Her One Mistake(93)
Charlotte bends down when Alice runs into the hallway behind them, allowing the little girl to come crashing into her legs for a hug.
“Alice is doing fine,” she says quietly to Harriet when she pulls herself up. “She’s doing absolutely fine.”
Harriet nods, biting her lip, willing the tears not to start again, though she knows they will anyway.
“Bye, Harriet,” Charlotte says eventually, and steps off the doorstep.
“Charlotte,” Harriet calls out. She wants to ask her friend not to go, but she knows she doesn’t have the right. “Take care of yourself,” she says.
? ? ?
HARRIET WATCHES CHARLOTTE walk away, knowing she has no choice but to let her go. Just like she did with Jane. When Charlotte disappears around the corner, Harriet closes the door, thinking it’s unlikely she’ll hear from her again, but hoping that one day she might.
She can’t imagine how Charlotte thought she could be living an untroubled life, but then she supposes no one can really understand.
I see Brian watching me from the bottom of the yard, Charlotte.
I see him every time I look into my son’s eyes.
Whenever the phone rings, I expect someone to tell me Brian’s alive, found washed up on some beach.
My father’s dead and it’s all my fault.
Some nights she wakes up drenched in sweat and reminds herself that apart from her children, she’s lost everyone who has ever been important to her. She tells herself that for some reason she must deserve it and hates herself for what she’s done.
Then Harriet creeps into her daughter’s bedroom and sees her blond hair fanned around her on the pillow, an innocent smile on her lips, and knows in a heartbeat that she’d do it all again if she had to.
And now there is George, too. Whose little fingers grab on to her hand, wrapping tightly around her, letting her know she is his world and nothing else is important to him.
She took his father away before Brian knew he’d have the son he’d always wanted—the boy he’d hoped would turn out like him—and she can only hope she’s saved her son in time. That there’s nothing more in George than his father’s brown eyes, but only time will tell her that for sure.
“Mummy?”
Harriet is still standing by the front door when she feels a hand on her arm. She looks down at Alice.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know. What would you like?”
“Pizza. Have you been crying?”
Harriet rubs her sleeve across her face and smiles at Alice. “Mummy’s fine,” she says. “Didn’t we have pizza yesterday?”
Alice looks at her in the way she does when she knows something isn’t right. “Grandpa let me have pizza every day at the cottage,” she says quietly. “Are you happy sad?”
“Yes.” Harriet laughs. “I’m very happy to have such a wonderful daughter.” She crouches down and pulls Alice in for a hug. “I’ll make you a sandwich in a minute.”
“And ice cream too? Grandpa also let me have ice cream every day.” Alice pulls her head away. “You’re making my hair wet, Mummy.”
“I’m sorry!” She laughs through her tears as she tickles her daughter. She hopes Alice won’t ever stop talking about the two weeks she spent with her precious grandpa.
“Mummy, can we paint a picture?” Alice asks. “Can we paint a big seaside to go in my room?”
“My darling,” she says, “you can do absolutely anything you want.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I began writing this book, I had no idea how it would end, whether it would be any good or even if I’d finish it. I just knew I wanted to write it and if no one else liked it, well, then I suppose I would have started something new. It’s been a three-year journey and one that’s had a few bumps along the way, but it’s thanks to many people for helping me reach this point. I know without a doubt I wouldn’t have succeeded without them.
I can clearly remember the day Harriet and Charlotte’s story started as a seed of an idea. Holly Walbridge, that was down to you. Thank you for then endlessly listening on trips to the park as I made you think dark thoughts about how it would feel if your children went missing. I hope I haven’t scarred you!
The idea turned into a first draft and it was then thanks to Chris Bradford, who let me quiz him about all things police related, and for directing me toward an alternative, and much better, ending than the one I’d originally written. Chris, your knowledge is immeasurable, and any mistakes are entirely my own.
I am very lucky to have such amazing friends who not only read early copies of my book but then read subsequent ones and under very tight deadlines! Donna Cross and Deborah Dorman, you’re the best—thank you for reading so quickly and for your invaluable feedback. And as always, Lucy Emery and Becci Holland, who read early copies and who are always there with support. To all my other friends and family who have shown a huge interest in what I am doing—it means so much to be asked how the book is going and to see your genuine excitement when there is good news.
To my wonderful group of writers who have become lifelong friends: you have picked me up when things weren’t going so well and celebrated with me when they were. Cath Bennetto, Alexandra Clare, Alice Clark-Platts, Grace Coleman, Elin Daniels, Moyette Gibbons, Dawn Goodwin, and Julietta Henderson—writing would not be the same without you all.