tiptoed across to the box and lifted the lid. Bunny didn’t appear to be in there either. Her heart lifted a little as it occurred to her he might be tucked under the duvet where he belonged. She was about to close the lid when she spotted a familiar tuft of baby-blue fur peeking up between a playtime bus and a fire truck. Moving the toys aside, she extracted Bunny – who was lying face down, obviously already languishing in the toy box – and her heart skipped a beat.
He was missing an ear, the one that had been personalised with Ollie’s name. The hairs rose on Sarah’s skin as she examined him more closely to find that the ear didn’t appear to have been accidentally torn. It had been cut off.
Eleven
Laura
‘I’m really sorry about this,’ Laura said, showing Sarah out. ‘She’s been abroad for a while. She’s a fashion columnist and tends to travel a lot. And then turns up when she feels like it, unfortunately.’
‘It’s fine,’ Sarah assured her. ‘I wasn’t going to stay long anyway. Joe’s on duty this evening, so I have to get back.’ Smiling, she turned for the door.
Something behind her eyes had shifted, though, Laura perceived. She was sure Sarah had warmed to her. That she’d decided she could trust her. Now, there was a wariness about her. She’d probably heard her exchange with her mother as she’d barged her way in. Laura had told her that they were estranged, but there was no way to explain that she lived in a constant state of emotional flux where her mother was concerned. That she dreaded her breezing back into her life whenever she deemed it necessary, dreaded more the ghosts from her past that would sweep icily in with her. She was also angry with herself for not being assertive with her mother, as she always vowed she would be, especially after the last time she’d turned up and her world had fallen apart.
Closing the door behind Sarah, she walked determinedly back to the kitchen. Just do it. Tell her no, she willed herself. It’s not that hard a word. Tell her to go; that you don’t want her here. Not now, not ever.
‘Tea, sweetheart?’ her mother asked over her shoulder as she waited for the kettle to boil – as if everything were perfectly normal. As if it ever had been or ever could be.
‘Mmmum …’ Laura started.
‘Do call me Sherry, darling,’ her mother interrupted. ‘You know you struggle with the word Mum.’
Laura’s chest constricted with anger. She did struggle to address her mum. Not because of her difficulties enunciating the ‘m’, but because the woman didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. After the unbearable tragedy that had ripped Laura’s damaged heart from her chest, she’d begun to address her as Sherry, the name her mother had adopted, deeming Sharon too ordinary for a fashion columnist who travelled in the social circles she did. She was a fake. Everything about her mother was false.
Turning from the work surface, Sherry frowned as she surveyed Laura critically. ‘Really, Laura … grey?’ Taking in her M&S cashmere sweater and tracksuit bottoms, she shook her head disparagingly. ‘You know neutral colours don’t flatter your pale skin tone, darling. If you wore that outfit to the hospice, you’d probably be mistaken for a corpse. And that hair …’
Leaving that one hanging, and Laura tugging on a lock of hair she’d refused to cut, no matter how many times her mother, out of jealousy and insecurity, had suggested she should, Sherry strode past her, her heels clicking on the ceramic kitchen tiles as she headed to the hall.
‘Despite my busy schedule, I managed to squeeze in a bit of retail therapy, you’ll be pleased to hear,’ she called enthusiastically back from where she was retrieving the bags she’d dropped beside the front door.
Laura’s irritation escalated. Her mother would have been shopping for her – again – selecting clothes that were horrendously expensive and tasteless. She just wanted to be seen to be doing the things normal mothers might. Laura had no doubt this was all for Steve’s benefit, and that whilst appearing to be concerned for her, Sherry would slowly but surely turn him against her. If she were to forge a relationship with someone she could trust implicitly, long-held secrets might surface, after all, and her mother couldn’t possibly have that, could she?
How dearly Laura wished Steve hadn’t answered her phone that fateful day her