Fairytale With The Single Dad. Alison Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ tea and worrying at a loose bit of skin on her lip. Behind her head lay Magic the cat, asleep on the back of the couch, her long black tail twitching with dreams. The house was silent except for the ticking of the clock in the hallway, and Sydney’s gaze was upon the picture of her daughter in the centre of the mantelpiece.

      In the picture Olivia was laughing, smiling, her little hands reaching up to catch all the bubbles that her mum was blowing through a bubble wand.

      She could remember that day perfectly. It had been during the summer holiday before Olivia was due to start school and it had been a Sunday. Alastair—Sydney’s husband and Olivia’s father—had gone to the supermarket to do a food-shop and Sydney and Olivia had been playing in the back garden. Her daughter had been so happy. Chasing bubbles, giggling. Gasping when Sydney made a particularly large one that had floated up higher and higher until it had popped, spraying them with wetness. She’d been chasing down and splatting the smaller ones that she could reach.

      ‘Mummy, look!’ she’d said when she’d found a bubble or two resting on her clothes.

      Sydney remembered the awe and excitement in her daughter’s eyes. They’d been happy times. When they’d all believed that life for them was perfect. That nothing could spoil it. Olivia had been about to start infant school; Sydney had been going back to work full-time. It had been their last summer together. The last summer they’d enjoyed.

      Before it had all changed. Before it had all gone dreadfully wrong.

      Why did I not listen when she told me she had a headache?

      She tried to keep on remembering that summer day. The sound of her daughter’s deep-throated chuckles, the smile on her face. But she couldn’t.

      Every time she allowed herself to think of Olivia her thoughts kept dragging her back to that morning when she’d found her unconscious in her bed. To the deadly silence of the room except for her daughter’s soft, yet ragged breaths. To the dread and the sickness in her stomach as she’d realised that something was desperately, deeply wrong. That her daughter wouldn’t wake up no matter how much Sydney called her name. To the moment when she’d unzipped her onesie to see that rash.

      If Olivia had lived—if meningitis had not got its sneaky grasp on her beautiful, precious child—then she would have been nine years old now. In junior school. There’d be school pictures on the mantel. Pictures that showed progress. Life. But her pictures had been frozen in time. There would be no more pictures of Olivia appearing on the walls. No more videos on her phone. No paintings on her fridge.

      And I could have prevented it all if only I’d paid more attention. Alastair was right. It was all my fault.

      Sydney put down her mug and hugged her knees. The anniversary of Olivia’s death was getting closer. It was a day she dreaded, that relentlessly came round every year, torturing her with thoughts of what she might have done differently. Tonight she would not be able to sleep. At all.

      I can’t just sit here and go through that insomnia again!

      She got up off the couch and looked about her for something to do. Maybe declutter a cupboard or something? Deep-clean the kitchen? Go through her books and choose some for the bookstall at the Christmas market? Something… Anything but sit there and dwell on what ifs!

      The doorbell rang, interrupting her agonising.

      She froze, then felt a rush of relief.

      Thank goodness! I don’t care who you are, but I’m going to talk to you. Anything to get my mind off where it’s going!

      She opened the door.

      Nathan!

      ‘Oh. Hi.’ She’d never expected him to turn up at her door. How did he know where she lived?

      Nathan looked a little uncomfortable. Uncertain. ‘I…er…apologise for just turning up at your house like this.’

      ‘Is it Lottie?’

      He shook his head and scratched at his chin, looking up and down the road. ‘No. I’ve…er…got a call-out. Nothing urgent, but…’

      She’d thought that what he’d said previously about calling in on her had been a joke. Had he actually meant it?

      Spending more time with the delicious Nathan since that kiss on her cheek had seemed a bad idea. She’d made a firm decision to avoid him. And now here he was!

      As if in answer to her unspoken question he looked sheepish as he said, ‘I looked up your home address at work. Sorry. It’s just… I tried to use my GPS, but it hasn’t been updated for a while and it led me to a field, so… I need your help.’

      He needed to find an address! She had offered to help him with that, and though she’d told herself—harshly—not to spend time alone with Nathan Jones again, she was now reconsidering it. After hours of feeling herself being pulled down a dark tunnel towards all those thoughts that tortured her on a nightly basis—well, right now she welcomed his interruption. What else would she be doing anyway?

      Not sleeping. That was what. The damn pills he’d given her just didn’t seem to be having the desired effect. Were they different from last year’s? She couldn’t remember.

      Nathan though was the king of light and fluffy, and that was what she needed. Plus it would be interesting to see what he did at work. And she would be helping by telling him the way to go. Anything was better than sitting in this house for another night, staring at the walls, waiting for sleep to claim her.

      ‘Sure. I’ll just get my keys.’

      She tried not to be amused by the look of shock on his face when she agreed. Instead she just grabbed her coat, locked up and headed out to his car—a beat-up four-wheel drive that, quite frankly, looked as if it deserved to be in a wrecker’s yard. There were dents, one panel of the car was a completely different colour from the rest of it, and where it wasn’t covered in rust it was covered in mud. Even the number-plate was half hanging off, looking as if it wanted to escape.

      She looked at the vehicle uncertainly. ‘Does that actually work?’

      He smiled fondly at it. ‘She’s old, but she always starts. I promise it’s clean on the inside.’ He rubbed the back of his neck.

      Sydney almost laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got a matching one over there.’ She pointed at her own vehicle and saw him notice the dried sprays of mud—not just up the bodywork, but over the back windows too.

      He smiled, relaxing a little. ‘That makes me feel much better.’

      Sydney smiled and got into his car. ‘Where are we going?’

      ‘Long Wood Road?’

      She nodded. ‘I know it. It’s a couple of miles from here. Take this road out of the village and when you get to the junction at the end turn right.’

      ‘Thanks.’ He gunned the engine and began to drive.

      Strangely, she felt lighter. More in control. And it felt great not to be sitting in her cottage, staring at those pictures.

      ‘Who are you going to see?’

      ‘Eleanor СКАЧАТЬ