I Am Watching You(72)

Then it was poor Lily’s turn. Sarah watched her sister being led into the room with the green sofa, while she and Caroline waited outside. Everyone was almost too kind. Just a little bit too fussy. Tea? Biscuits? Lots of offers of magazines and more drinks. But it all took ages and ages and ages.

‘So, Sarah. Thank you for agreeing to this chat. It’s just we need to make some decisions together.’ Caroline has her hands cupped around her own mug. The familiar aroma of green tea.

‘Have they found my dad?’

Caroline shakes her head. ‘At least, they’re not telling us if they have.’ Sarah cannot stop looking at the bands on Caroline’s own wrists. It’s not difficult to work out why she runs this place.

‘So, the thing is, I’ve been talking to social services. About going forward now.’

This is unexpected. A sweep of dread through Sarah. Social services? She had no idea this place would liaise with social services. She thought it was independent. The reason it was so off-piste. Own rules. Own oddball way of doing things. No pressure to involve the police unless you want to.

‘It’s because of your age, Sarah,’ Caroline says, as if reading her thoughts. ‘And the fact that your mother wants you home. It complicates things.’

‘I don’t want to see my mother. Can I stay here, please? With Lily?’

Caroline nods, and Sarah finds that she is crying with the sudden relief, no longer hearing properly as Caroline goes on to explain about enrolling her in a local sixth form. The various protocols and conditions. That she will sort it all out.

Caroline reaches out to take Sarah’s hands and tilts her head. ‘Lily still has problems with her anorexia, and I am very concerned about how a trial over your dad – if it gets to that stage – will impact on her. So I need you to cooperate with my house rules if we take this forward. Not talking to people about why we are here – that sort of thing.’

‘Will I have to wear the bracelets and have a new name?’ Sarah has no idea why she asks this so quickly. It sounds rude and ungrateful. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.’

But Caroline is laughing, which makes Sarah relax even more, the relief now reaching the tips of her fingers. Her toes. Her cheeks flushing.

‘You find all that a bit kooky, Sarah?’

‘A bit.’

‘No pressure, but you might find both help. The bracelets are terrific for easing tension. Something to fiddle with when you feel overwhelmed. I introduced them to help people who self-harm.’

Sarah is suddenly thinking of the marks on her sister’s arms before she left home.

‘What about the names? Why did you pick Saffron for Lily?’

‘Because she came here like someone who wanted to be invisible. To disappear. That’s why she stopped eating. And then one day, when I saw her painting, I saw this entirely different person. This vivid energy and colour on the page. Spicy. Evocative. Memorable. “Look at me.” And I felt that was who she was meant to be.’

Sarah cannot stop her tears, and Caroline squeezes her hands very gently.

‘There is a lot to sort out. Your mother wants contact and we will need to liaise very carefully over that. But if you accept my offer and you wanted a new name’ – again Caroline seems to be reading her mind – ‘I would suggest Dawn. Just something for you to think about.’

‘Why Dawn?’

‘Because you don’t like yourself very much, Sarah. And no girl of seventeen should hate themselves. Especially when they have experienced what you have. You need a fresh start, lovely. In my opinion, and it is just my opinion, you need the sun to come up.’





CHAPTER 45


THE WITNESS

Trends are such a funny thing. Greenery is back, big time. Suddenly we can’t get enough glossy greenery in to bulk out our bouquets and displays. All the restaurants and the brides want it everywhere. Green table runners. Green arches for the doorways. Luscious leaves everywhere. It is a bit like the popularity of baby names. Trends creep up on you. Suddenly everyone is called Amelia. Suddenly everyone wants greenery.

I don’t mind, actually. Change is good and I enjoy gathering my own greenery from the garden and local lanes. I have always grown lots of hostas for the large leaves and curved shoots, and have found that cuttings from our laurel hedges are working well for larger displays, too. It is good to be doing new things, and to be frank, I need something to distract me. I hate this new limbo. Two weeks since that new postcard and zilch progress. I handed it straight over to Matthew, who passed it on to his friend Melanie Sanders. They ran the usual fingerprint tests, postmark enquiries, blah blah. Nothing. Whoever sends them must wear gloves. Turns out the haters can be clever as well as cruel.

Right now I am making up today’s final birthday order while Luke holds the fort front of house. He is looking so much better, and the two contenders interested in his job are calling in to see him later while I’m in Cornwall with Matthew. He’ll vet them first. I’ll only see them if they are OK about the hours. I’ve had a couple of time-wasters over the ad in the window, horrified at the very early starts. I guess teenagers like their weekend lie-ins.

I set everything out as usual – ribbons, tape, pins – and begin the bouquet. A combination of roses and stocks, in pink and purple, with some rosemary for the scent. I do my usual trick of twisting and building slowly to keep the balance and the rhythm. It is a fortieth birthday bouquet, and so I add in a couple more flowers than usual as I remember my fortieth so well. I check the display, bind it, trim the ends and then pop it into a vase just to circle it, walking round to check from all angles before wrapping it in tissue and ribbon.