The Visitors(14)

Holly sighed inwardly but managed to raise a smile.

‘That’s right,’ she said, perching on the end of the sofa. ‘March 1966.’

‘I remember it as if it were yesterday…’ Cora’s eyes glazed over; she had immersed herself in the past so completely that the odd grunt and affirmative nod from Holly was all that was required to give the impression that she was listening.

She stared in fascination as Cora’s soft, drooping features grew steadily more animated, more alive.

Rather than feeling guilty, Holly felt this was what Cora wanted from her. Simply another human being to sit and witness her life lived so far. To listen without interruption whilst she brought her memories out to polish again.

It was heartening and understandable.

Holly began to relax a little, caught up in the rhythmic waves of sound as Cora told her story.

She closed her eyes, allowing a slight smile to play on her lips as if she were visualising the eighteenth-century church and the hand-made Nottingham lace that had trimmed nineteen-year-old Cora’s ivory wedding gown.

A rap at the back door made her sit up sharply, her eyes springing open.

Cora frowned slightly.

‘Who can that be?’ She glanced at the heavy wooden clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Too early for Mr Brown.’

Apparently Mr Brown only lived a couple of doors away. Holly recalled Cora telling her he’d been taking care of the heavier garden duties for the last few months.

‘Shall I see who it is?’

‘It’s all right, dear, I’ll go.’ Cora sighed and clambered awkwardly out of her chair.

Holly eased herself back down onto the sofa, her heart pounding at roughly twice its usual speed at the interruption.

What if it was…?

She shook her head to dispel the unhelpful thoughts. It was important to keep up with this more positive frame of mind; it was going to do her no good at all to fret over impossibilities. She was safe here.

She was safe, because nobody could possibly know of her whereabouts.

The back door opened and she relaxed as she recognised the bright tones of mutual greetings. The visitor was obviously someone Cora was pleased to see.

‘Come through, dear,’ Holly heard her say as the back door thudded shut. ‘It’s been far too long.’

‘Yes, it has, and I’m sorry about that,’ a woman said, her voice drawing closer. ‘I was going to pop round this week anyway, and then David said he’d seen a young woman – oh, hello!’

Holly guessed that the woman standing in front of her was in her early sixties. She had mid-brown hair that was shot through with grey at her temples, and her entire outfit also consisted of varying shades of brown.

‘This is Holly, my visitor,’ Cora said without hesitation. ‘She’s staying with me for a while. Holly, this is Pat. She lives next door.’

‘Hello.’ Holly stood up.

Pat reached cautiously for her outstretched hand as though she was about to pet a dog whose intentions were ambiguous.

‘Hello… Holly,’ she said softly. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. My son – David – he’s spotted you in the yard once or twice, so I thought I’d pop round and introduce myself.’

‘Oh, I haven’t seen anyone else in the other gardens,’ Holly remarked.

‘No, he saw you from upstairs.’ Pat’s cheeks flushed a little. ‘He… spends a lot of time working in his bedroom.’

There was a beat of silence until Cora jumped straight into her tea duties.

‘No, no, I’ll make the tea,’ Holly insisted, glad to get out of the room. ‘Give you two a chance to catch up.’

She stepped outside the door and pulled it to, but not fully closed, behind her.

The two women’s voices dropped lower, but she was able to catch certain phrases, like ‘poor girl’ and ‘lovely to have some company’. Then she heard Pat’s concerned voice: ‘We’re going to have to watch David.’

Holly forced herself to loosen her jaw and walked into the kitchen.

She wasn’t quite sure whether she wanted to meet this David person or not.

It reminded her of the day she’d left Nottingham with Markus. She hadn’t got a clue what kind of people they’d meet in Manchester; it was a leap of faith. Markus had already spent some time there, but he’d only been there long enough to make tentative contacts.

It had been a milestone because it was the moment all her plans and intentions had finally turned into hard action. Both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.





Chapter Eleven





Holly





The coach journey to Manchester had been something of a nightmare. It had taken four long hours in total, as they’d had to make a change at Leeds.

The second they boarded and found their seats, Holly’s heart sank. She’d imagined a pleasant, rather exciting trip, but already seated behind them was a young family with a screaming baby and a boy of about six years old who Markus insisted was the image of the child, Damien, from the horror movie The Omen.

The boy did indeed prove to be a little demon, persisting in kicking Holly’s seat for what felt like the entire duration of the journey.

‘Sorry, love,’ his ineffective, harassed mother kept leaning forward and saying to Holly in between half-hearted attempts to chastise the little monster.