Trust Me - Sheryl Browne Page 0,52

no idea what you’re talking about, Emily,’ he said shakily. ‘You’re really beginning to worry me.’

Emily scanned his face in turn. Don’t lie to me, Jake, she willed him, fear piercing her heart like an icicle. Please don’t do this to me.

‘You’re making no sense whatsoever,’ he went on. ‘First I’m supposed be involved with Natasha, and then … what? What are you saying? I can’t keep up with you.’

She held her nerve. ‘Sally’s still in love with you,’ she said quietly. ‘Quite obviously.’

‘Christ.’ Running his hands over his face, he got to his feet and started around the desk towards her. ‘You’ve got it wrong, Emily. She’s—’

Emily stepped away from him. ‘Have I, Jake?’ she asked, her eyes fixed on his. ‘Have I really?’

‘Em, I …’ He spoke her name with affection, but it was too late. Much too late. With as much dignity as she could muster, Emily tore her gaze away and headed for the door.

‘Emily, wait, please. We need to talk. I need to … I—’

‘How, Jake?’ she asked, her hand poised on the door handle. ‘The thing about lies is, you can’t unsay them.’

‘I haven’t lied to you,’ he insisted, so close to her she could feel his frustration. ‘I—’

‘Omitted to tell me the truth?’ She pulled the door open. She couldn’t listen to this any more. It was too painful. He must know that. The Jake she’d thought she knew would.

Grabbing her bag and coat, she was halfway out of the surgery when she heard Tom behind her. ‘Everything all right, Jake? We couldn’t help overhearing.’

We? Tom and Fran, Emily realised, her heart disappearing without trace.

Twenty

Jennifer Wheeler

‘What do you say?’ Poppy Freeman’s mother prompted her little girl as Jenny delivered her safely into the woman’s care and handed over her Peter Rabbit school bag.

‘Thank you, Mrs Wheeler,’ Poppy said obediently, her eyes big and beguiling as she took hold of her mother’s hand.

‘My pleasure, Poppy.’ Jenny smiled. ‘Thank you for helping me tidy up the classroom. It will be all bright and clean for tomorrow now, won’t it?’

‘Uh huh.’ Poppy nodded, a pleased smile lighting her face.

‘Thanks for taking care of her,’ her mother said, smiling gratefully. ‘I hate being late for her. The thought of her standing on her own in the playground …’

‘No problem at all,’ Jenny assured her, pressing a hand to her forearm. The woman was a care provider at the Haven hospice. Jenny could imagine the dilemma she’d had trying to decide whether to stay with a dying patient or leave her to pick up her little girl. She might not have children herself – something she and her husband had yearned for, tried endlessly for, eventually realising it wasn’t meant to be after a third failed IVF treatment – but she loved every one of the children in her care as if they were her own.

‘See you in the morning, Poppy. Don’t forget your special found object,’ she said. ‘We’re having a free imagination morning,’ she explained to Mrs Freeman, who, judging by her puzzled expression, clearly hadn’t seen the letter that had come home with her daughter yesterday. ‘Poppy’s going to choose a place and a setting and a special found object and then tell us a story, aren’t you, Poppy?’

Poppy nodded keenly. ‘I’m telling a story about a princess. She’s beautiful and she’s really strong,’ she said with a determined little nod, ‘but she can’t swim and she’s very sad because there’s a tiny kitten stuck on the riverbank and she can’t get to it.’

The two women swapped surprised glances. ‘Looks like her imagination’s already hard at it,’ her mum said, impressed.

Jenny was too. ‘And what’s your special found object, Poppy?’

‘Sticks,’ Poppy said with another sage nod, ‘and leaves from the princess’s garden.’

‘Ah.’ Jenny got the gist. ‘So our intrepid princess is building a life raft?’

‘Yes.’ Poppy looked delighted that she’d understood.

‘I think we can work with that,’ Mum said, clearly relieved at having the dilemma solved. ‘Our garden has more sticks and leaves than it has flowers, doesn’t it, Poppy?’ Giving Jenny a conspiratorial roll of her eyes, she squeezed her daughter’s hand and then, mouthing, ‘Thanks,’ turned to head for the gates.

Watching Poppy chatting to her mum as they went, Jenny felt a sense of pride. This was what had kept her going through her recent heartbreak; her interaction with the children. There was nothing more rewarding than seeing them blossom, knowing that she’d played a small part in shaping what would hopefully be