The Day She Came Back(66)

‘Good God! Doesn’t sound like I’m missing much.’

‘I think it’ll be good when it’s with the right person.’

‘Here’s hoping.’ Daksha pulled a face and stood. ‘Anyway, the spare room is calling and I am turning in. Night night.’ She blew a kiss from the doorframe.

‘Night.’

May 2001

Rosebank

Epsom

Surrey

Sarah,

I can feel the anger in your written words. Let me try again to explain.

That man might, as you say, be a very nice person, he might have the makings to be the very best father, but all of that pales into insignificance when I consider the welfare of you, the person I love most in the whole wide world! He gives you drugs! If not now, then he has given you drugs in the past! How, how am I supposed to welcome him into my home, into my heart, when he has left a dark hole in both?

I do have faith in you. I always have. But is it a coincidence that you, who had never lied, never stolen, never been anything other than trustworthy and wonderful, met him and then lied to Daddy and me about a trip to Barcelona – using the money instead for drugs? Read that back, Sarah! And trust me that I do have faith in you. The fact that you are at Henbury House at all is the most positive step.

But I have no faith in him, none at all.

And I do not trust him.

I think he brings you into harm’s way.

And I do not trust you when you are with him.

That is a hard thing to write and an even harder truth to bear.

And so, if you and he do indeed, as you say, come as a package, then, as heartbreaking as it is, I can only agree. It would be impossible for me to help at the birth, to smile and make out everything is rosy, when I believe the very opposite.

What a desperate state of affairs.

Utterly desperate.

Think this through, Sarah! Think about that little baby girl you are carrying. Think about it! I want you home safely and I want your baby to have the best start.

I am begging you. I am begging you . . .

Mum. X

Victoria closed the laptop and let the words of the letters settle.

Prim knew you so much better than I do, and she didn’t trust you, Sarah – so should I? But then, on the other hand, I trusted Prim and she let me down . . .

It was nine o’clock – which made it ten o’clock in Oslo. Victoria turned the phone over in her palms and tentatively dialled Sarah’s number. Her stomach churned and she lost her nerve, half hoping the call might go straight to messages. Closing her eyes, she breathed slowly, still in two minds about the wisdom of her actions, but before she had a chance to reconsider, the call was answered.

‘Hello! Oh, hello!’ And there it was: the note of hope, the undercurrent of joy that was something Sarah evidently felt at no more than seeing her name pop up on a phone screen. It felt nice to know that was the effect she had on her, flattering even.

‘Hi, Sarah.’

‘Is this a misdial? Or did you want to call me?’ Sarah asked with quiet intensity.

How Victoria answered this question would, she knew, set the tone for what came next.

‘No, it’s not a misdial. I . . . I wanted to call you.’

‘Oh! Oh, that’s wonderful! Really wonderful!’

Victoria could hear the smile in her words, and it made her smile too.

‘It’s not too late for you?’

Sarah took a deep breath. ‘Too late? I would talk to you any time, any place, all night if I could.’

Her response was reassuring and warm.

‘How . . . how are you? I wanted to call . . . so many times . . . but I didn’t want to make you feel . . . I don’t know, crowded, spied on, pressured.’ She sensed Sarah’s nerves and knew they matched her own. ‘I find it hard to get things right, to strike the balance. It feels like one false move and I might ruin everything. That’s exactly how I feel. I am so nervous. And riven with guilt, sadness and regret, and I hate feeling like I am out of control, like I might mess up this chance I’ve been given; this wonderful chance! I have been given the opportunity to get to know you, but there is glass between us that I am scared to lean on, scared to push in case it breaks into a million pieces and takes me with it.’

‘Well. I think that might be the first truly open and honest exchange we have had.’

‘I think it might, apart from that I have thought about you every single day of your life. That was true, every word . . .’

Victoria heard the crack to Sarah’s voice.

‘Sarah, you know, if you and I are going to be able to talk, we need to do it without that glass wall between us, and we need to try and do it without one or both of us crying every five minutes!’

‘I know. I know.’ She sniffed. ‘I can try. Where are you? At home?’

‘Yes, in my bedroom, it’s the one almost opposite Prim’s.’

‘I know it.’

‘How long since you were here last?’ Victoria was curious.

‘Well, apart from for Prim’s funeral, the last time I went inside was during the holidays of my first year at Durham – that’s where I went to university.’

‘Yes, I know that.’

‘Of course you do.’ Sarah tutted, and sounded a little flustered. ‘I left my course mid second year, and that was the last time I came home. Came there. Went there. Home,’ she flapped. ‘So, about twenty years ago, give or take.’