Chapter 8

EIGHT

Lottie was sitting on the bottom step when the flash of lights lit up the hall through the glass at the side of the door.

Opening it, she saw her daughters falling out of a taxi and exhaled a sigh of relief. They were home. They were safe. That was all that mattered.

‘Mam, do you have the loan of a fiver?’ Katie called out.

Lottie rummaged in her jacket pocket hanging on the banister beside her and found enough coins. She was barefoot, so she held the money out to Katie and noticed that she was walking upright and in a straight line. As one daughter went back to pay the taxi driver, the other wobbled up the path.

‘Hi, Mother.’ Chloe always called her that as she knew it rattled her. It was what Adam had called her in front of the children. It had been endearing to her at the time; now it spelled out the loss she felt without him.

She shook her head. One minute Chloe had been standing in front of her. The next she was nowhere to be seen.

‘Chloe?’

Katie came up the path, bent down to the right of the door and hoisted up her sister, who’d fallen into a patch of shrubs.

‘Come inside before you wake the neighbours.’ Lottie got hold of Chloe’s other arm and helped Katie to drag the inebriated girl inside. She shut the door and leaned against it, relief mingled with anger. ‘And don’t wake Louis, or I’ll kill you.’

A cry bellowed from upstairs.

‘Now see what you’ve done.’ Katie bundled past Lottie and raced up the stairs to her son.

Shaking her head, Lottie followed Chloe into the kitchen, where she found the girl puking into the sink.

‘This is the last time, Chloe. Don’t even think about asking to go out again.’

‘Do you have to shout?’ Chloe washed out the sink, then stuck her mouth under the tap. ‘My head is killing me.’

‘It’s nothing to the ache it will have in the morning by the time I finish with you. Get up to bed and bring a basin.’

‘Righto so, Miss Trunchbull.’ Chloe attempted a salute but stuck her finger in her eye instead.

Lottie shook her head once again. She would have some serious talking to do tomorrow.

Rose Fitzpatrick closed her eyes as she sat alone in her kitchen. The peace and stillness washed over her and she welcomed them. At last.

She loved her family unconditionally, but she had spent so long living alone that it had almost worn her to the bone having them all around her.

She had to admit she missed the sounds, though. Of running water in the shower. Constantly. Of baby Louis’ laughs and cries. Of her daughter Lottie talking to her again. Really talking. Despite the awful revelations she had uncovered a year ago about her true heritage. Rose thought their relationship had been damaged irreparably at that time, but although it felt awful to admit it, the fire at Lottie’s house had saved them. Brought them together again.

She tried to get comfortable in her chair. She would love a snooze, but now the silence was beginning to intimidate her. She felt a lump beneath her cushion and pulled out a soft toy belonging to Louis. Maybe she could call over in the morning to bring the toy to him. Don’t be silly, she admonished herself. Let them lead their own lives again. She’d only get in the way. But the silence was like a physical being all around her, whispering in her ear, shrouding her shoulders in unease. Maybe she should go to bed.

Rose Fitzpatrick realised she didn’t like the silence at all.

And that was when the doorbell rang.