perhaps this was finally the job that was too much for her. And letting this girl think she could solve all her problems was unfair.
Right. It was definitely time for Plan A: wait until Phoebe stopped crying and remind her Charlie hadn’t shown any interest in hiring her yet and the teenager shouldn’t pin all her hopes on Becky’s only human powers of persuasion.
Phoebe finished drying her face and brought the last of her tears under control with an almighty sniff. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Ms Watson.’ Phoebe beamed, her eyes shining with hope rather than tears. ‘We so need your help.’
‘Er, yes. About that—’
‘Seriously, I know you can sort this out.’ Phoebe grabbed Becky’s hand and gazed up at her, blinking her long lashes stuck together with tears. ‘You’re our last hope, Ms Watson. You can fix everything and take care of Dad, can’t you?’
Becky squeezed Phoebe’s hand and forced her lips into a smile. ‘Of course. Don’t worry. We’re in this together now, everything will be fine.’
Back in her car, Becky slumped forward and let her head thud against the steering wheel. So much for Plan A: time for Plan B. Whatever the hell that was.
JULY
Chapter 4
Becky didn’t have the money to take Dylan to the baby yoga-signing-music classes on offer in South Compton. But Wednesday mornings were reserved for a trip to the local leisure centre pool. Dylan wasn’t yet two years old, so the excursions involved less swimming and more splashing, but the walk there and back was excellent exercise. Or that was what Becky told herself as she pushed the buggy up the steep hill on the other side of the river. A few minutes from the town centre, she paused to catch her breath, swear and kick the back tyre of a car parked across the pavement. It was the fourth one that morning and, once again, she would be forced to take the buggy and its precious cargo into the road to continue her journey. She kicked the tyre again for good measure; after all, physical expressions of pavement rage counted as exercise too.
Their route home usually included a stop at Sweet’s Cakes, where Becky would reward herself and Dylan for their hard work. The bakery and cake shop was on a busy street in the town centre and popular with tourist parties. When Becky approached—red-faced, drained and longing for a sugar fix—a large group of foreign visitors was gathered around the glass frontage, blocking access to the door. Becky shoved the buggy through the first two rows, bashing them and their Compton Hall gift bags with her hips until she could see the window and what had them so entranced. The latest display featured a cake castle with turrets, drawbridge and moat. The windows in its highest tower contained sugary stained glass. Delicious gargoyles perched on the ramparts, gurning down at a verdant field of fondant where a knight on his white steed was facing a dragon with spun-sugar wings.
The displays inside were equally impressive. A high shelf ran around the interior, decorated with the owner’s creations. Flowers were this month’s theme. Multi-tiered confections dripping in fondant roses, lilies and hydrangea covered the shelf and, if it weren’t for the large glass display case bursting with cakes, biscuits and muffins by the till and the racks of bread covering the wall behind it, a first-time visitor could have believed they had inadvertently wandered into a florist’s. The smell was also a giveaway; permanent background scents of chocolate and vanilla were accompanied by a rotation of coffee, cinnamon and freshly baked bread.
The owner of the shop was behind the counter stacking vanilla cupcakes onto a blue-and-white porcelain stand. A short, stout woman in her mid-thirties, she glanced up as Becky entered and gasped. ‘Dear God Almighty. That’s a woman who needs cake if I ever saw one.’
Becky didn’t have the energy to smile. ‘Thanks, Ronnie. I love you too.’
Ronnie grinned and gestured to the far corner of the room. ‘Take a seat. I’ll bring it over in a minute.’
Becky had barely parked the buggy and made sure the now-snoozing Dylan was comfortable when Ronnie reappeared, carrying two large pieces of chocolate fudge cake.
‘Your favourite.’ She set the cake on the table quickly, making the dessert forks rattle against the china. ‘The interns are in charge and tea’s on its way. Now,’ she said, taking a seat next to Becky, ‘what the hell’s happened to you? Why are you all red and sweaty?’
Becky