Summer at the Lakeside Cabin. Catherine Ferguson

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СКАЧАТЬ thought Mum had months to live. Possibly even a year. And we’d been planning all sorts of lovely things to do together that didn’t involve too much strength on Mum’s part. So to suddenly find she might not even have days …?

       Joan! What about Joan?

      My heart was in my throat.

      Joan was Mum’s best friend but she lived down in Surrey, my home until I was four, a long train journey away. Even if Joan got on a train now, she might not make it in time. But she’d made me promise I’d tell her immediately if Mum’s condition worsened …

      Running from the car park to the hospital entrance, I made a breathless call. Joan seemed to understand the urgency immediately – probably from the stark fear in my voice – and she told me to be strong and that she’d see me and Mum soon.

      ‘Tell Maureen I’m on my way with a bag of sour apples,’ she said before she rang off.

      I smiled to myself as I rode the lift to Mum’s floor. ‘Sour apples’ were Mum and Auntie Joan’s favourite sweets when they were schoolgirls together in Surrey. It was sure to give Mum a boost to hear that Joan was travelling up …

      When I entered the ward, the curtains were pulled around Mum’s bed and a nurse was emerging. Her eyes softened when she saw me. I walked over to her, my heart banging uneasily.

      ‘We’ve made your mum comfortable,’ she murmured, touching my forearm. ‘She’s in no pain although she’s drifting in and out. Go in and let her hear your voice.’

      I nodded, suddenly terrified of the responsibility. It had only ever really been Mum and me after Dad died. I was all she had. I had to do this right …

      But how did you stay strong enough to say a final goodbye to the person who meant the whole world to you?

      In the end, I couldn’t hold back the tears. But it felt peaceful and absolutely right that I was there, holding her hand, telling her that she was the most wonderful mum in the world and that I would always love her.

      Her hand tightened a little on mine when I said that, so I knew she could hear me. I leaned closer and whispered, ‘I sent the short story off. If it turns out I’m the next Jane Austen, it will all be down to you.’

      She opened her eyes and her lips moved, and I realised she was trying to tell me something, so I leaned closer.

      Her voice was so faint, I couldn’t make out what she was whispering at first. But then I realised. ‘Wuthering Heights.’ She was murmuring the name of her all-time favourite book.

      My eyes filled with tears and I nodded and kissed her hand. ‘I’ll bring the book in later and read it to you,’ I promised her.

      She looked straight at me for a moment, her eyes shining with love.

      And then she was gone.

      *

      A month later, when I got the call saying I was one of three runners-up in the short story competition, I could hardly believe it.

      I’d won a thousand pounds. But better than that by far, my story was actually going to be published in a future edition of the magazine!

      When I imagined all the people – perfect strangers – who would read the words I’d written, it gave me such a jolt of disbelief and happiness.

      My triumph was tinged with pain, though.

      The one person who would have joined wholeheartedly in my silly dance of delight around the house was no longer here to share my joy.

      I swallowed hard, steering my mind away from the memories.

      Rachel would whoop with glee when she heard, though. And Toby would be amazed. He might finally see that I was serious in my ambitions to be an author! I couldn’t wait to tell him …

      It seemed such a momentous thing to have happened in my life that I decided a celebration was definitely in order. So I booked a table at our favourite restaurant and phoned Toby at work to break the news.

      ‘I heard from the magazine. I was a runner-up,’ I squeaked, as soon as I got through. ‘So I’ve booked a table for dinner tonight. My treat!’

      ‘Dinner tonight?’ He sounded uncertain and my heart sank.

      ‘Yes. But I made the booking for later …’ I could hear the hum of voices in the background.

      ‘Could we do it tomorrow night instead?’ he asked. ‘Sorry, it’s just I doubt I’ll get away till after nine tonight.’

      A sharp dose of reality pierced my high spirits but I forced a smile. ‘Yes, of course. That’s fine. Tomorrow night it is.’

      ‘Great. Look forward to it. Hey, well done you, though. I can’t believe you won it. Wasn’t there a big cash prize?’

      ‘Well, no, I was a runner-up. The prize is – erm – a thousand pounds.’

      ‘Ah, right. Still, that’s a very nice result for a few hours’ scribbling, though. You never know, this could turn out to be a nice little earner. How much do they pay for magazine stories?’

      ‘I’m not sure. But really, I’m more excited about the fact that people in the publishing industry seem to think I have some talent …’

      ‘Well, I’ve always known that, Daisy.’

      ‘You have?’ My heart gave a joyful little lift. Perhaps he’d read some of my stuff, after all. I was writing the first draft of my book with pen and paper, and I sometimes left my notebook lying out so Toby could peek if he was curious.

      ‘Of course. Your creative talents are legendary, my love. No one whips up a chocolate fudge cake better than you.’

       Chocolate fudge cake?

      ‘A thousand pounds, eh? Dinner is definitely on you tomorrow night!’

      I was about to tell him the most exciting bit – that my story was going to appear in the magazine. But before I got a chance, he said, ‘Sorry, love, got to dash. See you later.’

      I hung up, feeling strangely sad. The conversation hadn’t gone at all the way I’d thought it would. Toby had missed the point; he seemed far more delighted about the prize money than anything else.

      Then I told myself not to be so silly. Being runner-up, out of thousands of entries, felt epic to me. It was bound to after all the hours I’d spent daydreaming of becoming a published author. But I couldn’t expect Toby to understand the thrill I felt when I read that email telling me I was a winner …

      Also, being so busy at work, he probably wasn’t totally focused on what I was telling him. I was sure that, by the following night, he’d have begun to realise what it meant to me, and we could have a lovely time celebrating.

      I might even push the boat out and order champagne!

      The following night, I called at the hairdresser’s on the way home from work and treated myself to a sleek blow-dry. Then later, СКАЧАТЬ