoped.
Not ‘if’, she told herself, but ‘when’.
And in celebration, she recklessly ordered another iced coffee.
How strange, she thought, when she’d been watching Janet Forbes so closely, admiring her classroom technique, her patience and ability to engage the children, and keep them interested and focussed, that, all the time, Mrs Forbes had been watching her. Deciding to encourage her into teaching.
Not blackmail her into it.
She’d been sixteen, quietly delighted with her GCSE results when Aunt Nora had dropped her bombshell. Informed her that all her university expenses would be paid as long as she, and eventually Millie, too, agreed to teach at Meade House after graduation.
Otherwise, Selena could forget the Sixth Form and college, leave her comprehensive school and find a job.
‘I had to settle your late parents’ debts as well as bearing the costs of your upbringing,’ her aunt had stated coldly. ‘I expect to be repaid, Selena. And Amelia, of course, will have to do the same.’
She paused, allowing that to sink in. ‘And kindly stop looking as if your death sentence had just been pronounced. At Meade House, you and your sister will be guaranteed a continuing home, careers and security. A little gratitude would not come amiss.’
How am I supposed to look, Selena had wondered, when every plan—every dream I had of getting away from Haylesford and being my own person—has been virtually knocked on the head?
For a moment, she’d been prepared to say To hell with it and take the risk, but she knew that she could not make choices that would also affect the future of fourteen-year-old Millie. That was neither right nor fair.
And once her agreement had been obtained, however unwilling, there had been a perceptible easing of Aunt Nora’s strict regime, leading eventually, inevitably to Millie being permitted her Greek holiday with her friends.
Selena had found a vacation job in a cafe, one which turned out to be short-lived because one showery July day her aunt slipped and fell in her garden and ended up in hospital with a broken leg.
Aunt Nora, ensconced in a comfortable private room, received her sourly. ‘They won’t allow me to go home until I’ve mastered using these crutches.’ She gestured disdainfully to where they stood, propped against the wall. ‘But even with them, I’m going to require help, and Amelia, of course, is leaving for Greece in ten days’ time.’
Lucky Millie, Selena thought grimly.
As she’d suspected ‘patient’ was hardly the word to describe her aunt, who kept her on the run from first thing in the morning until last thing at night, with the help of the little handbell she kept beside her at all times.
In addition, Millie had fussed endlessly over her packing, claiming exclusive access to the washing machine and ironing board, and providing Aunt Nora with another excuse to grumble.
It was almost a relief when Mrs Raymond arrived with Daisy and Fiona to drive them all to the airport.
One less problem to handle, Selena thought, as she closed the front door.
‘Dr Bishop says I shall need physiotherapy when the plaster is eventually removed,’ her aunt announced the following week. ‘He has given me a list of reliable practitioners who pay private visits.’
‘Isn’t it available on the National Health Service?’ asked Selena.
‘Not to the extent that I shall require,’ Aunt Nora said coldly. ‘Dr Bishop says it was such a serious fracture that I shall probably have to learn to walk all over again.’
Selena thought drily that Dr Bishop, rightly nicknamed Old Smoothie by Millie, excelled at telling her aunt exactly what she wanted to hear, and hoped the physio would have more sense.
And, talking of Millie, apart from an initial text announcing that Rhymnos was great, they’d heard nothing from her.
Still, she decided, philosophically, the parents of Daisy and Fiona were probably in the same boat, and, anyway, wasn’t no news supposed to be good news?
She’d been into town the afternoon the girls were due back, taking a list of her aunt’s requests to the public library. She expected Millie to have arrived when she got back, yet there was no clutter of luggage in the hall.
The flight must have been delayed, she thought, then heard her aunt calling her, her voice high and angry, and found her sitting upright, two bright spots of colour in her cheeks emphasising her unusual pallor.
She checked, the terrible memory of her parents’ accident striking at her, making her feel sick to her stomach with fright. ‘Has—has something happened?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Her aunt’s voice shook with fury. ‘Your sister, it seems, has involved herself with some local yob on that island and decided to stay there—to set up house with him. Apparently she’d gone from her hotel room this morning with all her things. The other girls had to leave without her.
‘Well, I won’t have it. I will not allow her to disgrace me, to make me ridiculous in front of the whole town—a child of her age. However there’s nothing I can do about it, so you’ll have to go over there and bring her back.’ She added ominously, ‘Before too much harm is done.’
Selena sank down on the nearest chair. Typical, she thought bitterly, that her aunt should see the situation in terms of personal disgrace rather than the danger to Millie and the potential ruin of her future.
She said, ‘Who is the man? Do Daisy and Fiona know?’
‘It seems he’s the barman at the Hotel Olympia where they were staying. His name is Kostas.’ Aunt Nora pronounced the name with acute distaste then held out a piece of paper
