What Have I Done

One year ago



It was a full day, but no busier than any other. Kate was preparing for a new arrival. The first few hours of interacting with a resident always told her everything she needed to know. In the four years that she had been running the house, she had honed this skill and knew what to look for, what to glean from inadvertently offered clues. The flinch at a handshake, the lack of eye contact or the false bright smile and counterfeit confidence – she had discovered that these were all ciphers. She was slowly learning how to crack the codes and read the truth that lay behind them.

It was inevitable that Kate would draw comparisons between the life that she used to live and the life that she had now, but it wasn’t always the obvious things that made her look for similarities and differences; quite the opposite in fact. When a girl trod the path to the front door, often either undernourished or overweight and malnourished, clutching all that she owned and was precious to her in a tatty carrier bag, it would make Kate think of the arrival of new boarders at Mountbriers. Eager and anxious parents would alight from shiny convertibles. Beautiful, surgically enhanced mothers and smartly suited fathers would help unload the trunk, the case, the bag, the valuables, the electronic wizardry, the designer labels, the rucksack bursting with tuck and the child’s allowance. It fascinated her how some had so much and others so very little. She had learned in the last four years – actually in the last nine years – that life was very unfair.

The sudden ring of the telephone made her jump; she had been miles away.

‘Yes, this is Kate Gavier speaking. Ah great, so all on time. Yes, yes, someone will meet her from the station. I’ll call you when she’s settled, many thanks.’

She ran her fingers over the foolscap file in front of her; a white sticky label told her that it was Tanya Wilson who was arriving on the 2.30 train. She opened the cover and scanned the front sheet, taking in only the most basic information. She hated these formulaic reports. One of her biggest frustrations was that these girls had had reports written about them and judgements passed on them from when they were tiny.

Before the first wave of adolescence hit, they were described, assessed and stamped, and their fate was sealed. There were only so many permutations of character that ‘the system’ could identify and none were particularly positive. According to the typed sheets in triplicate that Kate handled daily, these girls were nearly always helpless and hopeless.

That was where Kate and her team came in. From the first glance at Tanya’s file, she could see that she was a standard case, sadly. Tanya had been removed from her mother’s care when she was six, following sustained physical abuse. Twelve different foster homes and two residential care homes later, she found herself in a juvenile correction centre and then graduated to prison for assisting in a burglary and carrying a weapon.

Kate was certain that there would also be prostitution, drug addiction and a whole host of psychological problems. She snapped the file shut and placed it in an already cramped drawer. She would make her assessment by looking Tanya in the eye and talking to her. She no longer paid much heed to what she read, knowing that these white sticky labels were interchangeable for every girl under her roof. They had all had the same life; they were all the same person. Only they weren’t, not to her, and her job was to help them realise that.

She considered what her own white sticky label might read: ‘A cool unrepentant killer that has seemingly abandoned her children and lives with a certain indifference to the establishment.’ And she recalled what she had said a while ago: ‘I can see that some people will only ever see what they want to see.’

Kate was on hand at all hours of the day and night for the many and varied emergencies that seemed to occur weekly at Prospect House. In her four-year tenure she had dealt with everything from attempted suicide (twice), fire (once), flooding (once), fights (sixty-three) and the unexpected birth of a baby on the loo floor, Jayden Lee, who had weighed in at a respectable 7lb 3oz and now lived with his mother and her new partner in Truro. Of all the words you could use to describe existence at Prospect House, dull was not one of them.

Kate knew the residents were ready to leave when the journey from hopeless to hopeful was complete. For each of her guests – seven so far – the timing of that journey varied enormously. Arriving without optimism or any reason to feel positive meant the process of healing was often long and arduous. Only the brave attempted such a feat and not all would succeed. For some, to turn over the boulders that represented their lives and rake through what lurked beneath was not a good experience, and for a few it would end in disappointment.

This had been a bitter lesson for Kate to learn: that sometimes people were too far gone and for those individuals it felt better to leave the lid on their troubles. Prospect House could only help them so far, but each left with the words that if they wanted to try again, the door would always be open. For many, this was hope in itself.

Tom walked past the open door of the study with a stack of clean towels balanced on his forearm.

‘Oh, Tom!’

He retraced his steps, careful not to let his towel tower topple.

‘Yes, boss?’

‘Don’t forget Tanya’s arriving today. Her train gets in at two thirty. Can we get her something ready in case she’s famished?’

He nodded. It was pointless telling her that he had already considered this and would prepare sandwiches after he’d finished lunch. It wasn’t that she was a tyrant, far from it; the whole staff loved working for and with Kate. But sometimes her meticulous need for every detail to be right for these girls meant she worried needlessly about things they were capable of executing perfectly without her comments or suggestions.

‘I’m on it.’

She smiled at his back as he resumed his journey to the stairs. Of course he was, dear Tom.

Tom was a vocal advocate for Prospect House within the local community, extolling all that was good about it to anyone that would listen. The support they had received had been incredible; they had many regular visitors, all wanting to be involved. The first visit would be for no other reason than to satisfy a curiosity, but the second and third would be because they liked the atmosphere and the sense of hope that pervaded there. The odd few who were vehemently opposed remained so. Thankfully Penmarin was just big enough for their paths not to cross with any regularity.

Natalie, who had only recently left and had been with them for eight months, was currently working in the local delicatessen with a bedsit above and a regular boyfriend. Many of the girls had enjoyed comparable employment and acceptance; these were her success stories. She sincerely hoped that Tanya would be similarly and fittingly dispatched when the time was right.



Kate sat on the slatted wooden bench and listened to the loud tick of the clock on the platform. The white-painted wooden canopy held well-tended hanging baskets and there was not a speck of litter anywhere. As for graffiti, she doubted that the maintenance team had ever seen it. It was the station of a bygone age; even the station master stood rocking on his polished heels with a pocket watch in place and a flag furled in his hand. She half expected to see Miss Marple alight, with her cloche slightly askew, from a coach full of steam.

The train when it arrived brought the twenty-first century with it, a shiny red-and-yellow bullet streaked with the filth of cities only briefly visited. Kate spotted Tanya immediately. Among the groups, couples, and parents clutching the hands of children stood a teenage girl who looked around her and stood out by the fact of her sheer aloneness. Her confusion was exacerbated when she realised that she didn’t know who or what she was looking for.

Kate dashed over to her, holding her arm aloft, waving and trying to spare her the fear of the unknown as quickly as she could. The girl’s thin legs were clad in tight black jeans; her sneakers were worn and grubby and her skeletal arms dangled from the gaping sleeves of a T-shirt. Her red hair hung in two thin strips either side of her wan face, but her most outstanding features were her lips – blood red and full, a perfect ox bow. She reminded Kate of a delicate china doll.

‘Tanya! Hello!’

‘Hello.’

Tanya’s voice was small and came from a throat dry with either dehydration or nerves. Her eyes darted from Kate to the crowds around her, to the clear blue sky above her head, all too much to take in.

‘You made it okay. How was your journey?’

‘Long.’ She flashed a brief smile.

‘Yes, I’m sure. I’m Kate and you are very welcome here, Tanya.’

Then came the sideways glance from beneath the fringe, what was the catch? Why was this complete stranger being nice to her? What did she want?

‘Do you have any luggage?’

Tanya bent and retrieved the small sports bag at her feet. It was approximately thirty centimetres in length, yet big enough to hold everything she owned.

The two strangers walked together from the platform to the car park. Kate was careful not to overdo the friendly welcome, having learned that this could be just as off-putting as being unfriendly. Tanya wondered what she was doing in this place without buildings, cars, shops or grime and all the other things that made her usual surroundings familiar and safe.

‘You are arriving at the best possible time of year. The weather has been glorious and when the sun is out there is no place that you would rather be than the beach. We take little picnics down and sit on the sand and have great gossips, it’s lovely!’

Kate watched the girl glance at her from behind her fringe, trying to fathom her tone and energy, waiting for the catch. They drove the short distance in silence. Kate negotiated the lanes and the holiday traffic. Tanya stared at the hedgerows.

Pulling the car up onto the driveway, Kate killed the ignition and allowed the full splendour of Tanya’s new home to sink in.

‘Welcome to Prospect House. You are welcome here for as long as you want to stay, Tanya.’

The girl nodded.

‘What do you think? First impressions?’

‘Of you or the house?’

Kate liked the girl’s intelligence. ‘Both.’

‘The house looks like something out of an American film…’

Kate smiled and nodded. Yes, yes it did.

‘And I’m not sure about you. Are you a…? I mean, do you…?’

‘Yes?’ Kate wanted questioning.

‘Is this a Christian thingy or some religious sect? I’m just hoping you’re not a bunch of nut-job Jesus lovers, cos if you are I’m getting straight back on that train.’ She thumbed the direction over her head. ‘I think I’d prefer the nick to living with that.’

Kate’s laugh came loud and suddenly, making her eyes water.

‘Oh, Tanya! No wonder you look so worried! Is that what you thought?’

Tanya flicked away her fringe and tried making a hesitant smile in Kate’s direction.

Kate considered giving Tanya a speech about being a little fish, but decided against it.

‘No. No, love, nothing like that. I myself was released from prison just over four years ago; I served five years for manslaughter. Janeece, our counsellor, was a fellow inmate of mine, a wonderful girl who will tell you her story if and when it’s appropriate. Natasha is our art therapist—’

‘Art?’ Tanya interrupted.

‘Yes, art therapy. It’s where—’

‘You don’t have to tell me about that. I know how it works. I love paint and I love painting.’

Kate looked at the girl and noticed the widening of her eyes and the flush of colour to her alabaster cheeks.

‘Well then, it looks as if you are going to get along just fine.’

Tanya exhaled loudly and they both realised that she had been holding her breath for most of the journey.

‘Come on, let’s get you inside.’

Tanya trod the wooden steps to the terrace with her bag clutched to her chest, a bodily shield against the physical and mental blows that she always expected and often received. Best to be prepared.

The house was silent; everyone had scattered after lunch. Tom would no doubt be on one of his ‘trips for supplies’ – although what he thought he could purchase from inside the van with the seat reclined in siesta position was beyond Kate. Stacey Hill, the only other resident, was probably on the beach, trying to clear her head; this too was a daily exercise and would one day, hopefully, enable her to sort the muddled thoughts that plagued her.

‘Are you hungry, Tanya?’

The girl shrugged. Her confusion was not over whether she was hungry or not – she was starving – but whether or not she was comfortable in saying so.

Kate read her reaction.

‘Tell you what, why don’t I pop some sandwiches up to your room while you are getting settled?’

‘Thanks.’

A deal had been struck.

As they climbed the staircase, Kate pointed out the sitting room with its oversized sofas, the dining room, where all meals were taken, and the kitchen with its central table, perfect for catch-ups over coffee or the issue of tissues as and when required.

They stopped at a door with a sign on it that read ‘Dream’.

‘All the rooms have different names. We have “Wish” and “Faith” and “Free”, but “Dream” has the best views and I want you to have sweet dreams.’

She turned the handle and let Tanya walk in first. The girl walked straight to the sash window and stared at the expanse of ocean.

‘Where does it go? I mean, what’s the other side of the sea?’

‘That’s a good question. Geography was never my strong point and I had to look it up when I first arrived, but I have been reliably informed that if you swam as far as you could, the first country you would hit would be Canada.’

‘Canada near America? You’re shitting me?’

‘No, it’s true – if you swam until you hit a beach, you’d probably be handed a towel by a Mountie! Imagine that.’

‘I can’t swim.’

‘Would you like to learn?’

‘No.’

She shook her head. Her answer was loud, emphatic, as she placed her forehead on the cool glass. Kate could not have guessed at her thoughts, the flash of an image, her mother’s boyfriend, angry, pushing her face under the water, a deep, cold bath, don’t breathe, don’t breathe…

‘I’ll go and fetch your sandwiches and leave you to it. Your bathroom is through that door and the wardrobe’s here – it’s all pretty self-explanatory. I’ll let you get settled and I’ll be straight back.’

Tanya didn’t lift her head from the glass. Instead, she stared at the ocean, vast and black and going all the way to another country, another world, Canada… She had never seen the sea before, only pictures of the ocean or in movies. The way the water constantly flexed and jumped leaving tiny white crests wherever she looked was fascinating; it was alive. She hadn’t been prepared for its size, all consuming and limitless.

When the door clicked shut, she looked for the first time at her surroundings. The room was beautiful, with pale blue walls, a stripped wooden floor and a pretty rug. There was a small Victorian fireplace with two comfy chairs in front of it and a little table. The chairs and bed were covered in white cotton with the tiniest sprigs of green flowers sewn onto it, like something out of a magazine. Tanya had never seen anything like it. It was lovely.

The bathroom was similarly perfect, with large white fluffy towels and a thick towelling dressing gown hanging on the back of the door. Tanya could not help but compare it to the bathroom of her childhood. When she blinked she could see the image tattooed on the inside of her eyelids, a constant reminder. It was the room that most symbolised the deprivation in which she had lived and it would stay with her forever. The tiny, cramped room, maybe six foot by eleven. It had a plastic bath with a jagged crack along the side panel and two greenish white streaks like the residue from tiny waterfalls snaking from the tap down to the rusted plug hole. The frosted window was small and high up on the wall, too high to reach and open with ease. In lieu of a curtain, her mum had tacked up a child’s striped pyjama top. Tanya didn’t know where it came from, it wasn’t one of hers. It hung like washing trying to dry, suspended with drawing pins and sagging forlornly in the middle. The loo was filthy and the whole room stank of urine and damp.

The exposed concrete floor was curiously daubed with blobs of yellow and lilac paint, though Tanya had no recollection of any decorating ever having been done, and there was certainly no evidence of it anywhere in the flat. Looking back, Tanya decided that if yellow and lilac were the chosen colours, it was a good job they hadn’t been used. In every corner of the bathroom, gathered behind the pipes and along the side of the bath, were piles of short black curly hair, matted with a curious grey fluff that seemed only to gather in this one room. The wall next to the loo was streaked with long brown tears, sticky droplets of old urine where a drunken cock had misfired. A medicine cupboard that had long ago lost its door hung above the sink, crammed with objects that made her tummy flip, adult things, forbidden things. Tampons, condoms, gels and potions, items that when she glimpsed them made her feel vulnerable and inexplicably queasy. The taps of the sink were relics of the 1970s and dripped constantly, adding to the brown pool that stained the bowl.

Tanya decided that she would like taking a bath in her beautiful new bathroom with its shiny taps and she looked forward to feeling the soft fabric of the dressing gown against her skin and the woolly rug beneath her feet. In prison, everything had been thin: the hard carpet tiles, the watery food, the bars of soap, the worn sheets, the napless towels and communal clothes. All thin, barely grippable between her fingers; frail and insubstantial. She had been cold when clothed, and wet long after her bath as the towels didn’t dry her skin. The bed sheets had been so shabby that she would feel the stitching of the mattress against her cold, goose-prickled skin as she tried to sleep.

Here it was different; things were luxurious and voluminous, downy, soft and inviting. She had never slept in an environment like this, had never even been in a room like this. A bubble of excitement snuffed out the wariness and nerves that had dogged her since she had stepped from the train. Was she really going to sleep in here? Was this really her room to live and spend time in as she pleased?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Fear leapt in her throat. She didn’t move and said nothing.

‘Tanya, can I come in?’

‘Yeah,’ she managed, after a pause.

Kate entered slowly, balancing a tray with sandwiches, a large slice of Victoria sponge and a pot of tea with just the one cup. She knew that Tanya would need to acclimatise alone.

‘Here we go. Room service!’ Kate joked. Looking up, she was dismayed by Tanya’s tears that fell thick and fast.

‘Oh, lovey, please don’t cry. Here, let me get you a tissue.’

Kate deposited the tray on the table by the fire and walked over to the bedside table, where a box of scented tissues had been placed.

‘I’m sure that it’s all a bit strange, but I promise that you will get used to it here and you’ll love it! We are so glad to have you here, Tanya, really I—’

‘It’s not that.’ Tanya interrupted her.

‘Oh.’ Kate was trying to think of what might be ailing her. Missing someone? Feeling lonely? Something else? She didn’t have to guess much longer.

‘No one has ever knocked on a door and asked if they could come in, never, ever, anywhere. Not in my whole life. It’s been as if I was invisible, as if I didn’t count.’

Her tears once again fell unchecked. Kate put her arm round the girl’s shoulders. She knew what it felt like to be invisible.

‘Well, Tanya, that is house rule number one: to treat everyone with respect and to give them privacy when they want it. Your room is your sanctuary, your own private space.’

‘My own private space.’

Tanya repeated the words out loud, trying to comprehend what they meant and thinking that if she said them aloud, it might just make them true.

* * *

The study door was closed, a sign to all not to disturb the occupants.

Stacey pushed stray strands of hair behind her ears; her ponytail was pulled back tightly to reveal her forehead, which was peppered with tiny spots. Her fingers gently touched the four gold hoops of differing sizes that hung from each earlobe, before yanking her jersey sleeves over her hands. She pulled her knees up under her chin and curled her frame more snugly into the wing-back chair facing the desk.

Kate was extremely fond of Stacey, who was fighting her way back to strength after a violent rape. Prospect House was giving her the breathing space to get back on track, in a place where memories of her assault weren’t lurking around every corner.

‘How you doing, missus?’

‘Okay, I think. Bit better.’ Stacey’s voice was quiet as usual.

‘Good! Are you okay to talk, Stace?’

The girl shrugged her shoulders; on some days, even the most basic decision was too tough.

‘I’ve been thinking about going home…’ This she delivered with her eyes averted, as though it were in some way disloyal, rude.

‘Well, that’s a good thing. Only you will know when you are ready. You can of course stay as long as you want to.’

‘I know.’ Stacey gave a small smile of gratitude.

‘Sometimes it’s a good idea to write down your thoughts: reasons to stay a while and why you want to go home. It might help.’

‘I don’t have to write it down, Kate. I know I have to go back to my mum’s at some point, but East Ham’s not that big. Everyone knows…’

‘Stacey, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were the victim, don’t ever forget that.’

‘Yeah, I know that too, but it doesn’t really matter how or why when people are pointing at me. It still feels really shit.’

‘I can imagine, love. It will take enormous courage.’ Kate swallowed the hypocrisy, knowing it was courage she herself didn’t possess. She would never return to Mountbriers Academy. ‘And you do have a lot of support. You’ve got your mum and your brother, and from what you’ve told me you and Nathan are very close.’

‘Yeah, we are; he’s brilliant. We were on our own a lot when we were little, my mum always worked and he was more like my mum in some ways, looking after me and stuff. But it’s not been the same since this happened to me. Mum doesn’t know what to say to make it better, so we just avoid the subject, both making out everything is okay. And Nathan’s life hasn’t really changed, he’s still working at the care home, getting too involved with the old dears that he looks after and trying to find a new boyfriend. It’s not like it was when we were little, when we were always together and he could make things better for me just by making me laugh. He’s still my very best friend, but things are different.’

‘What you’ve been through won’t change how he feels about you, Stacey.’

‘I know, and I know Nathan loves me, but he’s busy. He copes with bad things by distracting himself. None of us are very good at talking about anything that matters. One of his old ladies that he really loved died – Dorothea, I think she was called – and he was gutted, but I only found out by accident. We hide things in our house, make out everything’s all right. It’s like we can’t cope if we’re not laughing, but it makes me feel panicky to think of being at home and having to laugh and joke when I’m broken inside.’

Kate nodded, understanding this too well.

‘I know your mum wants you back and that is only natural, but you are the one who must decide when the time is right to go home, and there is no rush, Stacey.’

‘I guess so.’

Stacey’s mouth moved to form words that were a struggle to sound. She dug deep, found her courage.

‘It’s not really about my mum or Nathan, though; it’s more about people I haven’t met yet…’

Kate tried to anticipate her concern.

‘You don’t have to tell anyone unless you are comfortable doing so, Stacey. What you went through doesn’t define you; it’s just a small part of you that feels like a big part right now. But its hold on you and its domination of your thoughts and actions will diminish with time. I promise you.’

‘I…’ Stacey tried and failed to reveal her thoughts.

‘What is it, love?’

‘I don’t know how anyone will love me and I don’t think I will be able to love anyone, not now I know how bloody awful people can be, and that makes me so sad. It’s like my life has finished before it’s started. I’m glad for my mates whose lives are moving on, they’re having babies and stuff, but I feel a little bit jealous sometimes, that that will never be me. I can’t see me ever getting married, being someone’s wife, not now.’

Stacey snatched at the buttons on her cardigan.

Kate reached across the desk and took the girl’s hand inside her own.

‘Love, Stacey, is a weird and wonderful thing. I thought I had found love when I was not much older than you and it turned out to be the exact opposite of love, because love means freedom and acceptance and I had neither of those things. Then I felt more love than I ever knew possible when I became a mum and this too is now tested to the limit; to have that love taken away from you is another form of torture. But one thing I do know is that when love comes along, it doesn’t judge and it doesn’t condemn, it simply accepts you for who you are, all of you.’ For some reason, Kate saw an image of Simon, his open smile, his beautiful skin, slicked with seawater. ‘And this will be what it’s like for you, Stacey, I promise. Just you wait and see.’

‘I guess so.’ Stacey tried out a small smile.

‘I know so,’ Kate replied. ‘And when the time comes for you to go home and rebuild your life, I’ll put you in touch with people who can support you at home. Janeece would come and see you, I’m sure.’

‘I’d like that, Kate. I just want to go back to how I was before. I want the old me back. I used to laugh all the time, I used to sing a lot and I thought everything was funny. I enjoyed every single day. I never had much, always skint, but always happy.’

‘You will be like that again.’

‘I hope so, cos I’m sick of feeling this low, this scared.’

Kate squeezed the girl’s hand inside her own.

‘You won’t always feel this way. With each day that passes you will get a little bit stronger until eventually you’ll rediscover the person that you used to be. Look at how far you’ve come in the eight months since you arrived! You didn’t want to leave your room at first, remember? And now look at you, out and about on the beach, talking. It’s wonderful; you are doing so well.’

Stacey nodded, not daring to believe that it was true because the disappointment of discovering otherwise would be too much to bear.

‘How are you getting on with Tanya?’ It mattered to Kate that there was harmony.

‘All right, yeah. She’s from North London though, a different world, Kate. I never thought I’d be living with an Arsenal fan!’

They both laughed.

Kate considered the importance Stacey placed on being married. It was touchingly old-fashioned and echoed how her own generation had felt at that age. She wondered if Lydia had a boyfriend. The thought of Lydia marrying without her being present was something Kate just couldn’t contemplate. The very idea of her little girl taking her last steps as a single woman and betrothing her love to another without her mum there to witness the momentous act of transition was incomprehensible. She wanted to be there to support her, hand her over, add in any way possible to her special day. She wanted to fluff her train, blot her lipstick and arrange her posy just so.

Kate had pictured it over and over since Lydia had appeared one day, at the age of seven, clad in an old net curtain and carrying a plant pot up and down the hallway whilst humming the tune of ‘Here comes the bride’, trying not to wobble off the sparkly heels that she had found in her mother’s wardrobe.

Kate thought of her own wedding. In recent years she had many a time replayed the day in her head, rewriting history at the bit when the vicar spoke. In her new, rewritten version of events, she would run from the altar as fast as her white stockinged legs would carry her, holding her bouquet aloft as she wrenched the antique veil from her head and disappeared down the steps into a waiting car being driven by Pierce Brosnan. Well, why not? It was her fantasy after all.

Her actual wedding had not been nearly so dramatic, although there was a moment when it threatened something similar. She and Mark were standing inches apart, facing the vicar, whose arms were spread wide. As the familiar words were cast around the rafters, there was the faintest hesitation on her part. She knew the lines, had unwittingly been rehearsing them in a deep crevice of her mind since she was a little girl, and yet at that exact moment, with friends and family stood in their finery, waiting, she nearly failed. It had been a simple enough question, not a complicated maths equation or something equally taxing that would have sent her into a nervous spluttering of mumbo-jumbo; it had been clear and concise.

‘Do you, Kathryn Gavier, take Mark Brooker to be your lawful wedded husband?’

With breath drawn, tongue poised and words ready, it was as if an unseen force had placed magic on her lips. She had to fight to say it, struggle to get the response out that the vicar, Mark and the assembled congregation had waited her whole life to hear… If only she had let the magic do its work and not fought so strongly to utter the two syllables that would alter the course of her life forever.



Stacey left for her daily stroll on the beach and Kate sauntered into the kitchen.

‘Coffee?’ Natasha stood at the countertop and raised the cafetière in the direction of her friend.

‘Mmmn… Please.’

‘How’s she doing?’

‘Worrying about the future and starting to think about going home.’

‘Well, those are good signs, aren’t they?’

‘Yes. When she’s ready. I don’t want her to rush into anything.’

‘You’ll miss her, won’t you?’

Kate nodded. Yes she would, she would miss her greatly. She smiled at her mate, acknowledging the unspoken words, the dangers of getting too close.

Kate understood the bond between Stacey and Nathan as those who are fortunate to know the love of a trusted sibling or best friend do. Kate knew that no matter how much time passed, she would always dearly love her best friend. The day Natasha had turned up unannounced at the prison was one she would never forget. The memory would, however, always be tinged with the bitter disappointment that her unexpected visitor hadn’t been one of the kids…

‘Oi! Daydreamer!’

Natasha’s shout pulled her back into the present.

‘I was saying that I’m struggling a bit with Tanya. A great girl, really open to my suggestions and seems happy enough, but I kind of get the feeling that she is going through the motions and saying what she thinks will please me, but not truly opening up. Classic closed-in state of the abused.’

‘What can I do to help?’

Kate was as usual looking for a way to ease the path of her latest charge.

‘Oh, nothing different. She’ll open up when she’s ready. I mean, look at Stacey. It took her months. And of course she’s a different kettle of fish, a victim and not a perpetrator, plus she has a brilliant network of support, which means in the long term her prospects of full recovery are good. With Tanya it’s different; we have to be careful. She’s fragile, Kate, more than most. I’m not fooled for one second by that sunny smile or the indifferent shrug; there’s a lot going on in that pretty head.’

‘I know what you mean, Tash. We should pick it up with Janeece.’

‘Good idea.’ Tash nodded.

‘Does she ever mention her mother?’

‘Couple of times, but no real revelation. She occasionally drops her name in passing, usually associated with a memory. I find she wants to talk more about the sea; she’s fascinated by it. Her pictures are quite dark and nearly always with some water theme – the sea or just blocks of black and blue.’

Both noted the bruise analogy.

‘I can’t work out if it’s just because the ocean is new and exciting or whether she is subconsciously looking for a way to escape, sail off into the sunset, quite literally. There’s a piece she is working on that I find a little unsettling…’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s the sea again, but with a skeleton arm coming up and breaking the surface. Lots of black as is usual in her work but it’s almost Gothic, with horror undertones. I don’t think her memories or associations with water are good.’

‘Doesn’t sound like it. What will you do?’

‘I’ll see how it progresses; get her to interpret it for me, a number of things. Sometimes it’s enough that it’s been put down on paper, almost like exorcising the bad thoughts. It’s similar to having someone to talk to, getting all that dark stuff out into the open so that you don’t carry it around.’

‘Has she told you about the ex-boyfriend?’ Kate was curious.

‘A bit. He sounds like a total shit, comme toujours. She mentioned he was a dealer, but quickly checked herself, she’s still not confident in how much she should reveal. It amazes me how these bastards seem to have some kind of sixth sense that enables them to seek out girls that are needy, vulnerable, and they know exactly how to exploit it. How do men do that?’

Kate hunched her shoulders inward.

‘I guess because some girls let them…’

‘Oh God, Kate, I didn’t mean you!’

Natasha slapped her own forehead in mock reprimand.

‘It’s fine, Tash. It’s fine, really. And you are right, it’s important for girls like Tanya to know that they are not alone. It can happen to any woman, even one like me!’

‘Top up?’ Natasha once again lifted the coffee pot.

Kate raised her mug before dropping it loudly on the table. Coffee drops scattered rain-like as the china crashed and split into pieces.

‘God, that made me jump! What was that?’

A motorbike roared into view, its deafening engine powering it up the drive.

‘I can’t say exactly, but I can predict that it’s a new Mr Someone in whose arms Tanya can forget – and he has a very large motorbike!’

Kate placed her head in her hands.

‘Oh that’s great, just what we need, a rebel without a cause.’

‘Kate, you worry too much. It might be good for her, a little diversion. Mind, you have to give it to the girl, she’s a fast worker. How long has she been here?’

‘Nearly three weeks.’

‘Blimey, we’ve been here years and not so much as a sniff!’

‘Speak for yourself. I got propositioned at the fish market a couple of weeks ago, by an octogenarian with a customised scooter and a fancy for gurnard!’

‘Bloody hell, you dark horse. What did you say?’ Natasha squealed, reminding Kate of her sister in their teens.

‘I said no.’

‘You’re kidding me! Are you mad? Customised-scooter-driving, gurnard-wielding octogenarians are fairly thin on the ground in these parts.’

‘I know. I did, however, manage to resist. Although to be honest, Tash, even if it had been Mr Clooney himself with whitebait for two I’d have said no. I’ve got enough to think about.’

‘Did you get his number?’

‘NO! I’ve told you, not interested.’

‘Not for you, you dozy cow, for me!’

The two laughed as they mopped coffee into paper towels and retrieved the scattered slivers of china. Kate thought how lovely it was to break a mug without breaking sweat, knowing that she would not be ‘punished’ later for this accidental misdemeanour.

The kitchen door opened to reveal Tanya with a flush to her cheeks and her hair perfectly tousled. She looked beautiful.

‘Hello you, what was that mighty roar? Have you been on a motorbike? If yes, I hope you wore a proper hat thing.’

Kate was aware that her tone was a little too censorial, but it was difficult. She wanted Tanya to hook up with a boy who would do the right thing, treat her properly. Anyone who would roar off without seeing her safely through the door or introducing himself was already falling short of Kate’s exacting standards. It was difficult for her not to apply Mountbriers etiquette.

Kate felt a huge sense of responsibility towards all the residents who had come under her care; her biggest battle was to remain objective. She could only look at Tanya’s new beau in clichéd terms: an unsuitable boy, a member of the wrong crowd, trouble waiting to happen.

‘Thanks, but I’m a big girl, Kate. I’ve told him to get me a helmet.’ She rolled her eyes skywards.

‘Oh good. It’s just that apart from being illegal not to wear a helmet, the roads around here are winding and unpredictable. I want you to be safe.’

‘Yes. Winding and unpredictable, understood. Can I go now?’

‘Of course you can go, Tanya. I’m only trying to show you how dangerous it is and to take an interest in your new friend. It would be good if he came in to say hello next time he collected or dropped you off.’

‘Err… don’t think so, that would be too weird!’

‘I worry about you, Tanya. This is all new for you and I want you to take things slowly.’

‘No, that’s not what you mean at all, Kate. You don’t want me to be happy. You want me to sit around feeing miserable and still broken like Tracey or whatever her bloody name is, so that you can be the great fixer and feel slightly better about your shitty life. That’s why you do this, isn’t it?’

Kate’s response was measured.

‘Oh, Tanya, I wish that were true. I wish that by helping you and the others I could heal myself, but sadly, no, it doesn’t quite work like that.’

Tanya covered her face with her palms, speaking through the gaps in her slender fingers.

‘Oh God, Kate, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it!’

‘Tanya, it’s okay. I am really rather chuffed that you can say exactly what you think. Goodness me, when you arrived a few weeks ago, you would have nodded and agreed to just about anything. You’ve come a long way in a very short space of time.’

‘It’s just that I’m not used to anyone being nice to me and I think any comment is going to lead to a fight, so I tend to get my side in first.’

‘I understand, Tanya. Don’t worry. I don’t want it mentioned again.’

Tanya looked thoughtful and a little sheepish as she trod the stairs to her room.

Natasha had been silently observing from behind the breakfast bar.

‘You are remarkable, do you know that?’

Kate raised an eyebrow by way of reply, wishing beyond wish that it was Lydia she had been reprimanding.

* * *

It was Kate’s turn to cook while Tom held court in the Lobster Pot, as he did every Tuesday evening, the open mic night providing an excuse for him to play to an unpaying crowd. Natasha had gone to a fine art and sculpture seminar in Truro and Kate served dinner to the girls. She dug the spoon deep into the fish pie. Steam rose from the fractured brown crust of buttery mashed potatoes.

Tanya wrinkled her nose.

‘You don’t know that you don’t like it until you try it, Tanya.’

‘I didn’t say a bloody word!’

‘You didn’t have to.’ Kate laughed. ‘You did your nose-wrinkling thing.’

‘Well I think it looks lovely, Kate,’ Stacey piped up.

Kate smiled at her, always sweet, gracious and positive.

‘Okay, Mrs Suck-Up! God, you’d eat poop pie if Kate made it!’

Tanya’s retort was biting and predictable.

Kate didn’t comment. She had enough experience to know that interrupting warring youths was never a good idea. A pang of grief scraped at her chest and spread throughout her body. She used to think you could only grieve for people long gone, but she now knew that it was possible to grieve for a time long gone, more specifically a moment in time, when her own children had been under her wing, squabbling at her table.

She missed cooking for the kids; there was something quite primal in the preparing and cooking of food for your offspring. It was one of a thousand comforting daily rituals that had marked her life for so many years. Sometimes she would recall a chubby hand resting in her palm, a sticky face lifted skywards awaiting a kiss, or the smell of a fragrant bay-scented scalp, and her tears would pool. Her babies, long gone. The role she fulfilled for these girls was multi-faceted: she was counsellor, protector and guardian, but never mother, even when the barriers were down and hope was at its strongest. Having never had children, Natasha would smile across the table when these tense exchanges occurred; it was the closest she came to living in a challenging family environment.

Tanya forked a mouthful of the pie into her mouth and now felt fully qualified to talk with authority.

‘I don’t like fish pie.’

She folded her arms across her chest like a petulant toddler.

Kate looked at her stern face.

‘Well that’s fine, Tanya,’ she sang, as she removed Tanya’s plate from in front of her and deposited the contents into the pedal bin. ‘You can jolly well starve.’



Kate was happy to wave the girls off for the evening, Stacey to a movie in the village hall and Tanya to the pub, to mock Tom’s vocal efforts no doubt. It was a luxury to have the house to herself. She poured a large glass of plonk and turned on the sitting room lamps. Cosy. She was alone and happy with the idea of an uninterrupted few hours, a chance to gather her thoughts. When Mark was alive, evenings had been the worst part of the day as the threat of bedtime loomed ever closer. Now, however, it was her time, and the thrill of knowing that a peaceful night lay ahead had not lessened over the years.

Down at the pub, at the clanging of the bell and the gathering of swilled glasses, the bar had gone from crowded to empty in a matter of minutes. Drunken revellers had been cast into the real world, where the air still carried the lingering warmth of a blissful summer day. It was one of those days when night would never truly fall. A light glow persisted, offering a peek at the morning that hovered in the distance.

Tom had been in full flow, his mouth organ twittering out shanties and tunes. Even those not native to Penmarin, who didn’t know the ancient rhymes and lyrics, had participated through foot stomping and clapping. It had been a golden night, one to remember.

Tanya loitered at the end of the bar. Her red hair fell over her shoulder as her head lolled to one side. She gripped the motorbike helmet under her arm, the biker’s first and last present to her. She was ready for her ride home.

Rodney grinned at her as he gulped the remains of his single malt. She was gorgeous and for once it wasn’t his beer goggles that gave her that irresistible edge; she had been drawing his gaze since he first saw her. If he was being honest, he liked the idea of the rough diamond that wouldn’t be looking for romance and whispered exchanges. He would take a guess that her usual beau was sparing with the chocolates, corsages and Moët. This would be easy.

‘A good night?’

‘I’ve had better.’ She smiled.

He liked her confident banter, not like some of the dozy tarts who hung around, laughing at his every word, dreaming of living in the big house or at the very least hoping for a day trip on his yacht. Her cutting repartee told him all he needed to know: this was no-strings fun. He had let the pot boy and barmaid go early, almost as if clearing the stage for this long awaited performance. Perfect.

‘Where you going with that?’ He grinned and pointed at the helmet.

‘Dunno, any suggestions?’

Her retort might have been sexy were it not for the sad familiarity with which the words dripped from her glossed lips, and the Lolita-like pose that she had been perfecting for a while. It was how she got things done, reeled them in, gave them what they wanted, felt loved.

Rodney sauntered across to where she stood and slowly pulled her behind the bar. She giggled, but didn’t find any of it funny. It was a laugh that they expected, a laugh that gave them permission: it’s okay to carry on, just a bit of harmless fun.

Gripping her from behind, he breathed into the back of her neck, inhaling the scent of her young body. Slipping his hand under the thin material of her T-Shirt, flat-palmed against white skin, he drew small circles that warmed the space they touched. Tanya turned around slowly until she faced the man that would seduce her. He was old. She studied the creases and lines that traversed his sagging face and noted the coarse hair that sprouted in trimmed clumps.

She smirked at his inexpert kissing. She’d assumed that an older lover would have mastered the art, but apparently not. He felt huge against her tiny frame, a giant that she would fell. His impatience amused her; fumbling at belts and snatching at buttons, he grabbed and pawed, his need urgent. She smirked in recognition of the fact that they were all the same when it came right down to it, aged twenty, thirty, forty or fifty… At this point, it was all about a need, a longing and an ache that she could satisfy. With her eyes closed, all her lovers past and present were remarkably similar.

The mismatched pair slid down onto the sticky red linoleum behind the bar. The smell of beer and the sugary scent of spilt wine was overwhelming. There were no words of seduction, no affection or intimacies of love. This was an act of pure physicality, animalistic, verging on aggressive.

Tanya laughed into his plaid-clad, middle-aged shoulder, which had long since lost its definition. She enjoyed the brief power, it was always this way. This was the moment when she felt supreme. She radiated at the thrall in which she held the local big-wig, he of powerful car and fat cigar, a connoisseur of life’s finer things. For a few seconds this union would make her too feel like a finer thing.

She wanted the pace to be slow; she hoped for a few words of tenderness. She got neither.

Her spike of elation was not to last. All too quickly the pair were restoring clothing, tucking in hems and patting down wilful hair. This aftermath was conducted in silence, not the awkward variety, but, judging by Rodney’s expression, a hush born of disgust.

Tanya’s sense of omnipotence was immediately and forcibly replaced with a deep self-loathing, a feeling that was more comfortable, familiar.

Rodney jangled the keys in her direction, informing her it was home time. Her humiliation was complete; he wasn’t wasting any words on her. The best he could manage was an action, the rattling of chunks of metal to coerce her, in the way one might distract a baby or quiet a rowdy pet. As he reached over, she hoped to feel the caress of his palm against her face; it would have helped. Instead, he pinched her cheek, in the way one might a naughty nephew, or as if he were a cane-wielding schoolmaster.

He dropped her off at the bottom of the driveway. She had barely placed her feet on the ground when the Kawasaki roared off into the night. The honey glow of Kate’s carefully positioned lamps shone through the windows of Prospect House. Tanya eased her key into the lock.

Kate was on the sofa, blanket bound and reading.

‘Hello, love. Good evening?’

‘Yeah, not bad. If shagging on the bar floor is your idea of a good evening.’

She wanted to shock, transfer some of the tension to this woman who was easy prey.

Kate sat up, The Time Traveler’s Wife suddenly of less interest than the topic in hand.

‘Actually, no, it isn’t. I’m a bit old-fashioned like that, preferring at least a mattress, a decent courtship or a bag of chips first, but that’s just me.’

Kate refused to take the bait. She’d seen it all before, heard it all before. She suppressed the many questions that danced on her tongue. Who is he? Why are you doing this? Are you okay? Hurt? Happy?

Kate unwrapped the blanket from her legs and closed her book. Henry DeTamble would just have to stay missing somewhere in time until she could pick up his trail again. She knew he would understand, given that he was always having to suffer the inconvenience of disappearing at the most crucial moments.

‘Well, as long as you are home safe and sound, I think I’ll turn my toes in.’

Tanya stumbled forward and sat down on the sofa next to Kate. Her tears fell quietly, snaking their way into her open mouth. She was not usually given to mournful reflection, but it was as if by being in this wonderful place, she expected her life to be different, she expected to be different. But it wasn’t. She wasn’t. Whether with the old gang trying to score a hit or here in this picture-postcard village by the sea, it would always be her that gave the boys what they wanted, her that only knew how to seduce, but not how to love.

‘Oh Kate, Kate…’

‘It’s okay, lovey, you are home and you are safe.’

She cradled the girl’s slight frame against her own and spoke into her scalp.

‘It will all feel a bit better in the morning, you wait and see. It’ll pass, everything does.’

Kate smiled as she regurgitated the advice a good friend had once given her.

The two sat until Tanya drifted into sleep. Kate extricated herself, taking care not to wake her. She needed the escape that sleep offered. Kate tucked the pale pink lambswool blanket around her charge’s slender shoulders and pushed a cushion under her cheek. Tanya was calm, for now.

* * *

‘Morning all!’

Tom was in good spirits.

‘Just seen Rodney on the deck of his boat looking like a right plonker! God, if he’s not racing around on that ridiculous bloody motorbike, he’s poncing about on that boat!’

Kate seized the moment. She popped on her trainers, snuck out of the back door and trotted off down the lane. She tried to calm her rising pulse, tried not to jump to any conclusions. It wasn’t often she knew where to find Rodney, and this was just the opportunity she’d been looking for.

She found him on the deck of Lady of Penmarin, his rather ostentatious yacht, wearing a naff sailing hat with gold braiding and a large anchor embroidered on the front, the kind of cap you could pick up at any of the local gift shops for a few quid. He was busy coiling rope, which even though she was a novice sailor, Kate could tell was a futile chore, designed so that he could show off in full view on the deck. Tom had phrased it perfectly: a right plonker.

‘Rodney, hi!’

Kate waved from the pontoon.

‘It’s Cap’n Rodney when I am on my seafaring maiden!’

‘Righto. I was wondering if I might have a word?’

Kate ignored his joviality; she was in no mood for high jinks.

‘Yes of course, come aboard!’

‘Urgh, I was afraid you’d say that.’

Kate groaned. She was an ungainly yachtswoman, clinging to rigging and placing each foot hesitantly for fear of ending up in the drink.

‘What a lovely surprise, Kate! Come into my lair…’

Rodney indicated the cabin steps and twitched his rather unkempt eyebrows like the classic caricature lech.

‘I’d rather not. I’d prefer to just say my piece and then go.’

‘Oh, that sounds ominous.’

‘I want to talk to you about Tanya.’

‘Ah, the delightful Tanya – talk away!’

‘This isn’t funny, Rodney, far from it. In fact I’ve come to ask you to stay away from her.’

Rodney laughed and shook his head slightly as though in disbelief.

‘I don’t know what tales of wrongdoing she’s been running up the hill with, but let me assure you that she was more than—’

‘She hasn’t mentioned you, not once.’ Kate interrupted him. ‘It’s me that has the problem, not her. Any relationship you might envisage having with her can only do her harm in the long run and I care enormously about Tanya, about all the girls.’

‘Relationship? Good God! I think you are rather jumping the gun there.’

Rodney laughed loudly at the very idea.

‘I see. Well, that says it all really. Do you know, Rodney, you are an arsehole and a bastard and an arsehole!’

‘You already said arsehole.’

‘I know, but I’m not very good at swearing in public and it’s all I could think of twice.’

‘Is there something else going on here, Kate, old girl? Is that a little bit of the green-eyed monster I detect? Maybe it’s not fair because Kate is a lonely girl?’

He winked at her.

‘Oh, please! You make me sick, Rodney. Let me ask you a question: how did you become the person you are? How did your unfortunate personality take shape?’

He stared at her, unsure whether she was expecting an answer or not. She wasn’t.

Kate continued.

‘I bet if you were anything like me, it was because of the people you met, places you went, your education, holidays you took, foreign travel, chatting to people from different backgrounds, races, religions.’

‘I guess.’

He shrugged and scratched at his scalp under his hat. His grip on the topic was somewhat loose; he wished she would get to the point.

‘Well, Tanya has had none of those opportunities, not yet. She may look like a grown-up and even sound like one at times, but she is anything but. I want you to leave her alone and give her the chance to experience life without being lassoed by someone old enough to be her father, if not grandfather! I am asking you to stay away from her because she is fragile and I am not about to look the other way and watch her get damaged further by your little dalliance.’

‘Oh please, Kate. Dalliance? That is a very sweet term applied to what was nothing more than a drunken fumble between two willing parties. I think you are overdramatising and for your information, I have no intention of repeating the event. Where Tanya is concerned, my curiosity is more than satisfied.’

He stood tall, using his physicality to make the point.

Kate saw the smirk on his florid face, watched the sneer to his mouth as he said Tanya’s name and she saw red. How dare he use this little girl to ‘satisfy’ a whim, how dare he do that to Tanya?

‘You are a f*cking shit, Rodney, a disgusting excuse of a man and a joke. You strut around Penmarin because you put a few shekels into a few restaurants and you think you own the bloody place. You are widely disliked by those who allow you to buy them drinks, did you know that? You are a creep and a tosser. You are a very small fish in a very small pond and that makes you nothing. Arsehole.’

Rodney was speechless.

Kate turned on her heel and with confidence made her way off the deck and onto the pontoon. Natasha was right; having a good old rant with a few choice swearwords thrown in for good measure was really quite cathartic.



Kate swallowed hard as waves of sickness swept her body. Her hands shook and her stomach flipped itself into knots. Her exchange with Rodney had physically shaken her. It had been a while since aggression had featured in her daily routine and its reintroduction left her reeling.

She took a deep breath before entering the kitchen; she didn’t want anyone to see her this agitated.

‘Everything all right, boss?’

Tom was elbow deep in washing-up suds.

‘Yes, Tom, fine.’

Her smile lasted no longer than a second.

Tom nodded at the deep window sill.

‘Tanya’s left you a note.’

‘A note? Why?’

Tom shrugged and pursed his lips. How should he know?

Kate read the hastily scrawled text and dropped her forehead into her hands.

‘Oh shoot!’

‘Would a cup of tea help?’

Tom wiped his arms on a tea towel and reached for the kettle.

Kate nodded.

‘She’s gone back to London.’

‘For good?’

‘No. She says for “a bit”, although what that means I’m not sure. Ooh I could kick myself, she needs to be here!’

Kate thumped the table top. It was hard for her to accept the lack of control she had over those she most wanted to help. Dominic, Lydia, Tanya…

‘She’ll be back, boss. Doesn’t sound like she’s got much up there.’

Kate nodded, hoping desperately that he was right, and headed for the door. She would go down to the beach to gather her thoughts.



The beeping of a horn heralded Janeece’s arrival and jolted Kate from her morose reflections. Tom had obviously directed her to the beach.

‘Hello! Hello!’

‘Oi! You is in my seat!’

Their old comedy routine still made them both laugh.

Kate waved from her blanket and practised her smile.

‘I think you’ll find it’s anyone’s seat actually!’

‘Jesus, Kate! I swear to God Penmarin moves half an hour further away every time I come!’

Janeece plonked herself down on the damp sand, enveloping Kate in a large hug, releasing her when she was good and ready.

‘Oh bloody hell, now I’ve creased me linen!’

‘You look lovely.’

Kate meant it. Today Janeece had chosen a grass-green linen shift with a dazzling array of buttons and beads sewn around the neck and cuffs, over hot pink, cropped jeans with the same design around the hem. Janeece knew how to flatter her Amazonian frame with bold prints and bright colours that more diminutive characters would shirk from.

‘And we don’t move further away; it’s that rubbishy car of yours. I keep saying, take the jeep, we can swap. Mine’s more robust for longer journeys and your Deux Chevaux will do me fine for pottering to the station or the shops.’

‘Sssshhh, she might hear you. Cars have feelings too, you know, and I would never trade my Bessie in. She’s the first big thing I ever bought and I love her!’

‘You get more sentimental with age, Jan.’

‘Mental yes, not sure about the “senti” bit!’

‘How’re the kids?’

‘Well, I know that all mothers think it, but I know that mine are the most beautiful creatures ever created. Jared is walking, although he’s very wobbly, got the legs of a drunk; and Eliza is talking nineteen to the dozen – can’t get her to shut up.’

‘Must take after her father.’

‘Ha! Funny girl. She says she wants to be a spaceman when she grows up. I asked if she meant spacewoman, but she was adamant. So she either becomes more gender aware as she gets older or I’m hooking up with Cher to see if she can recommend a good surgeon!’

The two laughed, simultaneously appraising each other. Now that Janeece had started a family and moved to Bristol, they only saw each other once a month, when Janeece returned to lead counselling sessions with the girls. But both women were still quick to notice any changes in the other’s mood or demeanour.

‘How you doing, Kate, really?’

Janeece knew better than to accept Kate’s smile at face value.

Kate looked at the sand, trying to divert her sadness.

‘Well, I’m good most of the time. Sometimes, though, I miss Lyd and Dom so much it’s painful. I mean literally I feel pain in my heart.’

‘I wish I could make it all better for you.’

Kate gripped her friend’s hand. ‘You do, Jan, you do.’

‘I’ve got something to show you. I was going to wait until I left, but now seems as good a time as any.’

‘What is it?’ Kate was intrigued.

Janeece delved into her large patchwork book bag and produced a glossy booklet. She placed it in Kate’s upturned palm.

‘It’s a programme of West Country events for the year. Turn to page twelve and see what’s coming up in a few months.’

Kate did as instructed and her eyes were immediately drawn to the small black-and-white photo in the top right-hand corner. It was Lydia.

‘Oh, Jan! She’s so beautiful and grown-up! Look!’

She did her best to dash away the big fat tears that dripped from her chin.

Janeece could only nod sympathetically. Having never met Lydia or seen any other picture of her, it was impossible for her to draw a comparison.

Kate read further. ‘She is holding an exhibition, oh my goodness, her very own art exhibition at the RWA in Bristol. Oh, Jan, isn’t that amazing! She must be very good, mustn’t she; I mean, they don’t let any old person hold an exhibition!’

Her excitement bubbled through her tears. Her little girl, her baby… Kate pictured Lydia’s fat toddler fingers gripping crayons and producing masterpieces that she had then pinned up around their kitchen walls. It was a lifetime ago.

‘It’s called “Pictures From Behind the Flint Walls”. What do you think that means?’

Kate considered the title and then answered her own question. ‘We had flint walls at Mountbriers; it must be that.’

Janeece nodded. ‘I didn’t know if I should show it to you, but it plopped through the letterbox yesterday and is being advertised a lot locally. I didn’t want you hearing about it from someone else.’

‘Thank you. It’s lovely to see. I can’t believe how grown-up she looks, and so self-assured. She looks a lot like her dad too. He was a very good-looking man; that’s the one nice thing I can say about him.’

‘Are you going to go?’ Janeece nodded at the booklet.

‘Oh! I hadn’t thought. I wouldn’t want to upset her big night. I would dearly love to of course. I would love to.’

Kate beamed as though her attendance was a possibility.

‘Why don’t you ask Francesca what she thinks?’

‘Well, it’s tricky. I don’t phone there any more – the kids asked me not to and I have to respect that. So she calls me once a month, and emails of course. I think it would be too public a place for our first precious meeting, but you have no idea how much I would love to get a glimpse of her and Dom. He’ll be there; he wouldn’t miss this for the world!’

‘There’s no reason why you can’t go to the exhibition, Kate. I could go ahead, see who was around and if the coast was clear, then you could come and have a gander. Then I’d whisk you away afterwards. It’s on for over a week. What do you say?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Well, think about it. You don’t have to decide now.’

‘I love you, Jan. I love you to bits.’

Kate gripped her young friend’s hand.

‘The feeling, madam, is entirely mutual.’

‘Are you sure this isn’t too much for you, coming up every month, Jan? I hate to think of you doing the journey so often.’

‘We’re only in Bristol, it’s nothing. Anyway, it’s good to keep my hand in with the counselling, and to have a “me day”, let Nick and the kids have time together. I think they all enjoy being able to eat rubbish and watch their monthly TV allowance in one afternoon. When I get back, they’re always bug eyed and bouncing off the walls from sugar overload!’

Their chuckles brought them back on track.

‘How’s Tanya getting on?’

Kate exhaled. ‘Oh God, Jan, bit of a mess really. We had a development last night, I’m afraid. She’s a fabulous kid, but a trouble magnet. She’s been sleeping with someone and I’m afraid to say it’s… Well, have a guess: old, slimy—’

‘Not Rodney Big-Shot-Have-You-Seen-My-Boat?’

‘The very same. I’ve had serious words with him and I am absolutely furious. But realistically what can I do? She’s not a baby and she’s not a prisoner.’

The two women smiled at each other. Both knew very well the difference between life behind bars and in front of them.

‘What the hell is he thinking, Kate?’

‘I suspect he’s not, not with his head anyway.’

‘Do you want me to sort him out?’

Janeece balled her right hand into a fist and pulled her arm back at head height as if about to land a punch.

Kate laughed again.

‘No! Although that’s very tempting. Tanya has probably been encouraging him slightly, possibly even a bit more than slightly, so I have to tread carefully to avoid alienating her. Although it’s a bit of a moot point right now because she’s gone off to London, apparently. Left me a note saying she had to go back there for a bit.’

‘How long is a bit?’ Janeece echoed Kate’s earlier question.

Kate shrugged as she pulled her knees up to her chin and hung her head forward. ‘Oh, why can’t it ever be easy?’

‘Nothing worth having ever is. Someone brilliant told me that once.’ She smiled at Kate. ‘It’ll work out, mate.’

‘Oh, Jan, I hope so. I’m getting tired.’

‘No, you’re not getting tired, you’re getting old!’

‘Thanks a million! You’re supposed to be making me feel better!’

‘Oh yeah? That was never in our contract! Maybe your old age is giving you selective memory as well as fatigue!’

Janeece jumped up to pat the sand and creases from her clothes.

‘Right, this isn’t what I came here for. I can gossip to you anytime, but today I’ve got work to do. I’ll go find Tash and see what she’s unearthed and we’ll take it from there. Then how about a rendezvous at the kitchen table for a cup of coffee and a slice of whatever Tom has managed to create in my honour?’

‘That sounds lovely.’

‘Right, missus, I shall see you after I’ve had my session with Stacey. Don’t worry, Kate, you are doing your best. You know that, right?’

‘Mmmn… But what if my best isn’t good enough?’

‘Then it’s out of your hands, mate.’

Janeece kissed her dear friend on the cheek before leaving her alone.

Kate watched the girl that had become a woman tread the wet sand towards the path. She was so proud of all Janeece had achieved, a gifted counsellor and a wonderful mum. Sometimes it was hard for Kate to reconcile the confident woman that Janeece had become with the aggressive teenager she had first met.

As she turned back to stare at the sea, Kate heard the postman’s van reverse into the driveway and her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t receive letters from Lydia any more but prayed that they would start again – a note, a scribble, anything. This time of day meant a quickening of her pulse, just in case there was a response to her monthly communiqué, an olive branch. There never was, but she would wait.

She pulled her ballet wrap cardigan around her slender frame. These days, her figure was svelte as a result of healthy living and not because she was so scared all the time that she was unable to eat. Stretching her bare calves in the mid-morning sun, she flexed her toes against the edge of the soft tartan blanket. The damp sand clung where it touched. An empty crisp packet cartwheeled along, propelled by the intermittent breeze. Her surroundings were perfect yet the hole inside her could not and would not be filled until her children were once again in her life.