Blink(15)

‘Toni, it’s me, love.’ Mum’s voice filled my ear. ‘Now, are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to come over? I really don’t mind.’

‘Honestly, Mum, thanks but we’re fine. Evie’s organising her toys as she wants them in her bedroom and I’m unpacking the last box downstairs now.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ She sounded disappointed and I felt a pinch of meanness at my throat.

‘Look, we’ll pop round to yours for a cuppa later, if you’re in?’

‘Lovely,’ Mum replied in a brighter tone. ‘I’ll put the kettle on around four then, if that suits you.’

‘Perfect, see you later.’

Mum was a massive part of our lives and I loved her to bits, but the move to Nottingham signified a fresh start for us on a number of fronts.

I wanted to look after my daughter and myself, regain some of the self-esteem that had chipped off like cheap nail varnish over the last two years.

Every time I thought about the money Mum had stumped up periodically to help us out, a hot flush crept up into my neck and face.

At thirty-five years old I needed to be able support myself and my daughter. I needed to find the person I used to be, the woman who had plans and goals, and who had built a successful career, juggling all the usual responsibilities – a husband, a home and a child.

It wasn’t such a big ask, was it?

Losing Andrew had been a sucker punch to my very core. I knew part of me would never recover, no matter how much time elapsed. No matter what the future held.

Still, I couldn’t help thinking that it could have been so very much worse. Evie was young, she would bounce back. I would never let her forget her daddy, of course not, but she deserved the freedom to live her life without sadness and pain.

It wasn’t too late for me to give Evie that gift.

I knew the little brown bottle was leading me in the opposite direction to that. Rebuilding our lives, I couldn’t afford to keep taking the easy way out.

But as with a lot of things in life, it was far easier to make the observation than it was to actually do anything about it.

The brown bottle had so far stopped me dealing with the grief and pain of losing Andrew. It had delayed it until, I told myself, I was in a more stable place to deal with it.

Mum was another crutch I knew I had to wean myself from overusing. It wasn’t fair on her, for one thing. I knew she constantly worried about Evie and I, and that she felt obliged to help out in ways she shouldn’t have to do.

I thought again about the property agency job and a swell of hope rose inside me. It was the closing date tomorrow, so if I wanted to go ahead, I had to make certain to get my application completed and submitted in good time.

Mum’s free childcare was an integral part of me working and I couldn’t really get away from that fact, but I’d noticed that Evie’s behaviour had worsened since she’d been spending more time with her nanny. Discipline was a word Mum didn’t understand when it came to her beloved granddaughter, although she’d never had a problem being strict when I was growing up at home.

Dad had been the soft one, always getting himself into trouble with Mum for winking at me when she was telling me off, or sneaking snacks and comics up to my room when I’d been banished upstairs for insolence or something similar.

But we lost Dad after the second heart attack and Mum became even stricter then.

‘It’s for your own good, Toni,’ she’d lecture me when I complained about having to get a paper round for pocket money, or keep my bedroom ridiculously tidy compared to the state of all my teenage friends’ rooms. ‘I want you to have a good life, be financially independent and not struggle like I’m doing, now your dad’s gone.’

I sighed and walked into the lounge to get the last of the toiletries out of the box. How utterly ironic I’d ended up just the opposite of Mum’s vision for me.

But not for much longer, I promised myself.

I was going to make this new start count. And an undeniably important first step in my plan was to get myself a job.





14





Three Years Earlier





Toni





Mum had Evie over at her house for a couple of hours on Friday morning, so I took the opportunity to finish my job application.

By lunchtime I’d emailed it off, together with the required covering letter.

I made a cheese sandwich and ate it while I watched the news headlines. I heard the letterbox snap, mail falling on the mat. After I’d eaten my lunch I popped into the hall and scooped up the small pile of post, taking it through to the living room. The usual combination of glossy pizza delivery and double-glazing leaflets nestled amongst utility letters addressed to ‘The New Tenant/Owner’.

I spotted a thicker letter than the other items, handwritten. My curiosity was piqued right away. I tore open the pretty lilac envelope to find a ‘New Home’ card and a letter from my old friend Tara Bowen, whose husband, Rob, had died instantly in the accident with Andrew.

I sat down on the couch and read the letter. It was printed and only took up half an A4 sheet, so it didn’t take me very long, but when I’d finished it, my eyes were prickling.

Predictably, Tara was only interested in how Evie and I were doing and how we shouldn’t lose contact as friends. She’d always been a very selfless person, doing lots of voluntary work for animal charities on her weekends, even though she’d worked full-time as a veterinary nurse before her life was steamrollered flat, in the same way ours had been.