The Day She Came Back(22)

Daksha reloaded her spoon. ‘I’m a scientist, not a historian, so shoot me! You get my point, though.’

‘Actually, you are not as wide of the mark as it might seem. She told me my name is Victory.’

‘Victory? I like it! And how, pray, did she know your name was Victory?’ Her friend stared at her wide-eyed, waiting for the punchline. When it came, it didn’t disappoint.

‘She knew because she said she had named me.’ Victoria shook her head, knowing it really was as ridiculous as it sounded and yet was no less upsetting for that. ‘She said . . . she said she was my mum.’

Daksha stopped laughing and the smile slipped from her face. She placed the spoon on the table and stared at Victoria with her hands in her lap.

‘That’s not even funny.’

‘I know. It was a horrible thing to say, and it’s made me feel out of sorts. I can’t get it out of my head.’

Daksha took a slow breath and it was a while before she spoke. ‘You need to not think about it. She obviously got wind of Prim’s funeral and gatecrashed; there are some bloody strange people out there. She probably does it all over the county, like a wedding-crasher. Just ignore it. You have enough going on.’

‘Believe me, I’d like to not think about it, but . . .’

‘But what?’

‘I don’t know. There was something, Daks . . .’

‘What?’

‘Just something. I felt like we might have met before. I thought maybe she was someone from the library or someone I’ve seen in town. She looked, I don’t know . . .’ Even she was too embarrassed to say the words, because the words, and indeed the very thought, was absurd.

‘She looked what?’

‘Familiar. She looked familiar,’ was the best she could manage, unwilling to share how she had spent more minutes than she could count trying to match the face of the woman to the eyes that had smiled at her from the windowsill on the half landing all her life.

‘Well, she might well be someone you’ve met, but you still have to forget about it. You don’t need people like that near you right now.’

Victoria nodded, knowing this might be easier said than done. The two sat in silence for a second or two, each digesting the exchange.

‘I wish Prim was here.’ Victoria uttered the words that were enough to break the dam on the next surge of emotion that flooded her. ‘I miss her! I really miss her! I just want her to come home! And I can’t believe that she won’t, not ever.’ Abandoning the mug, she placed her head on her arms on the tabletop as she sobbed. ‘I miss her so much!’

Daksha leaned across and stroked her hair. ‘I know you do, honey. I know you do. And it’s going to hurt, but the thing is, if Prim were here, she’d—’

The doorbell rang, interrupting her.

‘Damn. You stay put. I’ll go.’ Daksha tucked her hair behind her ears and made her way to the front door.

Victoria sat up straight and sniffed, wiped her eyes and face on her palm and dried her damp, snotty hand on her jeans. It was still the case that these mini breakdowns, the release of tears, actually made her feel a little better for a short while, almost like draining the sad system of its woe before it refilled and she would once again sob. It was a wearying cycle. She heard Daksha on the doorstep and guessed that after the funeral there would be a slew of thank-you cards or notes from all of Prim’s acquaintances who had attended. She half wondered if it might be Gerald at the door, sweet Gerald, making good on his promise to visit and get cracking on those tomato plants. She looked forward to seeing him and thought that, if it wasn’t him, she’d better check how he was doing.

She heard the front door close and Daksha walked slowly back into the room.

‘Who was it?’ She wiped the residual tears with her fingers.

‘It was no one.’

‘No one?’

Daksha nodded. ‘No one, but I found this.’ She slid the pale envelope across the table and picked up her pavlova spoon.

‘Ah, so it begins: the thank-you notes.’

‘Do you then have to thank them for thanking you, and do they then have to—’

‘I get the idea, Daks.’ Victoria cut her short.

She opened the envelope and withdrew the single sheet. The script was neat, ordered and not dissimilar to her handwriting. The note, short.

September 2019

Hello Victory,

I know this is a lot for you to take in. I understand.

And the truth is I don’t really know where to start.

I return to Oslo tomorrow and would dearly, dearly love to see you before I leave.

I am staying at the Holiday Inn up on the Downs.

My cell number is at the top of the page.

It would mean the world for you to get in touch.

I have waited eighteen years for the opportunity.

With love,

With so much love!

Sarah Hansen.

Victoria read it twice more and stared at Daksha. Her heart thudded in her chest and she felt the light-headed sickness of a swoon.

‘Are you okay? You look a bit pale.’

Victoria didn’t answer but stared at the writing. It looks similar to yours, or maybe you are imagining that, looking for things . . .

‘Vic? What is it?’ Daksha probed again. ‘What does it say?’