Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Susan Lewis 2019

Jacket design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Jacket photograph © Reilika Landen /Arcangel Images

Susan Lewis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008286736

Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008286743

Version: 2019-08-20

Dedication

In loving memory of

Jim Lynskey

The bravest and most inspiring

young man I know

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One: Vivienne

Chapter Two: Shelley

Chapter Three: Vivienne

Chapter Four: Shelley

Chapter Five: Vivienne

Chapter Six: Shelley

Chapter Seven: Vivienne

Chapter Eight: Shelley

Chapter Nine: Vivienne

Chapter Ten: Shelley

Chapter Eleven: Vivienne

Chapter Twelve: Shelley

Chapter Thirteen: Vivienne

Chapter Fourteen: Vivienne

Chapter Fifteen: Vivienne

Chapter Sixteen: Shelley

Chapter Seventeen: Vivienne

Chapter Eighteen: Gina

Chapter Nineteen: Vivienne

Chapter Twenty: Vivienne

Chapter Twenty-One: Vivienne

Chapter Twenty-Two: Vivienne

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Susan Lewis

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE
VIVIENNE

The day started out so well.

It was sunny, warm – a welcome bonus for what had so far been a rainy April – with misty slats of sunlight streaming through the partially open plantation shutters. The delicious aroma of fresh coffee and buttery croissants floated up from Max’s café next door, enticing her further into the day.

Vivienne Shager stretched luxuriously, her taut, lithe body unravelling its impressive length from the contours of sleep as her mind made a happy reconnect with the world and what it had in store on this glorious work-free day.

It was hard to believe that four full weeks had passed since she and the GaLs – Girls at Law – had run – and completed – an entire marathon to raise funds for the charity Heads Together. So much had happened in that time – mostly work related – but she’d also had an irritating bug that kept coming and going, trying to lay her low, but never quite succeeding. However, she was feeling pretty good today, she soon realized. This was a huge relief, for she and the GaLs were planning some serious celebration of their fund-raising efforts. The day was exclusively theirs; partners, spouses, offspring, parents, bosses and colleagues had been given notice that they’d have to manage without the key women in their lives from midday until said women were ready to tip in the direction of home.

For Vivi there was less of a problem on the family front, since she had no children and her partner, Greg, was going to Lord’s for the day. Her mother fortunately didn’t live anywhere close by. On the work front, her immediate boss, Trudy Mack-Silver, was one of the GaLs, so no difficulties there. This wasn’t to say that Vivienne didn’t have a mountain of work to get through; being a senior member of the in-house legal team at FAberlin Investments meant her desk and inbox were always crammed with issues needing urgent attention. Over time she’d learned how to prioritize the ceaseless flow of demands, though many of them saw her labouring late into the evenings and often over entire weekends. She didn’t mind. She loved her job, and even liked many of the giant corporation’s upper-management team. They could be tough, bad-tempered, inconsiderate and in some cases offensively sexist, but in times of crisis she watched closely, spoke confidently, and managed to learn a lot from those whose jobs she had in her sights.

‘You give great kickback,’ Trudy often told her following an intense negotiation or fiery confrontation. ‘They respect you for it. It makes them listen and, provided you don’t go wrong, you could be heading up the entire legal team by the time you’re thirty.’ Trudy didn’t have a problem with this, because she had no such ambitions for herself. She was happy to stay at the level she’d already attained, since it allowed her time to be an at-home-most-evenings wife to Bruno, and available-for-school-runs mum to Nick and Dean.

The other important thing about today was the fact that it was Vivi’s twenty-seventh birthday, another reason the GaLs – all graduates of LSE law school – had decided that this should be the marathon reunion day. Combining occasions was something they often did; being so busy with their careers it was the only way to make sure nothing got overlooked.

Throwing back the pale blue striped duvet, Vivi stood as tall as her willowy five foot nine inches allowed, arched her long back and gave a lazy side-to-side twist to stretch out her waist. Since ending the intense pre-marathon training her body had softened slightly, making it, according to Greg, more feminine and curvy, and way sexier. He had a thing about large women, which made his attraction to her a bit of a mystery, given how slender she was. However, they’d been seeing one another for several months, non-exclusively, so their friends weren’t living in daily expectation of some significant news. A baby. A wedding. Or perhaps something as simple as moving in together.

Despite their casual relationship, Vivi had to admit that he was a bit of a dreamboat in his way, sporty, witty, fiercely intelligent and very well connected in the financial world, thanks to his gentrified family and their historic ties to the City. When he spoke it was immediately evident that he came from privileged pastures; however, Vivienne strongly doubted that he gave a single thought to the relative ordinariness of her own roots. He wasn’t a snob, or not that she’d ever noticed. Nonetheless, she’d never taken him home to meet her family, who still lived in the hopelessly unsophisticated coastal town that Vivi had called home for the first eighteen years of her life.

She’d moved on since uni, had redefined her focus, and was part of another world that could hardly be more different from the simplicity of her early years. Not that she had changed in character, for she was still the same upbeat and optimistic Vivi that her beloved grandpa used to call Vivi-vacious. This nickname came from her love of life and people, especially him and NanaBella, which was what she used to call her grandma on account of her name being Bella. Vivi also adored her younger brother, nineteen-year-old Mark, and there was no doubt that she loved her mother with all her heart, and knew that her mother felt the same about her. However, their relationship was the most complicated and frustrating part of Vivienne’s world, which was why she didn’t often go home. She’d spent too many years trying to unlock the closed doors in her mother’s heart and unravel the secrets Gina had never shared, and now all Vivienne wanted was to avoid the confusing and conflicting emotions she always came away with after spending time with her mother.

She wasn’t giving any of this a single thought on this glorious spring morning, although she expected her mobile to ring at any minute bringing a dutiful happy birthday call from home. The postman would almost certainly deliver a card from her mother later, and a text would no doubt pop up at some point during the day saying something like Hope you’re having a fabulous day, but please don’t have too much to drink. There wouldn’t be a present, because her mother had stopped buying them a few years ago, saying, ‘I always get it wrong, so there doesn’t seem any point in wasting my money. If you want something, just ask.’

That was Gina all over. In spite of being a glamorous and successful forty-six-year-old businesswoman with a good sense of humour and plenty of friends, she could be prosaically practical about things that called for frivolity or indulgence. (Although, Vivi reminded herself, their surprise trip to Venice a few years ago had proved her mother could be both imaginative and impulsive when she wanted to be.) However, it was true to say that Gina was usually awkward with celebrations, and as for showy declarations of feeling, well, that wasn’t her at all. Actually, she was nothing if not a maddening set of contradictions, because she could be a lot of fun when she wanted to be, and when it came to throwing a party she didn’t do things by half. Things had changed, however, since Gil, Vivi’s stepfather and Mark’s father, had left, just over nine years ago. Dear, wonderful Gil, who was still as much a part of their lives as if he’d never gone, except he didn’t live with her mother any more – and if anyone could work out the bizarreness of that relationship they’d certainly have a better insight into Gina’s mysterious psyche than Vivi had ever managed.

‘Don’t ask me,’ NanaBella had lamented at the time of the break-up. ‘I’ve never really understood your mother, you know that, and she could baffle the heck out of Grandpa when he was alive.’

‘But you always loved her and stood by her,’ Vivienne had pointed out, for it was true, her grandparents had always been there – for them all.

There was no NanaBella or Grandpa to stand by any of them now. Grandpa had succumbed to cancer when Vivi was six, and NanaBella had been the victim of a drunk driver four Easters ago while on her way into town.

That was another reason for Vivi to feel guilty about not going to see her mother more often. Gina had been devastated by the sudden loss of her beloved mother – they all had, including Gil. But trying to be supportive of Gina was like trying to hug a cactus. She couldn’t accept love without becoming prickly and awkward; although she clearly wanted affection, she just didn’t seem to know how to handle it.

What was that line about an enigma wrapped up in a mystery inside a riddle? Well, that was her mother, and even Gil, as besotted as he was with her, never tried to claim she was easy.

Reaching for her mobile as it rang, Vivi saw it was one of the GaLs and decided to let it go to messages. She simply had to go to the bathroom before speaking to anyone, and then she’d pop down to Max’s for an Americano and pastry to fuel herself up for the day. If her mother called and didn’t get an answer she’d assume Vivi was either out for a run, or at Greg’s, or still asleep with the phone turned off. She wouldn’t worry, because that was something Gina resolutely refused to do, in spite of the fact that the tight line between her beautiful eyes showed that she spent just about every moment of every day worrying about something.

Did she even realize that?

Vivi thought she probably did, but whatever was causing her anxiety – and maybe it was many things – she guarded it jealously, as though letting go of a single hint of an issue would snap the strings inside her and everything would fall catastrophically apart.

Standing in front of the twin-mirrored bathroom cabinet with its frame of snowball lights and inbuilt heat pad, Vivi pulled a face at herself and stretched out her jaw. She must have slept awkwardly because her neck seemed achy, and the stiffness in her limbs told her that she ought to get back to some proper exercise soon. Still, at least she was breathing more easily this morning, so the bug she’d no doubt picked up on one of several flights she’d made in the past three weeks might finally be clearing.

She was, by anyone’s standards, a strikingly lovely young woman. With almond-shaped eyes, blue as a summer sky, and a full, sloppy mouth (her description), she was so entrancing that her friends swore she could hypnotize at a hundred paces. Her complexion was smooth and olive, her cheekbones high, and her light brown hair was a wayward riot of waves that fell about her face and neck in a style all of its own.

Right now it was a tangled mess, and her still sleepy eyes were shadowed by the residue of last night’s mascara.

Last night?

Oh, that was right; she’d been at the office until almost midnight, after returning from New York on the red-eye in the morning. It had been a flying visit to the Big Apple, quite literally: one meeting, followed by a dull dinner at Bobby Van’s Steakhouse and an overnight stay at the Beekman.

After dragging some trackie bottoms on over her pyjama shorts and a T-shirt over the camisole, she slipped her feet into an old pair of flip-flops and texted Max with her order. Before leaving she made a quick scan of her emails to be sure nothing earth-shattering had cropped up overnight and finding that nothing had, she went through to the spacious open-plan kitchen-cum-sitting room and gave a small sigh of pleasure to find it virtually drowning in sunlight.

She loved this apartment so much she could marry it. With its high, stuccoed ceilings, tall sash windows and wonderfully airy rooms – all two of them, plus full bathroom containing utility area – she simply couldn’t bear to think of living anywhere else. It was certainly one of the reasons she and Greg hadn’t considered moving in together. It wasn’t big enough for two, and it would be crazy to make this their home when his riverfront duplex in Wapping was at least three times the size, and in real-estate terms far more desirable. Plus, he owned his place outright, thanks to his father, while her first-floor, street-view section of a Georgian town house close to Hollywood Road in Chelsea, was rented. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford a mortgage, she was earning enough now to take on some hefty repayments, but the amount needed for a deposit in an area like this – in fact almost anywhere in London – was still out of her reach, largely thanks to her lavish lifestyle. Her friends had managed their down payments thanks to BoMaD – bank of Mum and Dad – but her mother could never have found a near six-figure sum without selling her own house or hairdressing salon, and even if she’d been prepared to do that (she wasn’t), Vivi wouldn’t have let her. However, her mother – refusing Gil’s offer to step in – had practically emptied her savings account to help raise a deposit for the lease on this flat. Having viewed it with Vivi she’d understood right away why her daughter had fallen in love with it, so she’d been keen to make it happen. Since that time, just over four years ago, Vivi had repaid almost two-thirds of the amount, and by the end of the year her mother’s account, thanks to the interest Vivi had added to the loan, was likely to be healthier than it had ever been.

Still feeling slightly stiff, she performed a couple more stretches, then grabbed her phone and wallet and let herself out of the flat into the black-and-white-tiled front hall where her upstairs neighbours had parked a bicycle and pushchair. There were also several paintings lining the walls, all done by the delightful and talented Maryanna, who paced about the large attic studio like a trapped cat in the grip of an artistic frenzy. Though her canvases were as indecipherable as they were confrontational (Maryanna’s word), Vivienne had long ago decided that she loved them. She owned two, but had left them in the hall for others in the building and their visitors to enjoy as they came and went.

The large black front door with its colourful stained-glass windows and shiny brass letter box was as grand as any Regency house could boast, as was the Doric-columned portico with its ornamental box hedges in tall granite pots. Slender black railings edged the steps down to the pavement, where they turned at right angles to each side to provide a barrier between passers-by and the void above the basement flats.

Max’s was adjacent, with a handful of bistro tables spilling out of the wide-open bifold doors, its palm-strewn interior with plush leather banquettes and slouchy sofas cooled by the gentle spring breeze. In spite of it not yet being nine on a weekend morning, the place was already buzzing.

After collecting her order, free for the birthday girl, Max insisted, and bowing her thanks to the Greek regulars whom Max encouraged to join in a chorus of charoumena genethlia, Vivi ran back up to the flat accompanied by the musical sound of many text messages arriving.

Five so far. As she read them, still catching her breath after the sprint, she sipped her coffee and blinked away a spell of dizziness. Remembering she hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime, she tucked into her Danish and turned on the radio. Though she probably wouldn’t listen to the news, it was second nature to have it on in the background, and when she’d had enough of it she’d do her usual thing of planting her phone in the speakers and scrolling to some favourite tunes.

More texts piled in, mostly from the GaLs: Trudy, Shaz, Saanvi, Sachi and Becky, all saying they couldn’t wait to see her later. In came a surprise message from Michael (CEO of FAberlin) and then up popped one from Greg.

Have a great day. Can you do dinner with Carla and Seamus on Wednesday? Sushi?

She thought there might be a conflict, so making a mental note to check before getting back to him, she finished up her Danish and began a quick sort of the mail that had come through the door while she was in New York.

Work hard, play hard, that was her motto, and lately she’d been doing far too much of the former. Boy, was she ready to party today!

Realizing that her mother hadn’t called yet, she was about to try her when the telepathic airwaves beat her to it. ‘Hey, Mum,’ she chirruped as she clicked on. ‘You remembered!’

‘Remembered what?’ her mother countered.

‘Ha ha. Are you treating us to a few days at a luxury spa for some M and D bonding, or should I expect a back brush for the shower to replace the one that broke?’

‘Did it break? You didn’t tell me. I can return it.’

‘If I didn’t know you were joking I’d think you were weird.’

‘You think that anyway. So what are you doing today?’

‘Meeting the GaLs for lunch at Beaufort House. We’ll probably still be there at teatime.’

‘Well try not to make a fool of yourself. Drink tends to do that to a person.’

Vivienne mimed yadda yadda yadda and smiled as she said, ‘And what are you doing today?’

‘Working, of course. You know Saturdays are my busiest day, and Jan left yesterday so there’s no one to run reception. I’ll be frazzled by the time we close, so lucky I’m not going out tonight.’

That wasn’t unusual for her mother; she hadn’t had much of a social life since her marriage had ended, although Gil still frequently drove the fifty or so miles from his home to take her to dinner. Strange, but Vivienne kept reminding herself that it was her mother’s life, not hers, so if Gina and Gil wanted a long-distance relationship with unspecified benefits it was their business, not hers.

‘Are you seeing Greg today?’ Gina asked.

‘No, but we’re supposed to be meeting some friends for lunch tomorrow. I might have to cancel, though. I’ve got so much on at the office …’ She checked to see who an incoming text was from and said, ‘Mum, sorry, I have to go. I’ll call again later, OK?’

There was a brief silence, and Vivi wasn’t sure whether her mother was hurt or annoyed, probably both. ‘If you have time,’ Gina replied. Her tone betrayed nothing more than a soft sigh that said she was used to being cut short, since it happened all the time. And where did I get that from? Vivi thought defensively as she rang off. Her mother had been cutting her short all her life.

The text was from Michelle, her best friend since they were five; Michelle who’d been like a sister to her until their lives had taken such different paths, Vivi to go off to London and uni, Michelle to stay in Kesterly, marry young and have a family. They’d remained in touch mostly through birthday cards and the occasional text, but in spite of Vivi being godmother to both Michelle’s children they hardly ever saw one another now. There was a time when it would have broken Vivi’s heart to think of them drifting apart, in a way it still did, but life, ambition, motherhood and all sorts of other demands meant they no longer had much in common.

Michelle never forgot Vivi’s birthday, and Vivi desperately wished she could say the same, but more often than not she was late with a text, and later still with cards. She was generous with presents, though, especially for the children, and Michelle always sent photographs to show how delighted they were with the new toy or book or outrageously expensive designer wear.

Happy Birthday to you. Hope you have a fabulous day. We all send love. What are you planning? Are you even in the country?

Remembering she’d been in Dubai the last time she and Michelle were in touch, Vivi couldn’t help wondering how interested her friend really was in her life. Probably not very, for Michelle had never been ambitious, caring little for the crazy kind of jet-set existence that was so totally at odds with the plodding and predictable world of Kesterly. But it was typical of Michelle to show an interest: kind, considerate, full of fun and mischief, she had a way of making a person feel valued and special even if they no longer shared girlhood dreams. What a gift that was. Vivi wished she had it, but every time she tried to focus more on matters outside work something would come up and everything else would be forgotten.

She texted back: Tx for the happy birthday. You’re amazing. In London. Seeing the GaLs at Beaufort House. Should be fun. Had Michelle ever heard of Beaufort House? She’d know who the GaLs were, though she might not remember all their names. She was aware, of course, that they were Vivi’s closest friends now, just as Sam, Michelle’s husband, had become her closest friend.

What mattered was that they’d always been there for one another while growing up. Nothing would ever change that; Vivi just hoped a time would never come when they lost touch completely, though she was aware that it easily could.

Kicking off her flip-flops, she was about to read her other texts when Michelle came through again. Millie wants you to know that her little brother should be called Eeyore because he cries like a donkey.

Vivi broke into a deep, throaty laugh, and for a few minutes they texted back and forth as though almost five-year-old Millie was sending the messages about her new pony and the present she and Mummy had sent to Vivi for her birthday that smelled lovely.

Ten minutes later Vivienne stepped into the shower and closed her eyes as a power-charged flow of warm water cascaded over her. She spun around, lifting her face to the jets, and put a hand to the wall as she swayed. She was thinking about her sweet little godchildren, Millie and Ash, and what a pity it was that her own children (when she finally got round to having them, and that wasn’t going to be any time soon) would be so much younger than them. And maybe, with her living in London and them way across the country in Kesterly-on-Sea, they wouldn’t even really get to know one another. That felt sadder than sad, given how close she and Michelle had always been, but the only solution would be for her to meet and marry someone who wanted to live in Kesterly, which was never going to happen. Nor, considering Sam’s business as a local builder and Michelle’s own ties to Kesterly, were they ever likely to move to London.

By the time Vivi was ready to leave the flat she’d taken three more calls from various friends, and had managed to book herself a Shellac manicure for eight on Monday evening. She probably ought to make a hair appointment sometime soon, too, for the random whirl of waves clustered around her face and neck was in need of some taming.

Wearing ripped skinny jeans, a pair of flat strappy sandals and a waist-length leather jacket, she decided to walk to Beaufort House. The weather was too good to miss a moment of it, and capturing its buoyancy in her stride she seemed about to break into a dance as she started off down the street.

As she was turning into the Fulham Road her phone rang again, and seeing it was her half-brother, Mark, she swiftly clicked on. ‘Hey you! What are you doing up so early?’ she cried.

‘My phone went off,’ he grumbled. ‘I was working until four this morning and I’m back on at five this evening, but no one cares about me.’ A sport and exercise student at Birmingham Uni, he’d taken a job as a barman at Pitcher and Piano to provide himself with some spending money. His father, Gil, was covering the lion’s share of his other expenses, including his rent and the small car he used to bomb around town. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said with a yawn.

‘Thanks. So Mum called to remind you?’

‘What do you think? Not that I’d forgotten, I just wouldn’t have remembered until I woke up. So, are you back from New York?’

‘Yesterday. Off to Singapore on Wednesday.’ Of course. That was why she couldn’t make a sushi dinner with Greg and the others. She’d better check her calendar to be sure she was up to speed with everything else. Waiting for an ambulance to cut its siren as it pulled into Chelsea and Westminster A & E, she started across the road, saying, ‘Any chance of you getting to London sometime soon? I feel as though I haven’t seen you for ages.’

‘Since Christmas,’ he reminded her, ‘but I get that you’re missing me. It happens. I have to deal with it all the time.’

Laughing, she said, ‘So how many hearts have you broken this week?’

‘Lost count, but hey, who’s taking care of mine?’

‘That tough old thing? I think it can take care of itself.’

‘Brutal. How’s Greg? Are we ever going to meet him?’

‘He’s OK. Actually I haven’t seen him since …’ She tried to think. ‘It’s been too long. Did you get to the Six Nations match in the end?’

‘You bet. The bloke’s a genius. I already thanked him for the tickets, by the way.’

‘Great. Did Gil go with you?’

‘Sure. Then we drove all the way back to Kesterly to take Mum for dinner in case she was feeling left out.’

Vivienne had to laugh.

‘Did she tell you she’s taken up running?’ Mark asked.

‘You’re kidding.’

‘No, I went out with her while I was there. She’s pretty fit, actually, but I guess that’s no surprise when she goes to the gym quite regularly. Dad reckons the running thing is so she can run with you when you go home, or maybe she wants to do a marathon with you?’

And this, Vivienne was thinking, is why my mother is so confusing. She doesn’t mention anything about it to me, but Gil is probably right, she’ll have me in mind on one level or another, because she always has – and if not me then Mark, or Gil, then back to me …

‘Listen,’ she said to Mark, ‘I’ll let you get some more sleep before you have to go back on shift. Speak soon. Love you.’

‘Right back at you,’ and he was gone.

She pressed on towards Beaufort Street, and checked her phone to see if any more texts had arrived in the last few minutes. Several had: more birthday messages from friends and colleagues, also one from Gil, who had no doubt also sent flowers, because he always did.

The only person she knew for a fact she wouldn’t get a call or anything else from on this, or any other day, was her real father, because she never did.

Beaufort House was in the World’s End part of Chelsea, on the corner of Beaufort Street and the famous King’s Road. It was an area that Vivienne found as electrifying as the City where she worked, though for entirely different reasons. The buzz here was all about being social, cosmopolitan, and fabulously multicultural. The restaurants were as diverse as their deliciously exotic ingredients, the fashions as outrageous as they were expensive and the interior design shops as inspirational as a genie’s bottle full of crazy dreams. It could hardly be more different from her home town with its unedifying mix of tired terraces, fish-and-chip shops and donkey rides. On the other hand, she was ready to concede that Kesterly had its charms too, just not enough of them to have kept her there past her eighteenth birthday, when she’d launched herself with high excitement and yes, some trepidation on London. Being in the capital had been her goal for as long as she could remember, so too had been studying hard and working her way into a high-powered job that would open doors to all kinds of other worlds, and make her feel as important and accomplished as she’d always longed to be.

It was happening every day, sometimes in small ways, other times in great significant bursts. The headiness of success was as intoxicating as the champagne she and her friends cracked to celebrate it while the satisfaction of knowing she’d bested a rival, or helped seal a long-fought-for merger, was perhaps the greatest kick of all. Though she wasn’t particularly aware of how much everyone valued her as a colleague or friend, the way she was greeted as she entered the bustling, airy bar of Beaufort House made her swell with pride and pleasure.

‘About bloody time!’

‘Happy birthday!’

‘Champagne’s on you.’

‘Someone get the goddess a glass.’

The other five GaLs were already there, grouped around their usual table next to the window, and as a flute was thrust into Vivienne’s hand it seemed the entire room joined in a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’.

It was exhilarating and hilarious as perfect strangers bowed or raised glasses, and a couple of bar staff shimmied about with more champagne.

As the fun died down and Vivienne sank laughing into the chair they’d reserved for her, she gasped and laughed again as Trudy pointed her to the pile of gifts at the end of the cushioned bench seat.

‘All for you,’ Trudy declared exultantly.

‘All for one, one for all!’ Sachi sang out, her engaging French accent resonating even in those few simple words.

Saanvi, whose stunning black hair and exquisite features made her as exotic as the Indian divinity she was named for, began passing the gifts along. Saanvi’s much older husband ran a global macro hedge fund, where Saanvi had recently been promoted to head up the quantitative risk management team.

‘How many carats did Greg manage?’ Shaz, their Australian derivatives lawyer, wanted to know. Though Shaz mainly worked out of Frankfurt, she was back and forth to London all the time.

‘I’m sure it’ll be at least seven,’ Vivienne shot back, causing another raucous uplift of glasses to toast the prediction.

They’d shared so much during their time at uni that sometimes it felt as though they hadn’t had a life before. They never judged one another in negative ways; they did everything they could to support each other, because they understood who they were and what power their friendship gave them.

These GaLs were her family away from home, the rock that kept her safe and strong; the exclusive network that made everything possible.

‘Are you in Singapore on Thursday?’ Trudy wanted to know.

‘I leave on Wednesday,’ Vivi told her.

‘Saanvi, did you hear that?’ Trudy demanded. ‘She is going to Singapore on Wednesday.’

‘Brilliant,’ Saanvi responded triumphantly. ‘Email me your details and I’ll make sure I’m on the same flight. Where are you staying?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Vivienne replied, ‘but I’ll put it in the email. Oh my God, what’s this?’ She pulled the softest, palest pink something from a satin-ribboned box with velveteen stripes and diamanté studs. ‘Oh, you’re kidding me. Myla silk pyjamas. I’ve always wanted a pair …’

Trudy threw out her hands. ‘How on earth did I know that?’ she demanded in amazement.

Vivienne pressed a hand to her chest as she laughed, then leaned forwards to embrace her friend. She coughed to try and clear the tightness in her lungs and sat down again to open more presents.

From Saanvi there were two tickets for a day full of treatments at the Thermes Marins spa in Monte Carlo. ‘Oh wow!’ Vivienne cried, completely blown away. ‘We haven’t been there since we graduated. This is amazing.’

‘Open this one next,’ Shaz insisted, pushing a small silver-wrapped packet into Vivienne’s hand.

Vivienne’s eyes widened with astonishment when she found more tickets, this time for a helicopter transfer from Nice to Monaco.

‘And in this one,’ Sachi told her, ‘you will find a voucher for two return flights to Nice – and a little something else to go with it.’

The something else turned out to be a night at the Hotel de Paris.

‘Now all you have to do,’ Trudi pointed out, ‘is decide which one of us you’re going to take with you.’

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Vivienne protested. ‘How on earth am I going to do that? Can’t we get our diaries together and work out a time for us all to go?’

‘Best idea I’ve heard all day,’ Shaz concurred, refilling the glasses.

As Vivienne watched and joined in the bubbling excitement she pushed at her chest again, as though the pressure might disperse the ache. She really ought to eat something before downing the champagne, or she’d have another dizzy spell. She reached for a smoked salmon hors d’oeuvre and popped it into her mouth. Delicious, heavenly, so she tried another.

Shaz was asking her something, but for some reason Shaz’s voice seemed to be coming through water. It bobbed back to the surface with sudden clarity as she said, ‘Vivi! Are you all right?’

Vivienne laughed. ‘Of course,’ but the room was dipping away and lurching back as though she were on a ship in a storm, and when she tried to lift her glass she found she couldn’t move her arm. Everything hurt, she realized, her whole body, and the pain was clenching so hard into her chest …

‘Vivienne!’ someone shouted. She thought it was Saanvi.

‘Oh my God!’ Hands were closing around her arms. ‘She’s fainting. Get her some air …’

Vivienne’s face contorted as she tried to breathe. ‘I don’t … It’s …’ she gasped.

‘Her lips are blue … Oh Jesus! Vivienne!’

‘Help! Someone. We need help.’

Vivienne was still trying to breath.

‘Let me through. I’m a doctor, clear some space.’

A man’s face came into view, blurred and dark and moving close.

‘Call an ambulance,’ he barked. ‘Do it now. What’s her name?’

‘Vivienne.’

‘Vivienne,’ he said urgently. ‘I’m going to lie you down …’

She was trying to listen, even to laugh, because this was funny wasn’t it, or embarrassing … It couldn’t be real, but it hurt so much …

‘Deep breaths,’ he was saying, moving her roughly to the floor. ‘Come on Vivienne, you can do it. In, out. In, out.’ His fist was banging into her chest.

She tried. In … The noise was awful. Rushing, ripping, breaking … ‘Mum,’ she murmured weakly.

‘In, out.’ The world was going black. He was still banging her chest … ‘Stay with me,’ he shouted angrily. ‘Vivienne. Stay with me.’

CHAPTER TWO
SHELLEY
Summer 1984

It was a crackpot idea.

Everyone had said so.

Friends, families, even Shelley and Jack, whose plan it was, thought they were crazy, but hey ho, they’d gone ahead and done it anyway. Why not? They’d spent holidays at Deerwood Farm as far back as when they were knee-high to tadpoles, as Shelley’s uncle Bob used to call them. They’d continued to come as teens, helping out in the barns, running wild and loving every animal as if it were a pet – and every mouthful of Aunt Sarah’s home bakes as if they were the very best in the world, which they were.

Even when Jack and Shelley had started going further afield for their holidays they’d continued to count those halcyon summers at the farm amongst their happiest memories. The place was as special to them as any place could possibly be, for it was at Deerwood that their childhood friendship had blossomed during their teenage years into an embarrassed and fumbling romance, and was also where Jack, aged fourteen, had first asked Shelley to marry him. (He’d asked several times after that and she’d always readily accepted. It was just something they used to do every now and again for the sheer joy of it.) Jack even swore Deerwood was magical, and Shelley, whose aunt and uncle owned the farm, had earnestly assured him he was right.

Jack had grown up in the semi next door to Shelley on a shady, red-brick street in Ealing. They’d been best friends forever, so it was no surprise to anyone when they’d married as soon as their uni days were over. By then Jack was a qualified veterinary surgeon, and Shelley was already teaching at a West London primary.

With a little help from Jack’s parents they’d scraped together a deposit for a two-bedroomed house in Brentford, and their first child, Hanna, was born a year after they moved in. Their second, Zoe, came along eighteen months later on the same day that Princess Diana gave birth to Prince William. They were happy, blessed, had little to complain about, with Jack’s popularity as a vet growing and Shelley’s role as a full-time mum keeping her occupied, if not entirely satisfied.

Then Uncle Bob died, four years after Aunt Sarah, and to Shelley and Jack’s amazement it turned out that Deerwood Farm, together with Bob and Sarah’s meagre savings, were now theirs.

‘Why didn’t Bob leave it to you?’ Shelley asked her father, still reeling from the unexpectedness of it that was already turning into something that felt vaguely like excitement. ‘You’re his brother.’

‘I’m no farmer,’ her father chuckled, ‘and Bob knew that.’

‘Well you can hardly say that I am either,’ Shelley pointed out. ‘Or Jack.’

‘Ah, but Bob knew you loved the place, and that’s what would have mattered to him and Sarah. I’m sure she was behind the idea, and when Jack decided to become a vet it would have made up her mind. Having said that, there are no conditions attached to the inheritance. You can sell it if you like and use the money to get a bigger house, or put it aside for the girls’ education.’

Jack and Shelley looked at one another, not needing words to know what the other was thinking, but not yet ready to confide those thoughts in anyone else.

Less than six months later they were in the depths of the rolling countryside, the proud new owners of a rambling, draughty, leaky farmhouse, several ramshackle barns, half a brick shed (the other half had collapsed like an old drunk into a pile of desolation around its own feet); seventy-five acres of untended fields with any number of streams passing merrily or sluggishly through them; ancient woods that Shelley and Jack remembered playing and camping in but were now filled with bindweed and brambles; and heaven only knew how many miles of unkempt hedgerows, rotting gates and clogged ditches. Added to this were five batty sheep of varying ages (breeds yet to be determined, four ewes and a vasectomized little runt of a ram); ten cheery hens very generous with the eggs, three Aylesbury ducks also generous with the eggs (so they were told, yet to see any); a hamster that they’d brought with them and an ageing border collie called Todger whom everyone instantly adored and who was swiftly renamed Dodger (soon to be known as Dodgy). There was also a lot of machinery they had yet to identify, an ancient tractor with a missing steering wheel, a broken trailer, a 1960s Land Rover with more miles on the clock than the clock had numbers, a few dozen bundles of very useful wire fencing, and enough furniture inside the house to keep an auctioneer busy for weeks.

By now Shelley and Jack were in their early thirties and had all the energy and belief in themselves – and each other – that was required to turn this place into a dream home, a thriving farm and an educational paradise for their girls. From the instant Hanna and Zoe arrived their eyes had glowed with excitement and wonder; the fact that there was another brother or sister on the way wasn’t anywhere near as thrilling as the apparent imminent possibility of lambs. Yes, all four ewes were expecting, Giles, the next-door farmer and interim custodian of Deerwood, had informed them on arrival (and yes, there really was a farmer Giles in the area, although that was his first name), and if they wanted any help with the lambing he’d be happy to send someone over when the time came.

They readily accepted the kindness. Jack might be a qualified vet, but it had been a while since his work experience on a farm in Cheshire, so he was definitely open to a refresher course. And if the girls wanted to watch the miracle of birth then so they should, because they might be on duty next year, by which time they were likely to have a flock of thousands. Well, dozens – or at least twelve, depending on how things went.

‘You are absolutely loving this, aren’t you?’ Shelley murmured one evening, gazing into Jack’s midnight-blue eyes and feeling (strangely, given how long she’d loved him), how wonderful it was to love him. She was lying on her side – so large with her pregnancy by now that even rolling onto her back was an effort – and he was lying on his side looking at her.

‘Aren’t you?’ he asked, smoothing damp tendrils of her fine sandy hair back from her face. It was late February and freezing outside, but for tonight at least the generator was working, making them so hot indoors that in a few minutes they might just take a moonlight stroll.

‘Yes, I am,’ she whispered. ‘I really think we’re going to be happy here.’

‘I know it,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve been looking for a way of saying this since we arrived, and now I think I have it. The minute we turned in from the road, all the way along the drive to the farm, seeing the fields, the huge sky and humpback bridge, the cattle grids, trees, hedgerows, I felt as though we were fitting back into a place we’d only ever left temporarily. Then, when I saw the house, this house, sad and neglected, I thought, I swear this, I thought it gave a little sigh of relief when it realized it was us – and if you laugh I’ll leave you.’

How could she not laugh, and at the same time not cry, because he’d just found a far better way of putting into words their return to Deerwood than she ever could. That was her husband all over, as romantic as a poet, as rash and tempestuous as the wind, and as attuned to his surroundings as the wildlife that shared every nook and cranny. And how lucky she was to have him as her lover; her rock; the father of her children, her best friend forever and now her partner in this mad, challenging and exhilarating new dream.

A week later things had moved on at such a pace at Deerwood that Shelley was struggling to keep track of it all. Builders, plumbers and electricians were assessing the cost of repairs and rebuilds; Jack had signed on with an urban veterinary practice for three days a week in order to ensure some sort of income; the girls were enrolled at a nursery school in the nearest village – six miles away – and Shelley was registered at a small health centre on the outskirts of the same village, where she’d had a long and enjoyable chat with the midwife about country living. She was due to give birth at the maternity unit of Kesterly Royal Infirmary – fifteen miles from the farm – sometime in the next two weeks.

Meantime, she and Jack were devouring all the books they could find on farming, sheep, land cultivation, understanding organics, slaughter, local markets; there was so much to learn that they’d probably never take it all in, but at least it was a start. With the support of their families, who’d descended to help out during this crucial period, they’d started to clear the cluttered farmyard of all the rusty paraphernalia, brambles and build-up of filth that had accumulated since Sarah’s passing. Giles and a couple of his workers came to ferry the junk to the tip, or move usables to a storage trailer that they’d parked in a nearby field. Giles was happy to leave it there for as long as it was needed.

‘Five quid a week,’ he announced in his gruff West Country burr. His mischievous hazel eyes were round and fox-like, his grizzly grey beard trembled with his suppressed laughter. ‘If it’s all the same to you I’ll take it off the rent I pay to put my cattle in your top fields.’

More than happy with the arrangement, Shelley made a note to find out how much rent he actually paid and for what number of acres, also whether it might be possible to interest him or any other neighbouring farmer in making further use of their thirty-odd hectares until they had need of them themselves. It would all add to their income, which stood at zero for the moment, but they still had the money Bob had left, and their savings (mostly earmarked for doing up the house and barns), and Jack’s salary would soon kick in. She also needed to check out what government subsidies they might be entitled to, and any rules, ancient or modern, British or European, that they needed to obey.

So much to do and to learn, and not only about reviving a farm, waterproofing barns and birthing lambs, but how to manage without electricity and heating each time the ancient generator took a wheezing, groaning break from its efforts. With no idea when it might get a second wind, they’d already had the chimneys swept so each of the four hearths on the ground floor was filled with flaming logs, and since Jack had managed to start up the old Aga they’d found themselves with a haphazard supply of lukewarm water. Cooking was mostly done over the fires or on a spanking new portable gas stove that Jack’s parents had brought with them, having been warned of the need. Quite what the electricity company was doing about restoring their supply was anyone’s guess, but they certainly didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get things sorted.

The girls were loving every aspect of their new existence, from having their aunt and uncle – Jack’s brother and sister-in-law – along with both sets of grandparents camping out in three of the six bedrooms (they’d brought their own sleeping bags, pillows and hot-water bottles), to lighting candles to go up to bed like Wee Willie Winkie, to toasting their breakfast over rekindled fires in the morning. Best of all was collecting eggs from the henhouse, which they carefully carried back in cardboard boxes, watching their bounty with round-eyed awe in case one of them hatched. The impossibility of that had yet to be explained to them, and no doubt would be in the fullness of time – the wicked gleam in Jack’s eye whenever the subject was mentioned told Shelley that he already had a story worked out.

It was midway through the afternoon of their ninth day at Deerwood that Shelley found herself standing alone at the centre of the still cluttered farmyard, hands pressing into the small of her back as she took a good long look at their new home, although of course it was anything but new. Set as it was against a backdrop of billowing clouds and the vast outstretched branches of a giant evergreen oak, it appeared as settled as the centuries that had passed since its foundations were dug, and as contented in its place as the hills on the far horizon. In spite of its shabby roofs with their missing tiles and broken gutters, and its crumbling grey stone walls and splintered window frames – not to mention the fortune it was going to cost to restore its dignity – she already loved the place with a passion, and knew that Jack did too.

They had no clear idea yet of how they were going to liven up the interior while carefully retaining its gentle and noble character, but it would include doubling the size of the kitchen, knocking two sitting rooms into one and installing at least three more bathrooms. She wanted the place to feel as happy with them as they did with it, as respected as it was cherished, and as proud as it deserved to be. She’d thought about engaging an interior designer, but it was a luxury they couldn’t afford, and besides, it didn’t feel right for an outsider to put his or her stamp on a home that was so intrinsically theirs. Somehow she was going to do this herself, using magazines for ideas and builders with skill and imagination for execution.

Meanwhile, they needed a temporary solution to the leaks and draughts, and a brand-new generator so they could quietly and tenderly release the old boy from its struggle to help them get settled.

‘Back aching?’ a voice behind her asked.

She turned to find her father coming out of the barn where he’d been watching over the pregnant ewes while the two grandmothers did a supermarket shop in town. Nathan and Katya, Jack’s brother and sister-in-law, were out walking the land with the girls, nature spotting and gathering sticks for the fire. Jack was being a vet this afternoon, and Giles and his men who were so often around seemed absent for the moment.

Resting her head on her father’s shoulder as he put an arm around her, she inhaled deeply the sweet scent of haylage that clung to his clothes. Giles had sent over the mix, because he knew their requirements long before they did and he was always willing to give supplies, advice and support (at a small charge).

‘Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts,’ her father teased as he too drank in the farmhouse’s serenity and soul-nourishment.

‘Definitely not,’ she replied. ‘OK, I realize it’s going to take years and a small fortune to get it into shape and that we’ll probably never have any money to speak of, but we will have a home and what better one could we wish for than this?’

Her father squeezed her gently. ‘Sarah knew what she was doing when she made sure this place went to you and Jack.’

Later that evening as they gathered round the old kitchen table with a fire roaring in the hearth and the Aga doing its stuttering best, Shelley’s mother waited for dinner to be over before setting down a battered cardboard box. Keeping a hand on the lid she looked first at Shelley, then at Jack.

Shelley regarded her curiously, sensing that her full attention was required for this, whatever it was, and when Patty was satisfied all eyes were on her she carefully opened the box. ‘I found these in the chest in our bedroom,’ she explained, lifting out something heavy wrapped in limp and faded tissue paper. ‘I reckon Bob must have put them away after Sarah went because they were painful for him to look at. Do you remember these?’ she asked her husband.

Shelley winced at the clench of a Braxton Hicks contraction as everyone watched her mother unwrap two bronze statuettes, each about ten inches high, and set them facing each other on the table. They were exquisitely crafted, seeming to move with each other, hands outstretched, hips slightly turned, feet partly raised. The male was in a sharp, baggy suit, a trilby tipped back on his head, his arms raised in rhythm before he spun his partner into the dance. She was wearing a flapper dress, the fringes seeming to sway as she started the turn, the fingers of her right hand appearing to yearn for his touch. There exuded such a profound feeling of romance and togetherness that Shelley found her eyes going to Jack as his came to her.

‘They were given to Sarah’s grandparents as a wedding gift,’ Shelley’s mother told them. ‘Sarah treasured them above anything. I think, I know, that she’d want you to display them again.’

Shelley smiled as Jack, the old romantic, got to his feet and hummed softly as he pulled her to hers.

‘You’re like the dancers coming to life,’ Hanna declared, catching on delightedly.

Jack winked at her and moved Shelley into his arms, while her eyes returned to the bronzes. They felt special even beyond their probable value, and she knew that her mother felt it too. It was as though they had come straight from her aunt’s heart, with love and gratitude for taking the place on. And they would always be here, a symbol of how important it was to move in step with one another, to love and dance and never forget how precious life was.

The visiting family had gone to stay in town tonight, taking a luxury B & B break from the hard floors and dripping ceilings of the east-wing bedrooms. Though Hanna and Zoe’s room didn’t leak, and had proper beds with feathery duvets and pillows, even a thin trail of heating, Jack and Shelley had thought it might be a nice treat for them to go too. However, there had been no moving them. Lambs were on the way and they knew very well that it would happen tonight if they weren’t there.

They weren’t wrong.

The first excited shout went up around 2 a.m., carrying through the wind like a bird, waking Jack and Shelley and setting them scrambling for matches to light the candles when the lamp switches clicked uselessly. It was Harry, Giles’s second son, letting them know that one of the ewes had gone into labour.

‘The girls,’ Shelley panted, tugging on her voluminous jeans and one of Jack’s sweaters.

‘I’ll get them,’ he said, stuffing his feet into old trainers and rushing from the room.

‘No, I will,’ she insisted. ‘You go and see if Harry needs help.’

The girls were already on the landing in nighties and slippers, and tugging on the coats they’d kept next to their beds for just this moment. ‘We heard Harry,’ Zoe shrieked eagerly. ‘Are the lambs here?’

‘About to be,’ Jack promised, scooping her up. ‘Come on, let’s go and see.’

‘Can I name him?’ Hanna asked, running after them.

‘If it’s a girl,’ Jack reminded her.

‘I’m naming him if it’s a boy,’ Zoe said over his shoulder to make sure Hanna heard.

‘What if it’s twins?’ Hanna asked. ‘I hope it’s twins. Daddy, you’re going too fast, I can’t see.’

‘Climb on board,’ he instructed, pausing for her to jump onto his back.

Shelley could just about make them out at the bottom of the stairs as she started down with a precariously balanced candle.

Jack was lighting a paraffin lamp. ‘Is everyone OK?’ he demanded as a weak amber glow lit the hall. ‘Are you all here?’

‘We’re here,’ the girls chorused.

‘Me too,’ Shelley called out.

He was at the door, tugging it open. A spirited wind hurled across the yard, pushing him back. He battled through it. The girls cowered into his neck, shielding their faces from the silvery spikes of rain.

From the front door Shelley shouted, ‘Jack!’

Harry appeared at the barn door. ‘Bit of trouble,’ he shouted. ‘Tried fishing it out myself, but you’d better come.’

‘Jack!’ Shelley yelled again.

‘Is it going to be all right?’ Zoe panicked.

‘You won’t let it die, will you, Daddy?’ Hanna wailed.

‘Jack!’ Shelley all but screamed.

At last he caught her voice and turned round.

‘My waters have broken,’ she yelled above the storm.

His eyes rounded in the moonlight, as driving rain whipped into his face and gusts tore at his hair.

‘We have to get to the lamb,’ Hanna cried, digging in her heels to make him go faster.

Shelley watched them, clutching the door frame as the first contraction bit down hard.

Jack seemed frozen.

Harry shouted again.

Hanna was pointing to the barn and yelling.

Shelley gave a quick pant. Hers wouldn’t be the first baby born in a stable, she reminded herself, provided she could get there.

The next contraction clawed so harshly she slumped to her knees.

She looked up just in time to see Jack disappearing into the barn.

CHAPTER THREE
VIVIENNE
Present Day

This wasn’t a place Vivi knew, or a feeling she recognized, or a sound she could identify through the strangeness of this elusive reality. Thump, wheeze, thump, click, bleep. On and on, never stopping, never changing: soft, loud, lilting, dropping … There was a fog, not in her eyes, yes, in her eyes, but in her head too, deep inside her brain, spreading all the way through her right out to the edges of her vision, circling brief moments of clarity in a dim, misty halo.

She blinked slowly, and felt a clutching sensation around her mouth. She thought she might be standing on the corner of the Fulham Road talking on the phone, waiting for an ambulance to pass.

The siren wailed into silence; voices rose and rippled across an invisible divide. Someone was speaking her name. ‘Vivienne, can you hear me? Vivi. Vivienne.’

The fog closed in, colourless and opaque, and everything went quiet again as she floated back into darkness, away from the strange sounds and confusion of pain.

A while later Vivi’s eyes flickered open again. She could see a vague, bluish light and blinked to try to focus on it. She felt dazzled and trapped, pinned inside a place she couldn’t distinguish. She tried to make sense of the peculiar noises around her: heavy whispers; loud, desperate breaths. An unsteady hush was punctured by bleeps; grazed by a constant, low-pitched hum.

She moved her pupils to the edge of their sockets. She was lying down, that much was clear, and without trying she knew she couldn’t get up. In the semi-darkness her gaze reached the long, loose limbs of someone sprawled on a chair. It was her brother, Mark. She’d been talking to him on the phone while on the corner of the Fulham Road. A siren shrilled as an ambulance went by …

Now Mark was here, beside her, his head and body slumped awkwardly as he slept. He seemed younger than his nineteen years, more like sixteen, although the stubble on his chin and shadows, like bruises, around his closed eyes aged him again.

There was someone beside him, in another chair. He was asleep too, his handsome yet grey face resting on one hand.

It was her stepfather, Gil, here to wish her happy birthday. He’d probably brought flowers. He always gave her flowers.

She tried to speak, but something was filling her mouth. She wanted to take it away, but her hand wouldn’t move, weighed down by something she couldn’t see. Her tongue was heavy and too weak to clear the blockage.

Confusion and fear descended on her, like clouds gently bursting with the threat of more to come. This was a hospital, she realized. She was in hospital, but why? What had happened to her? She felt a sudden, desperate need for her mother, so powerful that she wanted to cry out for her, but her voice was a small, stifled moan inside the mask over her mouth.

Mark’s eyes opened, and as he saw her watching him he sat forward so quickly he almost slipped from the chair.

‘Vivi?’ he croaked urgently. ‘Oh God, Vivi,’ and he started to cry. ‘Dad,’ he muttered over his shoulder. ‘Dad!’

Gil woke with a start and shot to his feet almost before he knew what he was doing. He looked rumpled and afraid. ‘Vivi, sweetie,’ he murmured, coming forward. ‘Oh, Vivi.’

A nurse suddenly swept into the room, summoned by only she knew what. She slipped in front of Mark and Gil, blocking them from Vivi’s view, but her face was kind, her voice reassuring.

‘I’ll get your mother,’ Gil said, and a moment later he was gone.

Mark stood silently watching the adjustment of tubes and patches, the checking of readings and making of notes on a tablet. The small, plump woman was calm and efficient, smiling as she smoothed the hair from Vivienne’s forehead to inspect her eyes.

‘Hello, Vivi Shager,’ she whispered in a soft, accented voice. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Vivi couldn’t answer, wasn’t even sure what she’d say if she could. It was hard to think, to register everything that was happening, to move beyond the terrible pain in her chest.

A face appeared beside the nurse, gaunt, pale and trying to be calm. As Vivi’s eyes locked to her mother’s she felt safe for a moment, the way she had as a child when Gina had moved in to make everything all right, but then the feeling was gone again.

Gina’s voice, her tone as she said, ‘I’m here,’ provided another brief lifeline, but Vivi didn’t know how to grasp it.

Flashes of memory were showing themselves now – the brightness of sunshine in Beaufort House, friends’ faces turning from laughter to confusion and horror; a stranger thumping her chest, sirens wailing – and as the stultifying reality of it overwhelmed her she closed her eyes again, trying to shut out the fear.

A week passed in frightening and painful stages; a slow and often doubtful return from a near-fatal myocardial infarction – in other words a major heart attack. Vivi had been told more than once that it was lucky a doctor had been at hand, and that she’d been so close to the hospital, because every second had counted.

Apparently she’d suffered two cardiac arrests in the ambulance, and had twice been brought back to life.

She had no memory of that short, frantic journey to A & E, although some residue of it seemed sometimes to filter into her dreams. What had come next, her arrival, the emergency treatment, also remained a blank, but she’d been told about the resuscitation efforts, the urgent transfer to a cardiac catheter lab, how her poor, struggling heart had collapsed into near-catastrophic failure.

She was in the High Dependency Unit now, having been moved from Intensive Care two days ago, though she wasn’t sure she could remember it happening. She remained weak and sometimes disoriented, as though she was tuning in and out of someone else’s world. The monitors she was attached to registered her heart’s functions, from its rhythm, to blood flow, to pressure, while the drainage tubes in her chest and bladder performed their unjolly, but necessary duties.

In more lucid moments she felt as though she’d been slammed by a speeding truck. It hurt to breathe, to move, even to think. In some ways thinking was the worst for it invariably took her to a place of panic, to a dark, unnatural world she might never now escape from.

People came and went: doctors, nurses, medical students, technicians, friends and colleagues. Everyone was trying to bolster her, to tell her how much better she seemed today, but she didn’t feel better, and didn’t know what to say to them.

She wasn’t herself. She’d changed in ways she didn’t yet understand; she just knew it had happened, not only in her heart, but in her head.

As her strength staged a tentative and unreliable return she was weighed daily and encouraged to eat and drink. Her heartbeat and blood pressure were held steady by the inotropic drugs being fed through the IV in her neck.

‘I think we can remove the pacing wires tomorrow,’ Arnie Novak, the cardiologist, had told her this morning. He was a nice man, Eastern European, she thought, but she couldn’t tell which country, and she didn’t like to ask. She hadn’t said much to anyone since waking; often she didn’t have the strength to utter more than a few words, and just as often she wanted to hide away from what she might be told.

Now, hearing footsteps approaching, she knew intuitively that they were heading her way, and that they belonged to her mother. It was a kind of telepathy that made her feel secure and relieved, but other things welled up in her too, such as anger and resentment, things her mother didn’t deserve. Breakfast was barely over and here was Gina, worried, frightened, and failing to understand why this had happened when they’d been told, twenty-seven years ago, following two-week-old Vivienne’s arterial switch operation, that they had no more to fear, she could lead a normal life.

As far as Vivi was aware no one understood what had gone wrong, or, if they did they hadn’t yet told her whether the serious episodes she’d just suffered were in any way connected to the congenital heart defect she’d been born with.

‘How are you feeling?’ her mother asked fondly, putting down the magazines she’d brought in and pressing a kiss to Vivi’s forehead. Vivi caught the citrusy scent of her, light and fresh with the earthy warmth that came from her skin – as familiar as the sound of her voice and the movements of her hands.

How was she feeling?

‘Fine,’ Vivi replied. Her voice was stronger than a whisper now, but not as full as it should be. What was the point in telling the truth when there was nothing her mother could do to change things?

‘No pain?’

Vivi shook her head. She didn’t class the constant hurting in her chest as pain any more; it was more of an ache that occasionally flared up into something hot and untameable until the drugs kicked in.

‘How are you?’ Vivienne asked. ‘You look tired.’

Gina’s blink made her seem slightly lost, as though she’d forgotten that she might matter, and Vivi felt a flood of love filling her struggling heart. Funny how emotions didn’t hurt – or they did, but in a different way. They worried her too, in case they were causing undue strain, especially the negative ones. ‘Did you sleep last night?’ she asked.

Gina smiled. ‘I did,’ she said, but Vivi knew it wasn’t true. ‘You have a very comfortable bed.’

Thinking of her flat was as difficult as thinking of all other aspects of the life that was going on without her, and would continue to as if she’d died that day in Beaufort House. The world wouldn’t wait for her, it simply wasn’t possible, but she wasn’t to worry, her boss had told her when he’d come to visit, she’d still have a job when she was strong enough to return.

No one had told her that was never going to happen, but they didn’t have to, because on a deep and intractable level she knew it anyway.

Greg had come to see her, twice, but he’d seemed so awkward the last time that she’d almost asked him right then not to come again. His wide, baffled green eyes hadn’t been able to hide the panic he felt, or the helplessness, or the shameful need to escape. She could tell he hated himself for it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her, she was sure he did, but he wasn’t able to cope with her being anything other than the vibrant young woman he’d been dating. She’d decided to text him after he’d left. It would be easier that way, no pretence that things could be the same when she got out of here, no difficult goodbyes. She needed to be as pragmatic and brave about this as her mother was trying to be; as truthful and unemotional as the charts detailing her progress and mapping the way into her future.

She didn’t feel brave or pragmatic, or like being truthful or detached; what she felt was shattered and terrified, a wreck of the person she really was – and beyond angry with the cruel fate that had put her here.

She would fight it; show it who was in charge. It wasn’t going to win this battle and it might as well know it now. She’d find the weapons she needed, strength of body and spirit, indestructible determination of mind, belief in herself. Her dreams might lie in shattered pieces now, the debris of a collision with life’s capricious and brutal plans, but she wasn’t a puppet to be jerked about on the end of some random, intangible strings. She’d put everything back together and go on as she was before …

The flame of defiance was hard to keep alight when it was constantly assailed by fear; and when it sometimes took all her strength simply to summon the breath to speak.

‘Where’s Mark?’ she asked her mother, her voice low, the words croaked with effort.

‘I let him sleep on,’ Gina replied, taking out a tissue to wipe something from Vivienne’s cheek. A speck of breakfast? Maybe it was a tear. She felt like crying all the time, crying and crying as if somehow the flood would widen and deepen and carry her away from all this.

‘I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he wakes up,’ Gina added.

Vivienne remembered being told that he was sleeping on the sofa in her sitting room, the one she’d bought mostly for when he came to stay. She wished she could see him there. More than that, she wished he wasn’t there, because then this might not be happening. ‘He should be at uni,’ she said.

‘His exams haven’t started yet and he wants to be close.’ Gina drew a handful of white envelopes from her bag.

Vivienne looked at them and guessed they were get-well wishes from her mother’s friends and clients.

Gina watched her uncertainly. ‘Shall I put them away again?’ she asked, clearly ready to do so.

Vivienne didn’t know what to tell her, so she said, ‘Where’s Gil?’

‘Still at the hotel, I think.’

Gil, her wonderful, loving stepfather who’d left her mother, and Vivienne still didn’t know why. Or did she? For the moment she was struggling to get things straight in her head. She knew she’d asked many times, but had she ever been given an answer? ‘Is it awkward for you?’ she ventured.

Gina seemed puzzled, and Vivienne felt a stir of irritation. She’d apparently asked a question that didn’t chime with reality, or her mother was pretending it didn’t.

‘Why would you say that?’ Gina replied carefully.

‘I don’t know … I was … I’m glad he came.’

‘Of course he came. He loves you very much, you surely can’t doubt that.’

Vivienne loved him too, and had always wished he was her real father. Mark would be her real brother then, and they’d be a proper family with no divisions or secrets …

Gina gently curled her fingers round Vivienne’s. ‘Don’t worry, my darling, your memory will piece everything together again soon,’ she promised.

Vivienne nodded, but wondered how she would know if she was functioning normally when she couldn’t be sure what normal was any more. ‘Do you wish you’d tried harder to hang onto him?’ she asked hoarsely.

Gina looked so vulnerable for a moment that Vivienne almost said sorry, but then Gina was covering her feelings with a smile as she said, ‘It was all a long time ago …’

‘Almost ten years,’ Vivi put in, wanting to prove that she knew.

‘Indeed. We’ve moved on since then …’

‘Why did you let him go?’

Gina’s gaze didn’t waver as she said, ‘Why are we having this conversation? It’s hardly important …’

‘You pushed him away. You always do that.’

Gina didn’t answer and Vivi felt herself falling into a sinking, darkening sense of defeat, or exhaustion, or something she didn’t really understand. She too wondered why they were having this conversation, when she felt sure they’d had it many times. Maybe it was because that bleak and difficult period when Gil left was easier to think about than the one they were entering into now. The one that she might not survive … Why was no one talking about that? Or maybe she’d been told she wasn’t going to make it and had blotted it from her mind.

‘Would you like to sleep?’ Gina asked gently.

Vivi realized her eyes were closed.

‘I can stay, or I can go,’ Gina said. ‘Whichever you prefer.’

Vivi wanted her to stay, wanted her never to leave so she could somehow make this all right, but she said, ‘You can go if you like.’

Gina settled herself into a chair and stayed.

There was a man standing at the gate, tall and fair-haired with his hands on his hips and a big smile on his face.

‘There’s my daddy,’ Michelle whooped, and zooming off across the schoolyard she leapt straight into his arms, yelping and laughing as he spun her round and around.

‘And how was your first day at school?’ he asked, holding her aloft so he could see her sunny, freckly face, a small child’s version of his own.

‘It was really good,’ she told him eagerly. ‘My teacher is really nice, and I’ve got a locker all to myself.’

As he gasped in awe, five-year-old Vivienne watched, her eyes round and puzzled. This big, friendly man who was like a film star was Michelle’s daddy!

‘This is my best friend, Vivi,’ Michelle declared, sliding out of her father’s arms and grabbing Vivi’s hand in a proud, proprietorial fashion. ‘Vivi, this is my daddy.’

‘Well hello, Vivi,’ the tall man said, gazing down at Vivi with blue eyes that seemed to laugh and ask questions all at the same time. ‘That’s a very pretty name you have there.’

‘That’s what I said,’ Michelle told him. ‘It’s Vivienne, really. Our birthdays are nearly on the exact same day.’

Sounding impressed, he said to Vivi, ‘So you were born on February 15th as well?’

Vivi shook her head. She felt shy of him, but she liked him too and wanted to say something to please him. ‘I was born on April 15th,’ she said proudly, hoping it might make him realize she was as special as her grandpa always said she was.

‘See, the exact same day,’ Michelle chipped in, ‘just different months. So I will be six first, but it doesn’t matter, because we don’t care who’s the oldest, do we?’ she asked Vivi.

Vivi shook her head. It had been a whirlwind of a day, starting school, meeting Michelle, finding herself with a best friend for the first time ever, and now she didn’t want it to end.

‘Where’s your mummy?’ Michelle asked, looking around at the parents who were busily claiming their children.

‘I don’t know,’ Vivi replied, looking around too. Part of her wished her mother wouldn’t come so she could go home with Michelle and her daddy. Then her mother was there, pushing through the crowd, looking flustered and worried and then relieved when she spotted Vivi.

‘There you are,’ she gasped, stooping to pull Vivi into her arms. ‘The bus didn’t come so I had to walk. How did you like your first day?’

‘Hello, I’m Michelle,’ Michelle said, tapping Gina’s arm. ‘Me and Vivi are best friends.’

Gina broke into a delighted smile. ‘That’s lovely to hear,’ she replied, seeming to mean it.

‘This is my daddy. His name’s Paul.’

Gina turned to the tall, fair-haired man, and Vivi hoped they would fall in love and get married.

‘Hello, I’m Gina Shager,’ her mother said, holding out a slender hand to shake his big, bony one. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’

‘We’ve met before,’ he informed her, ‘but I don’t expect you remember me. My wife is one of your clients. I come to pick her up from time to time. Yvonne Markham.’

‘Of course,’ Gina said, her smile taking on more warmth. ‘I do recognize you now.’

‘Daddy, can Vivi and her mummy come for tea?’ Michelle demanded. ‘Please say yes.’

Laughing, he said, ‘Maybe not today, sweetheart. We’re going to see Grandma and Grandpa, remember?’

‘Oh yes. Vivi lives with her grandparents, don’t you, Vivi?’ She said it with such admiration that Vivi immediately felt important and glad to say yes.

‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’ Paul Markham offered, as they walked away from the school.

‘Oh, that’s very kind of you,’ Gina replied, ‘but there’s a bus …’

‘It wouldn’t be any trouble,’ he insisted. ‘Are you going home, or back into town?’

‘Home. I’ve closed the salon for the rest of the day.’

‘Then if I’m not greatly mistaken you’re heading for Westleigh Bay. Isn’t that where you live?’

‘How do you know that?’ Vivi asked him, thinking he probably knew magic.

Twinkling, he said, ‘Didn’t Michelle tell you that I know everything?’

‘He does,’ Michelle asserted earnestly.

It wasn’t until after Paul and Michelle had dropped them off that Vivi said to her mother, ‘Do all daddies know everything?’

Ushering her along to the front door, Gina said, ‘I’m sure he knows where we live because Michelle’s mummy told him. Or maybe he knows Nana and Grandpa.’

Vivi felt a bit disappointed by that. ‘I wish you could marry him,’ she said glumly.

‘Oh, Vivi, don’t be silly,’ and pushing open the door Gina shouted, ‘Mum! Dad! Here comes our big girl after her first day at school. And you’ll never guess what, she already has a best friend.’

As Vivienne let the memory drift away she was remembering how she’d wanted to be the one to tell NanaBella and Grandpa that she’d made a best friend that day. Then the thought was gone as she saw Michelle leaning over her, except it wasn’t Michelle, it was a nurse showing concern with a smile that seemed to ask a question.

Was she waiting for an answer to something?

The nurse held up a mobile phone. ‘You’ve lots of messages,’ she said softly. ‘Would you like to read them?’

Vivi wasn’t sure what to say. It was hard to think straight, to know anything about what she did or didn’t want, apart from this not to be happening.

She didn’t want to connect with anyone’s pity. She understood they were sorry, that everyone was anxious to come and see her, but there was nothing they could do and she didn’t want them to try. It would only make everything worse.

Worse would be if they didn’t care.

‘I can read them to you if you like,’ the nurse offered.

Vivi looked at her round, olive-skinned face with its deep brown eyes and pear-shaped birthmark covering one cheek. She should probably know her name, but for the moment she couldn’t remember it, and realizing that, she felt tears sting her eyes. What was going to happen to her now? Who was she? Where was her mother?

She heard a voice and realized it was her own. ‘Arnie Novak is coming to talk to us in the morning,’ she said, naming the senior cardiologist. The nurse would already know this, but for some reason Vivi was feeling the need to say it. ‘My mother won’t admit it, but she’s afraid it’s going to be bad news.’

The nurse’s tender eyes gave nothing away as she said, ‘It’s natural for her to feel worried, but …’

‘I don’t seem to be getting any better,’ Vivi interrupted.

‘You’re stronger now than you were a week ago.’

Vivi didn’t argue, because it was true. She closed her eyes and felt the relief of giving in to exhaustion – it was so much easier than trying to fight it.

When Vivi woke up again Mark was there, plugged into his iPhone, probably watching the latest episode of Breaking Bad. He’d told her, when she’d first asked, that he was getting into The Walking Dead.

‘Good choice,’ she’d croaked drily.

‘I thought it was appropriate,’ he’d grinned, knowing it would make her smile too. They’d always had an easy, teasing relationship in spite of their difference in ages. From the moment her mother had brought him home from the hospital, all big blue eyes and grasping fists, Vivi had loved having a brother, and nothing had ever happened to change that.

Now, realizing she was awake, he tugged out his earbuds and removed his feet from the edge of the bed. ‘Hey, looking good,’ he said admiringly, looking a lot better himself than he had over the past few days. He’d shaved and made an effort with a comb, and with his naturally moody eyes, strong jaw and drop-dead smile he surely had to be the fittest nineteen-year-old going. Not that she was biased.

‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked.

‘Downstairs in the coffee shop with a couple of your work friends. Do you want some water, or anything?’

‘Water would be good.’

After sipping from the glass he passed her, she said, ‘You don’t have to hang around here, you know. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do …’

‘Hey, we’re only on season one of Breaking Bad. There are four more seasons to go after that.’

Lifting a hand she linked her fingers through his, careful not to dislodge the tube in hers. He was more man than boy now, almost six feet tall with toned biceps and broad shoulders, but he would always be her little brother. ‘It’s a good series,’ she told him, grateful for the distraction it had provided during the endless hours they were spending here, in spite of how often she nodded off. She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she suspected she was asleep more often than she was awake.

He shrugged. ‘Everyone said it was fantastic, but I never got round to it until now.’

‘Promise not to keep me here for the entire five seasons,’ she said wryly.

‘It’s a deal. Let’s aim for starting season two at home, yeah?’

Her eyes drifted at the mention of home. They both still referred to it as that, even though she’d left when she was eighteen and so had he. The only family they had in Kesterly these days was their mother, who’d moved back in with NanaBella after her marriage to Gil had ended. Gina now had the whole of number eight Bay Lane to herself, the last house of ten (there was now a 1A and 2A) past a private gate (always open) off the coast road. They were less than fifty metres from the towering coastal cliffs of Exmoor, with a back garden that climbed in wide, low layers up to a rocky ridge behind. Their front garden looked out over the circular turning space of the cul de sac to a wide stretch of sandy dunes that separated their house from the beach and constantly changing vista of the estuary beyond.

She and Mark still had their rooms at number eight, unchanged from the time they’d left, and always freshly made up in case they made a surprise return. All the neighbours they’d known while growing up had moved on now, having sold their desirable seafront properties to the London elite for use as holiday homes. Vivi had never understood why any of them would want a place in Kesterly-on-Sea when they surely could have afforded much more exotic locations on the south coast, or even in Europe. Never in a million years would she have chosen the dreary, depressing coastal town as a weekend or summer escape. She was a London girl through and through, she wanted colour, life …

She didn’t realize her eyes had drifted closed until she heard Mark say to whoever had come in, ‘I think she’s asleep.’

‘OK, I’ll stay for a while in case she wakes up,’ Gil murmured.

For the next few minutes Vivi drifted in and out of awareness, catching only parts of what was being said and who was saying it. However, it seemed Gil was going to be around for Arnie Novak’s visit tomorrow, and her mother, who had returned, was sounding grateful for it. Gil was such a good man, so gentle and considerate. She’d always feel grateful to him, love him, for the differences he’d made to her life during the time he’d been in it – differences he still made, in his way. Mark was lucky to have him as a father. Gil would be there for his son if the news wasn’t good tomorrow. He’d be there for Gina too if she’d allow it, but Vivi wasn’t sure that she would.

‘Why don’t you have a daddy?’ Michelle whispered.

‘I do,’ Vivi whispered back. She glanced at the bedroom door to make sure it was closed and no shadows were moving about in the cracks of light underneath. They were having a sleepover tonight, at her house, and she didn’t want her mother to hear what they were saying.

‘Then where is he?’ Michelle asked.

Vivi hesitated. She’d never shared this secret with anyone, hadn’t even admitted to herself out loud that she knew who her father was, but she thought she could trust Michelle. ‘I can show you if you like,’ she dared to suggest.

In the orangey glow from the nightlight Michelle looked excited and dreamlike, as though she was a kind of fairy whose very presence could make things come true.

‘You’ll have to be really quiet,’ Vivi cautioned. ‘I’m not supposed to know where he is, but I found him in my mum’s room when she was outside in the garden.’

Bemused and seeming a little worried, Michelle crept on tiptoe after Vivi, out of the room and along the passage to the three stairs that led up to a door that was half open.

Vivi paused, listening for the sound of the TV downstairs. Her mum and NanaBella always watched Come Dancing on Saturday nights, and from the sound of the music she could tell it had already started. That was good, because they wouldn’t be able to hear anything else, not that she and Michelle were going to make a noise. Grandpa, she knew, was out at one of his card nights, so he wouldn’t hear them either.

‘Better not turn the light on,’ she whispered to Michelle as they crept into her mother’s room, ‘but the curtains aren’t drawn yet, so we might be able to see.’

Michelle kept close behind as Vivi led the way round the high bed with four short posts and over to a chest of drawers with photographs of a baby on the top (Vivi), and a wooden-framed mirror that reflected an unlit chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

‘Ssh,’ Vivi murmured as she eased open the bottom drawer. ‘He’s in here.’

Michelle was looking worried again. ‘Is it a photo?’ she said faintly.

Vivi shook her head, and pushing aside a pile of clothes she found what she was looking for and lifted it out.

Michelle stared at the big round bundle. ‘If it’s his head I don’t want to see it,’ she said earnestly.

‘It’s not his head,’ Vivi assured her, and carefully unwrapping the muslin shroud she revealed a heavy bronze figure of a man in a hat and a baggy suit, with arms outstretched and legs that seemed to be moving. ‘This is him,’ Vivi whispered, holding it so Michelle could get a good look. ‘I think it’s why my mum always watches Come Dancing, just in case he’s on.’

Michelle was bewitched. ‘Why does your mum keep him wrapped up in a drawer?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You should ask her.’

‘I think she’d be cross if I did.’

Seeming to understand that, Michelle continued to gaze at the sculpture until Vivi wrapped it up again and put it back in the drawer.

Vivi was feeling strangely distanced from the life-saving equipment around her, hardly hearing it, or even sensing its attachments to her body, as she willed time to stop or, better still, turn back. Her mother and Mark were on one side of the bed, Michelle and Gil on the other and the senior cardiac nurse plus two junior doctors were grouped around the end, trying to look professional and compassionate. Dr Novak himself, with his Slavic features and easy manner, was studying the tablet he’d been handed on entering the room, assessing the latest reports of her progress and saying nothing yet.

Eventually he turned his attention to Vivienne and smiled in a way that made her feel fleetingly brave, even though she was racked with dread.

What was he going to say? Whatever it was she had to try to deal with it, even if it was bad.

As he came closer his grey eyes didn’t move from hers, and for a bewildering moment it felt as though they were the only ones in the room. ‘What I’m about to tell you is good news,’ he began in his pleasantly accented voice, but before Vivienne could register relief he was saying, ‘It probably won’t seem like it at first, but once you’ve had time for it to sink in I think you’ll agree that it is.’

Vivienne’s eyes went to her mother. Gina apparently didn’t understand either. She was clinging tightly to Mark’s hand.

‘You have presented us with an unusual situation,’ Dr Novak informed her, ‘because the sort of infarctions and arrests you’ve suffered are currently falling between two diagnoses. Please don’t look so worried.’ He smiled gently. ‘I said unusual, not impossible, as both conditions are treatable, it’s simply a question of going forward in the right way.’

This was sounding reasonable, not too frightening. Treatable was always good.

‘… because of the damage the muscle – your heart – has suffered, and the complications that have arisen, I’m afraid your recovery isn’t going in the way we’d hoped.’ He put a hand over Vivienne’s as though sensing the deepening of her fear, and wanting to hold her back from it. ‘It’s my professional opinion,’ he said softly, ‘that your heart isn’t strong enough to give you much more than a year of life, and that life won’t be like the one you’ve known up until now. This is why, with your permission, I’m going to recommend that you are assessed for a transplant.’

Vivienne heard a gasp, a small cry of shock, but she had no idea where it had come from. Maybe her; or maybe it was her mother. Her eyes were still on Dr Novak’s, her fingers holding fast to his, as if letting go would cause her to spiral down into an abyss of such darkness and despair that she would never find her way back.

He began speaking again, saying more, much more, but none of it changed what he’d already said. The heart she had was so weak, so sick, that unless it was replaced, and soon, she was going to die.

CHAPTER FOUR
SHELLEY
Early Summer 1989

‘… and I’m the one who has to name him, because he’s going to be my pig, isn’t he, Daddy?’

‘He is indeed,’ Jack cheerfully confirmed, while glancing in the rear-view mirror to where all three of his children were framed like a small family portrait – Hanna aged eight, Zoe seven next week, and four-year-old Josh, soon to be the proud owner of one small pig. Josh was a miniature version of his father; the same untameable dark hair, deep blue eyes and a smile that was as infectious as his laugh – apart from in his sisters’ opinion, but he didn’t worry too much about that.

Shelley checked the wing mirror on her door of the old Land Rover, making sure Jack’s brother, Nathan, and his wife, Katya, were still in close pursuit. This was going to be Nate and Kat’s first visit to the Dean Valley County Fair, and while the children were thrilled to have them along, their aunt and uncle’s most important task today was to tow the trailer that would later carry home any new livestock they purchased, most importantly the piglet.

Behind the Land Rover was another trailer, this one transporting Milady, the imperious, overweight and highly coiffed sheep that Zoe was entering into the children’s Best in Show competition. Zoe had done most of the grooming herself – post shearing, which she’d watched closely with her inexpert eye to make sure a good job was done – and had only just stopped short of mascara and lipstick. She’d also persuaded Jack to join her for a camp-out in the barn last night to make sure no rival competitor tried to steal the potential prizewinner. (There had been no reports of rustling in their area, but someone had put the idea into Zoe’s head and so all precautions had to be taken.)

‘I’m going to call him Alan,’ Josh announced for the twenty-eighth time, bouncing up and down between his sisters. His excited little face was as flushed and eager as it always was at the prospect of a newcomer to his personal menagerie. He’d been collecting, studying, doctoring, releasing and sometimes burying wildlife since he was old enough to know what it was, and his enthusiasm for all creatures great and small was only surpassed by his incredible, even instinctive understanding of their peculiar habits and needs.

‘Everyone thinks Milady is going to win,’ Zoe informed them confidently. ‘Mummy, you remembered to bring the camera, didn’t you?’

‘I did,’ Shelley assured her.

‘Stop jerking about,’ Hanna protested as Josh knocked into the cress sculpture she was holding. She’d grown it into the shape of a cookie monster over the past few weeks in preparation for the show, and Josh’s life wasn’t going to be a long one if he bumped it again. ‘Daddy, did I tell you that Lydia Harris has made a horse with her cress, but it doesn’t really look like one?’

‘Yours does,’ Josh informed her loyally.

‘It’s not supposed to be a horse!’ she cried furiously. ‘It’s a monster, you idiot.’

‘Well it looks like a horse to me,’ he argued, ‘a bit of a weird one, though.’ After a beat he added, ‘Actually if it doesn’t frighten anyone I expect you will.’

Jack and Shelley choked back their laughter as Hanna thumped her brother, regarding her artistic endeavour with an unsteady mix of anxiety and pride as they jostled along the rutted track and into the field that was hosting vehicles for the show’s tradesmen and competitors.

It was a hot June day with no more than a few wisps of clouds in the sky, and the sour, sweaty stench of livestock doing its best to overpower the perfumed cocktail of flowers, cakes and sizzling hot dogs that floated about between trees and stalls. This was the Raynor family’s fifth show in a row (Josh’s third), and each year they’d gone home with a small clutch of awards and souvenirs, assorted foodstuffs, several chickens, a couple of ducks, and many cases of locally brewed cider. Last year they’d snared a prize for the Scariest Scarecrow, which they’d modelled on Lord Dregg of Ninja Turtle fame and who, Shelley had secretly felt, bore an uncanny resemblance to their roguish neighbour, Giles. In fact, it was possible Giles had recognized himself, for she’d spotted him shooting baleful glances at the straw-stuffed effigy as though not entirely sure if he was being wound up or not.

Much had changed during the almost five years since they’d taken over Deerwood. The farmhouse was now almost fully renovated, some of the outbuildings had undergone serious repair, and as of last week they’d become the proud owners of no less than twenty-seven ewes and six neutered rams. However, the greatest excitement since their arrival – next to Josh being born, of course – was the fact that Nate and Kat had decided to build a large, rambling stone cottage on the acre of land that Shelley and Jack had gifted them. It was set back from the main-road end of the mile-long track up to the farmhouse, barely visible to passers-by in spite of the delightful welcome gate cut into the hedge. Nate was now a firefighter with the Kesterly service, and Kat helped to run the local nursery school.

‘Look at him,’ Jack sighed, sliding an arm round Shelley as they strolled towards the entrance and Josh zoomed off to join a couple of friends he’d spotted. ‘I haven’t seen him this excited since … yesterday?’

Shelley had to laugh. ‘Let’s hope we find a pig,’ she declared, ‘or he’s going to end up as disappointed as Steven.’ Steven was Josh’s pet lamb, a sorry little creature who’d apparently decided that he’d rather have a piglet as a friend than another lamb. They knew this because Josh had told them, and apparently Steven had told Josh. Steven had been helped into the world by Josh a few months ago, and was now a part-time resident of the farmhouse, along with Petunia, Zoe’s three-and-a-half-legged lamb (grown into a sheep), who’d popped into the world on the same February night that Josh had made his own speedy debut.

Jack still enjoyed teasing Shelley about her horrified disbelief that he’d actually left her to give birth alone that night, when what he’d actually done was dash into the barn for the car, leaving Harry and the girls to deal with Milady’s lazy efforts to rid herself of twins. Sadly the first one out had perished, causing many tears. However, happiness had been restored when Milady hadn’t shown any interest in becoming a mother to the second arrival, so Zoe had taken on the role. Meantime, Jack was delivering Josh in the car halfway down the drive with the nearest phone box more than two miles away (if it was working and it usually wasn’t); and since they were still on their own land there had been no chance of passing traffic to come to the rescue. In the end, with the newborn in Shelley’s arms, he’d driven to hospital at breakneck speed in order to get mother and child separated, cleaned up and checked over. An hour later all three had been on their way home again.

Jack had felt very proud of himself that day, and Josh never tired of hearing the story of how his daddy had single-handedly brought him into the world, as though Jack were some sort of magician who didn’t bother with rabbits and hats, because babies out of mummies was much more impressive, especially when that baby was him.

‘Daddy!’ Zoe shouted from somewhere. ‘Milady’s dragging me … Stop! I said stop! Daddy! Help!’

Laughing, Jack went to the rescue, and when he realized that Milady was trying to make a beeline for Roger, the ram who’d come to service the ewes these past two years, he was helpless with mirth as he tried to drag her back on track.

‘It’s not funny,’ Zoe complained. ‘She’s naughty. You’re a very bad girl, Milady. Dodgy should be here,’ she told her father. ‘He never takes any nonsense from her.’ Dodgy was in fact Dodgy Two, who’d come to join them fresh from training, after the original Dodgy had gone to round up sheep angels earlier in the year. By then dear old Dodgy had lost all sense of time and purpose, often chasing in the small flock only minutes after Jack or Shelley had let them out, or circling hikers who came along the public footpath, as though they needed sorting out too. Jack had wept for days after sending the beloved old collie off to new pastures, and Shelley had been no comfort for she’d been beside herself too.

‘We shouldn’t be farmers,’ she often declared, ‘we love animals too much.’ And we’re not even close to making enough money to live on, she never added, for it didn’t seem anywhere near as important as how happy they all were.

In truth, if it weren’t for Jack’s income from his three days a week as a vet, added to the small rent they received from Giles and other neighbours for thirty of their seventy-five acres, and the meagre government subsidies, they wouldn’t be managing at all. Buying and selling sheep, rearing and grazing them, shearing them, and sending them for slaughter in September usually left them with a grand total of next to nothing at the end of each year. The bright side of that, of course, was that they never had to pay any tax.

Throughout the frenetic and frequently hilarious day full of morris dancing, showjumping, local bands playing, and assorted auctions, they shopped the various food stalls, and stopped to chat with the many friends they’d made since moving to the area. By the end Milady had won runner-up at Best in Show, Hanna had howled in justified fury when some contemptible toff had stubbed a cigarette out on her cress creation, and Josh had struck a deal with Terry Yarwood, a local farmer, two piglets for the price of one. So now Steven would have Willy Wonka and Charlie Bucket to keep him company. No Alan in sight.

‘We should call your dad on the way home,’ Shelley said, as they piled children and animals back into cars and trailers. ‘He’ll be wanting to know what time to expect us.’

‘If he’s still out on the road selling eggs,’ Jack replied, ‘we won’t get hold of him, but you’re right, we should try.’ Ever since Jack’s mother had suddenly passed two years ago his father, David, had virtually moved in with them, which Shelley didn’t mind at all. He was as helpful and easy-going as her own father, and it was a big relief to Jack and Nate to know that he wasn’t grieving silently at home on his own in London. Moreover, his passion for growing vegetables was starting to come into its own, for they’d lately begun selling spring onions, cabbages and carrots along with eggs and home-made jams at the end of the drive. And if things carried on the way they were, David’s green-fingered talents were likely to earn him an occasional stall at the Saturday farmers’ market in Kesterly.

With everyone on board, Josh travelling with his aunt and uncle this time in order to be close to Wonka and Bucket, they set off down the track towards the main road where they stopped at the first phone box they found. Discovering they only had one 10p coin between them, Jack dialled the number and started the conversation with his father,

‘Everything all right there? Quick, before the money runs out.’

‘Just made myself a fortune of six pounds and forty-two p,’ David replied cheerfully, ‘and I was about to go and feed the chickens. What time shall I expect you?’

‘In about an hour. Two piglets on board. Did the plumber come to find out why the water’s not getting through to the sheep trough?’

‘Yes, apparently there was a leak about ten yards out, but he’s fixed it, so no bucket line tomorrow. Tell Shelley I thought I’d make a salad for tea that we can eat outside with the weather being so nice. The lettuces are lovely and crisp and the early-ripened tomatoes are as sweet as peaches. I made some bread, tell her, and I was thinking about baking a cake but then I thought you might have bought one.’

‘Try six,’ Jack responded wryly. ‘We’ve also got a mountain of cheese, a ton of different pâtés, half a Wiltshire ham and that’s just for starters. Nate wants to know if Perry’s all right?’ he added, referring to his brother’s two-year-old son, who loved nothing more than being number one assistant to his grandpa.

‘Fast asleep on the dog’s sofa,’ David replied. ‘The dog’s on the floor. Oh, before I forget, Giles came over. He seemed a bit worried about something. He wants you to call when you get back.’

‘Did he mention what it was?’ Jack asked curiously.

‘No. I thought maybe he needed a vet, but that’s not what he said.’

‘OK, I’ll try him now, and if I don’t get an answer …’ He broke off as the pips went and, remembering he didn’t have any more coins, he pushed open the heavy door and returned to the car.

‘Mm,’ Shelley muttered after he told her that Giles wanted them to be in touch.

Jack glanced at her, puzzled, until, realizing she didn’t want to say anything in front of the children, he put the car back in gear and started up a lively rendition of ‘One Man Went to Mow’ as they continued the drive home.

Something was wrong. He could feel it now; Shelley had just got there before him.

By the time they turned into the dirt track that wound through many fields and a bluebell wood to Deerwood Farm the girls were half asleep in the back, but Shelley still didn’t voice her concerns about Giles’s visit. Instead she kept them to herself, hoping she was wrong, and gazed around at their undulating patchwork of fields that stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. Some were dotted with fat, woolly sheep and their fast-growing lambs, while many of the gates between hedges were wide open to allow them to roam freely. She and Jack had worked harder than they ever had since coming here, and she was more than happy to know that they would continue to. Even the winter months were fulfilling in their way, especially when the lambing season got going for there was something truly exhilarating about helping their ewes to bring new little creatures into the world. It seemed to bond the family even tighter together and make the daft and lovable flock even more a part of it as time passed.

Less enjoyable at that time of year was the pruning of fruit trees and brambled hedgerows in freezing winds, and poring over accounts that never added up. However, there was always the roaring fire to come home to and gather around on stormy nights, and an endless number of games to play and movies to watch now they had a new VCR. (It had taken Jack almost a week to figure out how to connect it, and his normally mild temper had been tested many times since by the machine’s refusal to obey the handbook.)

‘Is that Giles’s new Range Rover?’ Shelley asked, as they crossed the humpback bridge at the end of the drive, and the farmhouse in all its summer glory came into view. Its many windows and doors had been carefully repaired, refitted and painted a gleaming white, while the centuries-old grey stone walls had been livened up by demossing and repointing. The old, Grade II listed roofs now lay snugly under the protection of the brand-new non-leaky red tiles that Jack and Nate had helped to lay. It was, in her opinion, a dream home that always seemed to smile when they came into view, as though wanting them to know how thrilled it was with the rose-covered porch they’d installed around the white front door, and the colourful beds Shelley was bringing on each side of it. The fact that it overlooked a scruffy, cluttered yard full of potholes, tractors and all sorts of rusted paraphernalia simply honoured its status as a farmhouse. As did the barns that faced it, and the creaking iron gates that opened into the fields.

‘Yep, that looks like it,’ Jack murmured, as they pulled up next to the Range Rover. ‘Seems like he couldn’t wait for us to ring.’ There were several other cars around too, which wasn’t a big surprise, for over the past three years Deerwood had gained a reputation for being a place where everyone was welcome. Hardly a day passed without someone dropping in, or ringing up to ask if they could come. Jack, with his irrepressible good humour and eagerness to listen and laugh at stories long and tall, was always at the centre of things, while Shelley kept the food and booze coming, or hit on someone for advice on whatever farm problem was bothering her that day.

As they came to a stop the children woke up and leapt out of the cars, ready to start unloading the squealing piglets and prize-winning Milady. Dodgy wasted no time in coming to help sort things out, and was ably assisted by Nate and Kat, while Jack and Shelley went into the house.

After the blazing sunlight outside, the flagstone entrance hall where a newly constructed oak staircase rose between the kitchen and family room seemed dark at first, but Shelley’s eyes soon adjusted to find the place empty of people, but nevertheless welcoming. It was stuffed full of the charm and quirkiness that she loved. There was a brand-new Aga now, black, powerful and all-dominant in a vast inglenook fireplace where copper pots and pans hung from a thick wooden lintel that was almost as high as the ceiling. The battered rectory table at the centre of the room was, they’d been told at a local flea market, as old as the house, and had once belonged to a duke. As if they’d ever know if that were true, and as if they’d care. It suited them perfectly, as did all the other second-hand furniture scattered about the place that some would call antiques, but they considered new old friends. A magnificent triple-fronted beechwood sideboard that Shelley had found under a pile of junk in the main barn and lovingly restored stood against one wall. Its convenient surface had become resting places for various keys, animal treats, junk mail, stray jigsaw pieces, hair combs and even a couple of baby teeth. In pride of place, in a specially constructed niche above the sideboard, were the precious bronze figurines that belonged together as surely as if they were actually attached. Shelley often recalled the night she and Jack had first placed them there, almost reverently. Then they’d danced, romantically and effortlessly, to Nat King Cole’s ‘Unforgettable’, as though they were continuing the fluidity of movement the sculptor had captured.

‘That’s my mum and dad,’ Hanna would often say if anyone asked about the figures, and neither Jack nor Shelley corrected her, for in a way it did feel like them.

Hearing voices in the back garden, Shelley followed Jack out of the kitchen stable door onto the cracked and weedy stone patio where David was sharing a beer with Giles at a large wooden table under a dilapidated gazebo. There was still plenty of work to be done out here, but it didn’t stop them enjoying the rambling garden with its ragged hedges and overgrown shrubs, or the pond at the far end (home to the ducks), and the various climbing frames, swings and slides for the kids.

‘Everything all right?’ Jack asked, grabbing a handful of sheep nuts as Steven and Petunia trotted from the shade of a weeping willow and across the lawn to greet him.

‘I don’t know,’ Giles replied gravely. ‘I’ve sent a couple of my lads to check up on it, but I’m still waiting to hear.’ He nodded towards the walkie-talkie that would connect him to his farmhands as soon as they had some news to share.

‘Is it travellers?’ Shelley asked worriedly, realizing that the extra vehicles out front must belong to Giles’s workers. ‘I heard there were some in the area.’

Giles’s eyes were steely. ‘If it is then it’s not the ones we know,’ he replied gruffly, ‘because no one’s been in touch to ask which field they can use – and they’re on your land, not mine. I went up there earlier, but no one was around. No caravans yet, but a dozen or more tents. I’ve sent a couple of the lads to check it out now, see if anyone’s turned up yet and find out what it’s all about.’

Unsettled by Giles’s concern, Shelley was recalling the stories she’d heard about clashes with the Gypsy fraternity, the kind of damage to land and property they inflicted if crossed, the violence and threats to children and animals. ‘If they don’t turn out to be your regular travellers, is there anything we can do to make them leave?’ she asked.

Giles tipped back his head and drained the bottle of beer. ‘One step at a time,’ he cautioned. ‘For all we know it could be a bunch of hippies aiming to set up some New Age cult for nudists and nutters. But if they are pikeys of some sort we definitely don’t want to start off by upsetting them.’

Shelley turned to Jack and felt another twist of unease when she saw the determined look on his face. She wanted to remind him that the top fields were a long way distant from the house – at least a mile and a half – so this unexpected settlement surely wasn’t anything to get too worked up about, but he was already addressing Giles.

‘Come on,’ he said, putting down a beer he hadn’t yet touched. ‘Let’s go take a look.’

Minutes after Jack and Giles had taken off on foot across the fields, heading for the ancient forest and beyond, the children came thundering in demanding food. Nate and Kat were close behind, a sleepy Perry in his mother’s arms. Catching Shelley’s worried expression, Nate glanced from her to his father.

‘What’s going on?’ he wanted to know.

David nodded to where Jack and Giles were clambering over a stile at the far end of the nearest field, a trail of sheep trotting along in Jack’s wake.

Clearly sensing he might be needed, Nate took off at a pace to catch up with them.

Kat’s eyebrows were raised as she looked at Shelley. ‘Later,’ Shelley murmured, aware of the children watching them.

‘Where’s Daddy gone?’ Josh demanded, unused to his father going anywhere on the farm without him.

‘I want him to hang up Milady’s rosette,’ Zoe protested.

‘You’re all so mean,’ Hanna snapped at them. ‘Grandpa’s made lemonade and you haven’t even said thank you.’

At that the younger ones threw themselves at David, who took them inside for drinks and snacks before tea.

‘What is it?’ Kat prompted Shelley.

Shelley was still watching the men’s retreating backs. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied quietly, ‘but I have such a horrible feeling about this that I wish I knew how to bring them back.’

By the time dusk started to settle over the fields there was still no sign of the men, and as Giles had left his walkie-talkie on the table, and neither Jack nor Nate had taken theirs, Shelley had no way to get hold of them. She rang Giles’s wife, Cathy, but Cathy hadn’t heard from them either, and she was just as worried, which wasn’t like the usually sanguine Cathy at all.

In the end, unable to stand doing nothing, Shelley told Kat to stay with David and the children while she went down to the basement and took a key from a box on the topmost shelf of a wall cupboard. She used it to unlock the cabinet where Jack kept his shotgun. She’d never fired it in her life (nor had he, since learning how to handle it), but mindful of the premonition she’d had as the men had left, she needed something to bolster her courage if she was going out to look for them. Obviously she wouldn’t shoot anyone, that wasn’t her intention at all, but venturing out alone in the dark with nothing to help make a point, if necessary, didn’t feel like a good way to go.

Twenty minutes later Shelley was in the Land Rover, driving gingerly through the narrow country lanes at the furthest perimeter of their land and keeping her eyes peeled for any signs of Jack and the others. The car’s windows were open to let in some air, along with any number of insects to buzz around her face like the irritating pests they were.

The shotgun was on the passenger seat beside her.

She was close now to where their fields joined with Giles’s, but there was no sign of anyone. The night was black; hedgerows and trees rolled in from the wings and disappeared again as the headlights passed by. A fox darted across the road in front of her and was gone almost before she hit the brakes.

Quite suddenly, the road flooded with light. A car came speeding towards her, headlights blazing; blinding her. She swerved frantically into a ditch, but needn’t have worried – the other driver skidded into a hard left turn and disappeared through an open gate (that should have been closed), bumping and revving into one of their top fields. It was followed by another car, and another … She counted six in all, each with its headlamps blazing and music blaring.

Quickly backing up onto the road she killed her lights and edged forward in a low gear, her heart thudding and ears straining as she pulled in close to the hedge. The music had stopped, but she could see torch beams moving about wildly in the night air and then she heard the sound of voices, shouting, threatening. With an unsteady hand she reached for the gun, got out of the Land Rover and moved silently into the field.

The cars had been abandoned, some doors left open and interior lights still on. Ahead of them was an encampment of a dozen or more tents, all shapes and sizes. The voices were louder now, but she still couldn’t see anyone, so she crept closer, keeping to the shadows and praying that no one would spot her. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they did; all sorts of scenarios were flitting into her head and none were good.

As she peered round the edge of a tent towards the commotion, her stomach gave a lurch of fear. A truly ugly scene was under way with Jack, Giles and Nate at the centre of it, yelling, waving fists and threatening violence if the travellers didn’t move off now.

Except they weren’t travellers, she realized, they were a bunch of drunk, arrogant youths who’d apparently set up camp in the field and were now showing off in front of their girlfriends, watching from the shadows, by refusing to budge.

Recognizing the ghastly Bleasdale twins from Dean Manor, Shelley moved closer still, and as one of the obnoxious oiks began yelling threats that could (or should in her opinion) get his head blown off, she raised the gun, pointed it straight at him and yelled, ‘Get away from my husband or I’ll shoot.’

To her dismay no one heard; so directing the gun skywards she pulled the trigger and almost came off her feet as the explosion tore through the night.

Everyone froze.

She took another step forward, aiming the gun at any yob who moved. She could hear voices muttering, ‘What the fuck?’ ‘Madwoman’ ‘Get out of here.’ Jack was gaping at her in astonishment, then ran swiftly to wrest the weapon from her trembling grasp before any real harm was done.

An even uglier scene immediately flared up, with Shelley joining in the yelling and no one seeming ready to give way, until a couple of Terry Yarwood’s farmhands turned up with a trailer packed full of farm waste. As they dumped it over the tents Jack’s party roared with laughter, while the Bleasdales and their fellow yobs began gagging and spluttering obscenities that could still be heard as they pressed the protesting girls back into the cars and disappeared into the night.

‘What the hell were you thinking, bringing the gun?’ Jack laughed, as he and Nate followed Shelley to the Land Rover.

‘I was expecting travellers,’ she reminded him. ‘And you’ve been out here for so long.’

‘We were waiting for them to show up,’ he explained. ‘We’d already guessed it was kids so we decided to have ourselves some sport.’

Rolling her eyes as if to say men! she returned to the driver’s seat, while he stowed the shotgun in the boot and Nate climbed into the back.

‘What are you going to do with all those tents?’ she asked as Jack got in beside her.

He was grinning widely. ‘That’s a very good question,’ he told her, ‘and I do believe I have the answer.’

He said no more, but the following morning around seven o’clock he took off in the farm’s forklift to meet up with Giles and Terry Yarwood in theirs. By eight they had shifted the stinking mass of an abandoned campsite over to Dean Manor’s gates, where they dumped the lot before returning to the farmhouse for one of Shelley’s scrumptious full English breakfasts.

It was just after ten when Sir Humphrey Bleasdale rang. ‘I want that filth moved off my land,’ he roared down the line at Jack.

‘Speak to your sons, they’re the owners,’ Jack told him.

Shelley could almost hear Sir Humphrey gnashing his teeth like some pantomime villain. ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Raynor,’ he growled, ‘but mark my words, you’re going to find out.’

In his usual insouciant way, Jack wished the old puffball a good day and put the phone down. It wasn’t the first time Humphty Dumphty, as the kids called him, had threatened Jack, or Giles, or any of the other farmers who didn’t pay obeisance to his superior status, and Shelley knew without doubt that it wouldn’t be the last.

CHAPTER FIVE
VIVIENNE
Present Day

Kesterly didn’t look any different from the way it always had as Gil drove them along the seafront in his silver Mercedes saloon. Vivienne hadn’t expected it to, but familiar as it was, it felt different. Everything did. She guessed a time would come when she’d be able to put the strangeness, the chaos and darkness of her feelings into words, or some order of understanding, but for now all she could latch onto that didn’t send her into panic was a bewildering sense of surrealism that made everything seem like an endless dream – or as though someone else had slipped into her skin to take over her life.

Her mother was beside Gil in the front of the car. Vivi sat behind with Mark, her head resting on the seat back as she gazed out at the calm blue sky and crazily glittering sea. The tourists were out in good numbers, to be expected on a sunny day in early summer, and in a vague, disconnected way she felt glad for them. At least their lives didn’t appear to be in any sort of crisis.

As they drove on she took in those who were picnicking or napping on the grass verge between the four lanes of the Promenade; others filled the cafés spilling onto the pavements, and still others, not visible from the car, were no doubt baking themselves on the beach or paddling in the slushy waves.

Did they realize how important it was to cherish every minute of every day?

She was just learning the lesson herself, and still had a very long way to go.

Almost two months had passed since she’d gone from being a perfectly healthy person (or so she’d thought) to someone who was only alive thanks to tireless and dedicated expert care, and the massive cocktail of drugs she was now dependent on. Learning what life was going to be like for the foreseeable future – no more work, limited and careful exercise, constant assessments, pain management where needed, special diets: the list was endless – had been a shock she hadn’t yet come to terms with, and she didn’t feel confident that she ever would. This was nothing like the life she had planned for herself. She was an invalid now, someone who could only survive on medication and the hope of a new heart. It was as though she’d suddenly become old. The worst of it might have been the advice to refrain from physical intimacy until she was strong enough to cope with the strenuous nature of it, but since she didn’t have a partner it was hardly an issue. And it was never going to be one, for what chance did she stand of ever finding anyone in Kesterly, or anywhere, who’d want to take on the hassle of a sick woman whose condition was only going to get worse, unless a miracle came along in the shape of someone dead so she could live?

The horror of that was too hard to think about, so she didn’t.

While being assessed for a new heart she’d read stories online about those who’d managed to get their lives back on track after the transplant, and who’d even gone on to greater things. There was no reason, she’d been told, for her not to be one of their number. There was no guarantee that she would be, either, for in amongst the many upbeat stories had been just as many – more, even – telling a much sadder tale: waits that had gone on for years only to end in death; mad dashes to a transplant centre to find the donor heart wasn’t suitable; post-operative immunosuppressive drugs causing cancer … The only good news in all this, as her mother saw it, was that she hadn’t been rejected for transplant, which could have happened, since some people were too sick for the procedure. If she were one of their number she’d know for certain that she wasn’t likely to make it beyond a few months. As it was, she probably wouldn’t anyway.

Her mother had been there every day throughout the transplant assessment and the surgery, only a few days ago, to fit her with an ICD – implantable cardioverter defibrillator. There had been much discussion about going straight for a VAD – Ventricular Assist Device – and Vivi had prayed with all her might that it wouldn’t happen. She’d read much about that too, the open-heart surgery to attach the pump to the left ventricle and aorta with drivelines connecting her heart, through the skin, to a controller and batteries that she’d have to take everywhere with her. Plenty had been written by those who had one about the pain of it, the fear of it stopping, and the dreadful things that sometimes happened if it did.

She’d wept with relief when the decision had been taken to hold the VAD in reserve for the time being.

Gina had shared the relief, but Vivi had turned away when her mother had broken into a smile. She was glad her mother was there, but she couldn’t bear to see her clutching at straws that were little more than thin air. Nor did she want to see her fear and worry, nor how shattered and gaunt she looked as one setback was overcome, only to be replaced by another. This was obviously affecting her deeply, but there were times when Vivi had needed to wallow in her terrible, wrenching emotions alone. Surely running a marathon for such a deserving cause was a good thing, not something to be punished for, so why had it turned into this? It was small comfort – maybe no comfort at all – to be told that it would have happened sooner or later anyway. Her heart had been weakening for a long time without her knowing it, and now it was a virtually useless vessel of such pathetic performance that it could fail at any time. It was a pump that had run out of thrust, a muscle that was atrophying like a flower past its bloom.

This time next year, or maybe even before that, there would very likely be an empty space where she was now, just Mark in the back seat of the car, an empty chair at their table, a bedroom that would no longer be used, someone they wouldn’t have to consider when they bought gifts and made plans. All that would exist of her would be the memories her friends and family shared, or maybe she’d be a ghost, moving amongst them unseen, unheard and unable to reach out and touch them.

‘It’s quite natural for you to be feeling blue and frightened right now,’ the psychologist had told her before she’d left hospital. ‘It’s a lot to take in, but you’ll find it becomes easier as you gain strength and your coping mechanism comes to the rescue.’

‘What if none of it shows up?’ she’d asked. ‘No strength, no coping mechanism, no hope even?’

The psychologist hadn’t seemed to doubt that it would all kick in at some point, and probably sooner than she expected. He’d then talked about the counselling that would be available any time Vivienne required it.

Reading reports from other heart patients, Vivi knew that the counselling promise wasn’t one to rely on. There had been too many cuts to the NHS budget to guarantee anything, least of all treatment for mental health when the costs of her physical needs were running into many tens of thousands of pounds.

Why didn’t they save the money and let her go now? What was the point of trying to keep her alive when they already knew they were going to lose the battle?

Vivi’s eyes moved to her mother’s blonde head. The little parting that had appeared at the crown made her seem vulnerable, as though she was the one who needed to be taken care of. What the worry of it all was doing to her mother kept agitating Vivi, upsetting her a lot, making her feel guilty and frustrated, even angry and resentful at times. She didn’t want to concern herself with it, but as soon as Gina was out of sight Vivi’s overwhelming relief at seeing her go was quickly smothered by an almost panicked, childlike need of her.

‘What are you thinking about?’ she sometimes wanted to ask, but afraid of the answer she stayed silent. She wondered how much pressure the turmoil of her own emotions was putting on her heart, if the quick flare-ups of bitterness and anger, followed by painful, anxious surges of love and guilt, were damaging it further. Maybe it would be better if she and her mother weren’t together, and yet she couldn’t bear to think of how much it would hurt Gina if she tried to shut her out. Worse would be attempting to manage without her – of course she couldn’t – and all tied up in this terrible, tormenting tangle of feelings was the undeniable gratitude that she had a mother who cared. It wouldn’t be true for everyone in her position; they might not have a wonderful stepfather either, or a brother who was doing his young man’s best to navigate the thorny and explosive territory that existed between his mother and sister.

Wanting him to know how much she appreciated him being here today, Vivi reached for his hand and curled her fingers around his. His grip tightened, but she kept her gaze fixed on the passing hotels and town houses with their hanging flower baskets and wide-open windows, too tired to turn her head to look at him. Later, when she was feeling stronger and they were alone, she’d tell him that he didn’t have to stay, that he shouldn’t stay. His exams might be over, but the plans he’d made to travel through Italy with friends for the summer must go ahead. Just because she couldn’t live a normal life any more was no reason for him to put his on hold. In fact, knowing he was out there making the best of everything the world had to offer would do far more for her than thinking of him wasting away at home.

Wasting away at home.

‘Michelle should be waiting for us,’ Gina said over her shoulder. ‘She wanted to get a few things in and make sure everything was all right with the house before we got there.’

For the first time in her life Vivi felt no pleasure at the thought of seeing her oldest and probably dearest friend; she wasn’t capable of feeling very much about anything right now. It was hard to imagine any kind of hope or enthusiasm swooping in to rescue her from the cloying, debilitating pessimism that was stifling her.

Rachel, the specialist cardiac nurse, had said, ‘We’re adding antidepressants to your medication …’

‘No, please, not more pills …’

Rachel’s hand went up. ‘It’ll be much harder for you to regain energy if you’re feeling depressed. In fact it could be impossible, and that’s not what we want. When it comes time for the transplant you’ll need to be in as good shape as possible or it can’t happen.’ When it comes time for the transplant. It was good of Rachel to talk about it as if it were a foregone conclusion, when they both knew it wasn’t. It was far more likely that a suitable donor wouldn’t be found.

At this moment Vivi doubted she’d ever feel strong or happy again. She seemed even weaker than she had at the start of it all, but she realized that the sedation to implant an ICD probably still hadn’t fully worn off. It was a nifty little device – that was how the cardiologist had described it – that now sat just below her collarbone and was connected to her heart by a couple of wires that had been threaded through a vein to their destination. Its purpose was to monitor and record all arrhythmic activity in her pitiful heart, and to deliver a good electrical thump to get things going again should they come to a stop.

Ingenious, even miraculous, considering that it also allowed the dedicated cardiac team to monitor her remotely. This meant they could check on her at any time of the day or night – apparently it was going to happen each night – via an Internet connection plugged into the phone line next to her bed, and she wouldn’t even know it was happening. They’d be assessing everything from her heart rate, to her blood pressure; to the effect her medications were having on the struggling performance. She’d asked if they could programme it to make her a cup of tea in the morning, and they’d all dutifully laughed.

Anyway, it was quite possible she wouldn’t be aware of the device once she got used to the discomfort in her shoulder, but if a major incident occurred she’d definitely know it.

What a sobering, nightmarish thought that was; she could be in the throes of an emergency CPR at any minute, all carried out by the little gadget inside her. Still, it was better than the alternative of letting the heart try to fend for itself, when it clearly couldn’t. She’d been warned that the shock of the device going off was likely to hurt – a lot – but only for seconds. Like a donkey kick to the chest, she’d both read and heard. It might also sap her strength and leave her incapacitated for a while, but there again she might be able to continue as though it hadn’t happened at all. She guessed she’d find out soon enough; she just hoped that the many emotional conflicts tearing around her depleted vital muscle right now wouldn’t trigger an emergency all on their own.

It took no more than fifteen minutes to drive along the coast road past the marina, Ed and Kev’s donkey sanctuary, then a wide and wild stretch of wasteland apparently about to be developed. Just after that they reached the narrow spur of Bay Lane that would be easy to miss for anyone who didn’t know it was there, for the main road curved sharply away from the shore at that point to continue on to the lower reaches of Westleigh Heights. The Heights, as the area was more commonly known, was where Michelle’s family had always lived. It was also where Vivi and Mark had lived during the time their mother had been married to Gil. After the break-up they’d returned to their grandmother’s house on Bay Lane.

Most of the properties on the lane, now used as holiday homes, were set back behind high wooden gates and protective laurel bushes. Number eight wasn’t much different, except the gates were always open and the hedges were low enough to see across the lane to the dunes and estuary beyond. Gil pulled into the drive and came to a stop in front of the double-fronted Edwardian house where an Audi convertible was already parked. Gina’s VW Beetle was presumably tucked away in the garage, and Vivi felt her spirits sink even lower as she remembered that she was no longer allowed to drive.

However, one look at Michelle’s wonderful, freckly face as she came out of the house was a tonic she hadn’t expected. The joy of seeing her, of realizing she was going to be there for her, was helping, if only for a few moments, to lift her from the misery she was in.

After hugging carefully and tearfully, Vivi gazed into Michelle’s tender blue eyes and saw straight away that the bond they’d always shared was still there. They didn’t need words to express it, they could both feel it and that was enough. There would be time later for talking, for trying to come to terms with what was happening and how they were going to cope. For now Vivi allowed Michelle to take her into the house, so glad she was there that it took her a moment to register the familiar scent of the place. It transported her back over many years, confusing her with emotions as all kinds of memories flashed up, and nostalgia closed in on her like the tide lapping the shore outside. The hallway was long and only just wide enough for the two friends to walk side by side past the old telephone table and coat hooks towards the foot of the carpeted stairs. They stopped at the threshold of the room NanaBella had always called her best room. It occupied the whole of the right side of the house with views out to the beach through the bay window at the front, and French doors to the garden at the back. The door to the left led to the kitchen-diner and family room for everyday use. NanaBella had entertained Gil in the best room when he was dating Gina, wanting to impress him and make him feel welcome as though he was someone very special, which he was.

Apparently her mother had asked Michelle to get the room ready for Vivi, and it was clear from the pillow arrangement, scented candles and new Smart TV beside the old-fashioned tiled fireplace that Michelle had done her best, but it wasn’t what Vivi wanted.

‘I’m not an invalid,’ she growled, when she saw that the small double bed from the guest room had been set up in place of NanaBella’s rosewood dining table. ‘I can get up the stairs.’ It might take her a while to achieve it, but she was determined to try.

‘No one’s saying you can’t,’ her mother replied evenly. ‘I just thought it would be nice for you to have your own room for entertaining – and, well, it’s a place you can call your own.’

Vivi said, ‘So what are you going to do for a sitting room?’

Gina’s eyes stayed on her, but her cheeks were flushed with colour, showing how upset and sorry she was that she’d apparently got it wrong. ‘We have the one we’ve always used,’ she reminded her.

Vivi decided not to protest any further because Gil, Mark and Michelle were clearly feeling embarrassed and sorry for Gina, and who could blame them?

‘I expect the kettle’s boiled by now,’ Michelle said cheerfully. ‘Let’s go and have some tea.’

Vivi stayed where she was, looking around the large, rectangular room with its cream and yellow flowered wallpaper and NanaBella’s mustard-colour three-piece suite. The sofa converted to a bed and had always been used when the house was full at Christmas or for birthdays – and now for when a dying daughter might have a visitor? It was so depressingly outdated, and so different from her wonderful flat in Chelsea that she wanted to sob. Aware that she might damage herself if she gave in to too much emotion, she put a hand to the implant in her shoulder, feeling its sharp edges through her skin, and let tears drop onto her cheeks. Her conscience was flooding her with beautiful, happy memories of times spent in this room when sparkling Christmas trees had filled the niche next to the fireplace, and when she’d helped NanaBella to set the table for all kinds of special occasions.

How could she be so ungrateful and mean about the room NanaBella had been so proud of? The room she’d apparently once helped her grandpa to wallpaper when she was three (no doubt causing havoc); where she used to practise her ballet for her mother and NanaBella, and where she’d watched NanaBella weep tears of joy as she’d taken a day-old Mark from Gil to cradle him in her arms.

Now her mother had turned this special place into hers, to try to make her life easier.

‘OK?’ Mark said softly, sliding an arm round her shoulder and putting a mug of tea into her hand.

‘I will be,’ she promised. She rested her head against him, inhaling the earthy, tangy smell that was so familiar and comforting it made her want to weep again. ‘Have I upset her?’ she asked, briefly closing her eyes.

‘She’ll get over it.’

Her gaze went to a sideboard where photographs of them both at various stages of their lives were displayed in silver and leather frames. There were several of their grandparents too, at their wedding, her christening, Mark’s first birthday party, but there was only one of their mother, with Vivi and Mark at Vivi’s graduation.

There used to be one of Gina and Gil on their wedding day, but it had been taken down soon after they’d broken up and Gina had returned to live with her mother.

‘I don’t know why I feel so angry with her,’ she said. ‘It’s like I’m blaming her for what’s happening when it obviously isn’t her fault.’

‘I heard Dad telling her that it was natural to lash out at people you love when you’re feeling afraid. She probably knew that already, but I think it helped her to hear it.’

Vivi felt sure it had.

Michelle appeared and drew her into a careful embrace.

‘I won’t break,’ Vivi promised, relaxing into the feel of her, and wishing it could be just the two of them, though not wanting Mark to leave. Or Gil. Or her mother.

‘You look tired,’ Michelle told her.

Vivi’s weary eyes managed a spark. ‘If you’re about to tell me to lie down then don’t,’ she warned, meaning it to sound like a mock rebuke, but it didn’t quite come out that way.

‘I wasn’t,’ Michelle assured her, apparently unfazed. ‘It was just a comment. I’ll trust you to know when you need to eat or sleep or pee or whatever you fancy. Mum’s just texted to ask if you’re feeling up to having dinner at her place tonight. All of you,’ she added, looking at Mark.

Not wanting to admit that she wasn’t up to it, while feeling grateful for the way Michelle and her family were drawing her back into the fold, Vivi looked round as Gil called out, ‘Hey, son, can you give me a hand to bring this lot in?’

Realizing it was some of her belongings from the flat, Vivi’s eyes went to Michelle’s, knowing, because her mother had told her, that her friend had helped to pack them sometime over the last few days. She felt so useless and wretched that she didn’t know what to say or do.

‘We’ve arranged for a man with a van to bring your furniture,’ Gil told her as he came along the hall with a heavy box. ‘Once it’s here we can get things looking a bit more like your kind of home.’

Unable to stop herself, Vivi looked down at the carpet with its yellow and black diamond design and in spite, or maybe because of how awful it was, she found herself wanting to laugh.

Gil followed her eyes, and Michelle said drily, ‘I think it qualifies as retro.’

‘Just what I was going to say,’ Gil agreed.

Mark said, ‘Remember, NanaBella was always going on about changing it.’

It was true, but the room was used so little they’d ended up forgetting about it, even after NanaBella had gone. Gina only used the other side of the house, which was much more up to date.

‘Do you want me to take this stuff upstairs?’ Mark asked. ‘Or would you rather have it down here?’

Though Vivi had no idea what was in each of the holdalls or boxes, she remained determined that this wouldn’t be her full-time base, so she said, ‘Upstairs.’

‘Are you sure?’ her mother asked, coming out of the kitchen.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Vivi told her shortly.

Apparently not wanting to fight, but still keen to get her way, Gina said to Mark, ‘Anything that needs to come down again can always be sorted out later.’

Vivi turned away, and Michelle put a steadying hand on her arm.

‘If we’re going to Yvonne’s for dinner,’ Gina said, ‘then I think you should have a lie-down first.’

Vivi was tense to breaking. ‘Do you?’ she muttered.

She didn’t have to see her mother’s expression turn to one of awkwardness and regret as she picked up on her unrealized error, because she could feel it. It took a lot of effort for Vivi to raise her head and say, ‘I’m sorry, you’re right,’ because of course her mother was, and she really didn’t want to hurt her.

‘I’ll go on ahead to give Mum a hand,’ Michelle said, breaking the tension. ‘The kids are dying to see you, Vivi, but if you’d rather wait till tomorrow, Sam can always stay at home with them tonight.’

In spite of knowing she’d prefer to wait, Vivi said, ‘I’ll be fine by the time we get there, so I’d love to see them.’ Life had to go on. She needed to find the strength to be normal.

After Michelle had gone Mark took himself off upstairs, and Gil remarked to no one in particular, ‘Well, I guess I probably ought to be making a move.’

Vivi waited for her mother to protest, but Gina said, ‘Thanks very much for driving us today. We couldn’t have managed without you.’

Pulling Vivi into his arms, he spoke tenderly. ‘Take care of yourself, sweetheart. You know where I am if you need me.’

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, close to tears again. She desperately wanted him to stay, to carry on understanding her and her mother the way he always seemed to, but they weren’t his responsibility any more. Her mother had seen to that.

As Gina walked outside with him Vivi watched from the window, wondering what they were saying and if they would kiss. They did, but briefly, dutifully almost, before Gil got into his car.

By the time her mother came back Vivi was perched on the edge of the sofa trying to get a sense of the ICD, and whether it was registering any rogue events in her heart to relay to the cardiac team later.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Gina offered.

Vivi looked at her as hard as she could as she said, ‘Why do you do it?’

Gina flushed. ‘Do what?’

‘Why do you send him away when any fool can see that you want him to stay?’

Gina flinched. ‘He’s got someone else,’ she replied.

This was the first Vivi had heard of someone else, and for a horrible moment it felt as though he was cheating on her mother, and on her. ‘If it’s serious,’ she heard herself saying angrily, ‘then you only have yourself to blame.’

Gina didn’t argue, merely set about straightening up cushions that didn’t need it at all.

There was so much more that Vivi wanted to say, or shout, or simply beg answers to, but it took all the energy she had left to say, ‘Everything’s different now, Mum, I hope you realize that. I intend to find out the truth before I die,’ and knowing Gina understood exactly what she meant she turned away, not able to say any more for now.

Vivi had been awake for a while, remembering when Gil had come into their lives and bought a house only four doors away from Michelle’s parents on Westleigh Heights.

He hadn’t only done it for her so she could stay living close to Michelle, as she’d believed at the time, he’d done it for her mother and NanaBella, because NanaBella hadn’t wanted Gina and Vivi to leave Kesterly either. So Gil had kept everyone together by renting out his home in Bath, relocating his consultancy business to Kesterly, and, best of all, he’d come most days to pick her up from school. That had shut everyone up about her not having a father, because they’d been able to see him, and so what if he wasn’t a real dad? As Michelle used to say, ‘That makes him even more special, because he chose you.’

Smiling at the sweet belief of that, Vivi opened her eyes, and wondered what time it was and, for a moment, where she was.

As everything came into focus she felt herself swirling back towards an abyss of despair. At the same time she was glad to be here, at home, no longer in hospital, and really she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else, while this was happening.

While this was happening.

That made it seem temporary; something simply to be got through until better days dawned. It was a good way to think of it, far better than the alternative of days becoming shorter and darker until there were no days at all.

She closed her eyes again, and tried to refocus, to think of the reasons to be grateful, and the many things she needed to do before time ran out. She realized there would be no bucket list for her – or not one that included daredevil stunts, long-haul flights or weeks of hot, passionate sex on a beach in the South Seas with a younger version of George Clooney. Her list would have to be far less ambitious – organizing her meditation programme would be a start. She also needed to see her GP, meet the specialist team at the local cardiac clinic who were taking over her interim care, and then she should make sure that the Kesterly ambulance service had been informed of the need to rush her to the transplant centre at a moment’s notice should a new heart come up.

Feeling certain that the cardiac team had already done that, and if not her mother would have, she sighed shakily and tried to change her train of thought again. It did no good to torment herself with the deeply troubling issue of someone having to die in order for her to live. She wasn’t even on the most urgent transplant list – she’d probably still be in hospital if she were – so it was hardly an immediate nightmare. Maybe she should spend her time feeling thankful that she wasn’t too sick to receive a new heart, the way some people were. Nor was she having to cope with the life-saving horror of a VAD, or not until her condition worsened – which it would …

Don’t think about it, she told herself forcefully. For God’s sake put it out of your mind or you might as well give up now.

She needed to pick herself up, force herself forward and do everything in her power to make things matter again – and something that really mattered, and always had, was finding her father.

That was what she needed to focus on now, and so she would.

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