All the houses here on the crescent had sizeable gardens, most of them long and narrow. Mrs Barrett’s seemed a little shorter than the others because of a dense cluster of mature bushes and trees at the bottom that gobbled up about a quarter of its length.
The gardens that flanked it were different, she noticed. The one on the right had a manicured lawn, a few bushes at the bottom and neat empty borders – no flowers. The one on the left featured a rather scruffy, patchy lawn. Its main purpose appeared to be to house a plastic slide and swing set and a paintbox-blue playhouse that was set on a patchwork of faded coloured slabs.
In fact, all the gardens were different from one another, each fitting a purpose for the family that lived there. There was a kind of order even to the shabbier yards. Holly supposed that without order, everything fell apart, and it was definitely time for her to impose some in her own life.
But she couldn’t bear to open those letters yet, nor look through all the paperwork, which she knew would be laden with legal threats. Some part of her realised that she couldn’t hide here forever, of course; it was unavoidable that judgement day would finally arrive.
For others, as well as herself.
By that time, she’d be fully prepared and ready to face the worst. She’d learned the hard way that it was far better to plough through life than to just let it happen to you.
* * *
It had been over a year after that last day at school that she’d set eyes on Markus again.
As she’d rushed to catch the bus to her secretarial course at college, a deep voice had called her name from across the road. The small queue of people in front of her had shuffled in anticipation, and she’d glanced the other way to see the bus approaching.
‘Holly!’
She’d stopped walking and turned to see who had called to her, and Markus had waved.
The rumble of the bus behind her grew louder, but she ignored it. She liked Markus and they were well overdue for a catch-up. She’d managed to get to know a couple of girls at college who were also on her course, but they were just acquaintances rather than friends.
She had waited until Markus crossed the road. He seemed so much taller and broader than when she’d last set eyes on him. He wore his floppy fringe swept back now, and she thought how it suited him.
He’d dodged the traffic and taken a final leap onto the pavement, folding her into his muscular arms.
He seemed so pleased to see her, she found it quite disarming.
‘It’s been too long, Holly.’ He was grinning. ‘I want to know all about the exciting life you have been leading since leaving school.’
‘Hmm.’ Holly had twisted one side of her mouth up. ‘Well, that should take all of about five seconds.’
‘Same old dry sense of humour.’ He’d squeezed her arm.
‘What about you?’ she’d ventured. ‘Have you made your first million yet? Found Mr Right?’
‘Ha! Let’s just say I’m well on my way to both.’ He’d glanced down the street towards the shops at the bottom. ‘Do you have time for a coffee before you go? I have an opportunity to tell you about… You never know, you might be interested. Unless you’re happy with your wonderful life now?’
‘Yeah, right,’ she’d muttered.
About to turn down his offer, she’d paused to think. She’d already missed the start of her first session at college, as the next bus wasn’t due for twenty minutes. It was only Health and Safety anyway. Boring old Miss Newton droning on about office rules.
‘I can spare an hour.’ She had shrugged. ‘But I’ll have to share your drink, ’cos I’ve got no cash on me.’
‘That’s no problem, consider it my treat.’ Markus had beamed, clearly delighted that she’d accepted his invitation.
Chapter Eight
Holly
Holly stood up and walked over to the opposite side of the room.
She pushed one of the packing boxes with her foot. It shifted easily towards the bed, over the dreadful brown-and-orange-patterned carpet that had somehow managed to completely suck out any illusion of space in the room.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress again, she tore off the strips of masking tape and unfolded the flaps of the box.
Her hand froze as she stared at the first item.
The silver-framed photograph of Evan lay face up. Her eyes immediately prickled, turning the sun-kissed brown hair, the freckles and the pert nose that melted her heart into a soft blur.
She reached for it and held it against her chest, resting her chin on the top of the filigree frame while her tears fell unchecked.
Was he missing her the way she missed him?
She should have wrapped the photograph in a towel or something, packed it safely at the bottom of the box. But she remembered now that his picture had been the one thing she’d wanted to keep looking at right until the last moment before she left.
She could hardly bear to look at it, and yet she had found it impossible to set aside. He was the reason she would make a future here, so they could be together again.
She squeezed the hard metal frame closer to her, feeling the bite of sharp corners that dug into her soft flesh.
She applied more pressure. Wincing at the unforgiving metal and wishing for a moment that she could tear those responsible to pieces with it, but knowing full well that even that wouldn’t go an inch towards repairing the harm they had done to her. To him. To their relationship.
She promised herself there and then that if ever she began to feel doubt or allowed the bad thoughts to take a hold, she’d look at that photograph, because it would give her the strength to carry on and the confidence that one day she and Evan could be together again.
She wouldn’t allow anything to get in the way of that.
* * *
Ten years earlier, her aunt and uncle had tried to clip her wings when, after speaking to Markus, she’d decided to leave Nottingham for Manchester.
Of course, on reflection, she now very much wished she’d gone for another option, but hindsight was the perfect science when applied to anyone’s life. And she’d never regretted getting away from the two of them at last, especially Uncle Keith.
‘What do you mean, you’re leaving home?’ Aunt Susan had gasped, her mouth falling open as she stood in the doorway of Holly’s poky bedroom. ‘You can’t go just like that. What about your college course?’
‘I can, and I am going,’ Holly had said simply, stuffing random pieces of clothing into a holdall. ‘College was only a stopgap until I found a way of getting out of this dump.’
Her heartbeat had quickened when she’d heard the familiar sounds of her uncle labouring upstairs. Aunt Susan had looked back and shaken her head at the great lump when he finally reached the doorway.
‘She’s going, Keith! Leaving… after all we’ve done for her.’
‘Is that your way of thanking us for taking you in?’ he’d rasped, still out of breath from the short climb. ‘When your useless mother drank herself to death, you were headed straight for the children’s home… You’ve a short memory. You were glad enough to accept our hospitality then, weren’t you, you little tart?’
‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’ Holly had glared at him and then softened her voice to address her aunt. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Aunt Susan, but I need to get out of this place, get away from Nottingham. I’ve been offered the chance to make a fresh start in Manchester with my friend, and—’
‘Manchester?’ Keith had scoffed. ‘What’s Manchester got that you can’t find here?’
‘Well it hasn’t got you, for starters,’ she’d retorted.
‘Holly! Don’t you dare speak to him like—’
Holly had raised her hand. ‘Save it, Aunt Susan. Don’t make me go there.’
‘Go where?’ Keith had bristled, his flabby cheeks wobbling, magnifying the already outraged expression on his face. ‘If you’ve something to say, then bloody well say it. I’ve nothing to hide.’
Holly had shaken her head and reached for her toiletries bag, tucking it inside an old grey rucksack.