The Day She Came Back(90)

I love you. I can only keep repeating, I love you, I love you, but I know that is not enough.

Mum Xx

October 2001

Sarah Jackson

Henbury House

West Sussex

October . . . any day now.

And I agree not to contact her. I hear what you are saying, and I don’t want to confuse her or bring her a moment of sadness. I only want for her the best, the very best.

Tell her anything, Mum.

Tell her anything you think might make it easier for her in the long run. I don’t care what.

You are right, she doesn’t need to be part of this world I inhabit.

I am sorry I let her down.

I am sorry I let you down.

I have one thing to ask.

Please don’t take her immediately.

Please let me see her.

I won’t take her anywhere you can’t get to.

You can be there, but please . . . let me hold her a few times.

Kiss her a few times.

To try and give her something to remember me by, that’s all, just something to remember me by . . .

Please.

Sarah

‘Something to remember me by . . .’ Victoria whispered.



Closing the cab door, Victoria was delighted by the sight of her friend.

‘Welcome home! Welcome home!’ Daksha yelled, and grabbed her as she walked up the front path. ‘How was it? Did you miss me? What was Oslo like? Meet any nice Norwegian boys? Was it cold? How was Sarah? Did you guys talk? What was her fella like? Do you want a cup of tea? I’m afraid there’s no cake left. We ate it all. I ate it all.’

Victoria stared at her. ‘I had almost forgotten how much you say and how quickly.’ They both laughed. ‘I must invest in the very best ear plugs on the market – it’s the only way I will ever get through our trip,’ she levelled, only half joking. ‘Right now, I can only respond to the last question: yes, please, to a very large cup of tea, and then I need to get changed. I have a double shift at the coffee shop this afternoon. I promised Stanislaw.’

‘No! Not the coffee shop!’ Daksha sulked. ‘We have so much to catch up on; it’s been a whole weekend, and I have to go home today. I’d stay longer, but Nani has cooked and Mum has summoned us. You’re welcome to come too?’

‘I can’t, Daks, but thank you. I need to go to work and get laundry done and stuff.’

‘Well, the offer’s there. Ananya is just packing – you won’t believe how much shit she brought just for a weekend. The girl’s a klutz! And I’ve had some great ideas about our trip, and I’ve been looking up hostels and things in Vietnam and Cambodia – some amazing places! Oh, don’t go to work, Vic – can’t you phone in sick? You could come to ours and we could write a list or do a spreadsheet – you know how much you love a spreadsheet!’

‘I do absolutely love a spreadsheet.’ Victoria hitched up her carpetbag and looked at the wide frontage of Rosebank. It looked old and a little ramshackle, dated, and didn’t really look like home, not now things were different, not now she was different. ‘But, no. I absolutely cannot phone in sick.’

‘In that case, I’ll give you a call and come over later in the week.’ Daksha smiled, happy, it seemed, to have her friend home.

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

‘I love you, Vic.’

‘Yep, I love you too.’



It had been a long and demanding day, on top of her flight, the busy weekend and the emotional rollercoaster of spending time with Sarah and Jens. By the time she put the key in the lock after her shift, as evening fell, Victoria was beyond tired. She went around the house, putting on lights and peeking into rooms, still cringing when she thought about the awful party that could have been so much worse, feeling thankful that there was no lasting damage and wishing, again, that she had not been so stupid. Her thoughts flew to Flynn, trying not to recall how nice it had been to have him around of an evening and the sheer joy she had felt at feeling his skin against hers. It was maddening how she had felt such attraction for the boy, who was both a liar and a cheat. Interestingly, she then conjured a picture of Vidar, the tall Norwegian she had flirted with on the bench, and she wondered if he had thought about her at all . . . she had certainly thought about him.

The house was quiet and felt huge with only the soft pad of her bed socks on the wooden floors to pepper the silence. She pictured Sarah and Jens’s cosy flat and the warmth that emanated from wherever the two of them sat. She figured it must be nice to live like that; the image of them asleep on their sofa, snuggled together like dormice, was one that would stay with her.

With a hot cup of tea in her grip, she took up residence on the sofa, pulled up the soft blanket and once again opened up her laptop to look at the photograph Sarah had sent her, the only one she had, until this weekend, when many more had been snapped at just about every opportunity. But this was the one she wanted to look at right now. She stared at the woman who shared her blood and her heritage, the woman who was broken, thin and desperate. And the hand of Prim, her beloved Prim, cupping the baby’s head, keeping her safe, protected, doing her very best to find a way through the mess, to figure out the best outcome for the baby Sarah was carrying. A steadying hand that was no doubt scared, and yet so proud, protective, because despite her best efforts, she knew something bad was around the corner . . .