Greta cautiously padded down the rest of the stairs and headed toward the kitchen.
A figure stood in front of the worktop, wearing a pink-and- lilac-checked skirt suit, baby-blue flat court shoes, and white ankle socks. Their hair was curled under, neatly held in place with a sparkly diamante slide.
Greta blinked hard, and her stomach swooped with surprise. The scene was almost too blissful to be true.
Yet thereshewas.
The person turned, holding a spatula.
‘Hey, Mum. You look pretty,’ Lottie said with a wide smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve just made pancakes for breakfast. Want one?’
Greta’s breath hitched, sharp and unsteady. Her daughter was here, looking at her with genuine affection, and with no trace of sarcasm in her voice. It had been so long since she’d spoken to her lovingly like this, and it made tears prick her eyes.
‘Lottie?’ she gasped. ‘Are you really here?’
Chapter 15
GRETA TOOK Asmall step back, trying not to stare. Lottie was standing in front of her in the kitchen. Not only that, her hair was styled, her clothes were pretty and neat, and most unexpectedly of all, she was smiling.
‘Mum?’ Lottie prompted, her tone sing-song and sweet. ‘Do you want one pancake or two? Sit down and I’ll dish them right up.’
Greta held on to the back of the chair to steady herself. She slid into it, still in a daze. ‘You’rereallymaking me breakfast?’ she said.
‘Of course.’ Lottie’s laugh tinkled. ‘I thought I’d treat you. You do so much for me.’
Greta held a hand to her mouth, suppressing an astonished laugh. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she said, still stunned. ‘Thank you.’ She looked around her, not having checked out the dining room properly before.
The colour scheme was fifty shades of coffee. The table was covered with a brown-and-white gingham cloth, and a fruit bowl overflowed with impossibly shiny bananas, apples and grapes. White china plates and coffee cups were part of a matching set, and all the cutlery was sterling silver. Everything looked like it has been ordered from an up-market catalogue for a dream home.
When Lottie opened a kitchen cupboard door, Greta caught a glimpse of its contents. Food boxes were arranged in neat rows without any brand names or labels on display. Cheerful ladies in pastel clothing beamed out from the illustrations on the packaging. When Greta plucked an apple from the fruit bowl, it was the juiciest, shiniest one she’d ever seen.
The batter mix bubbled in the frying pan, and Lottie hummed as she flipped the pancakes over, the perfect goldenbrown shade. She slid a pile of them onto a plate and set it down on the table, followed by a pot of steaming coffee. ‘You can’t beat a freshly brewed Maple Gold,’ she said, inhaling the aroma with a dreamy smile. ‘I learned that from you, Mum.’
Something seemed to stick in Greta’s throat. Her daughter’s words were sweet, but this didn’t sound like the Lottie she knew. Greta hoped she’d passed on more inspiring things than how to make good coffee. ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ she said, raising her cup for Lottie to fill.
After setting down the pot, Lottie headed toward the back door. ‘There’s one of us missing. I’ll give him a shout.’ She opened it and called outside.‘Dad.Breakfast is ready.’
Greta sat up straighter in her chair with all her nerve endings tingling. Jim was here, too? She held her breath as footsteps approached the house.
The toe of a shiny brown shoe appeared first. Greta’s eyes travelled upwards, taking in the crisp turn-ups on a pair of smart slacks, a jacket with a handkerchief in the pocket, and a neatly knotted tie. All the way up to a jauntily perched Panama hat on top ofJim’s head.
It was her husband, but not quite him, like a computergenerated version of him brought to life.
His skin had a bronzed glow like he’d just returned from a Mediterranean holiday, and his eyes were a piercing blue colour, more pigmented than in Longmill. When he smiled, Greta wondered if his teeth had ever been that supernaturally white before, even after a trip to the dental hygienist. His hair was neatly combed and parted.
Jim’s eyes brightened even more when he saw her. ‘Hi, honey. Well, don’t you look a picture today.’ He walked over and kissed Greta’s cheek, then winked at Lottie. ‘My, this spread looks wonderful. Nice work, Lottie.’
Lottie batted a bashful hand, as if it was nothing.
This all felt like a fantasy come true. Greta couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had sat down for breakfast together as a family. Prior to her and Jim going their separate ways, mornings had always been a chaotic rush, with the kitchen worktops covered in toast crumbs and splashes of coffee. Lottie usually munched her cereal in silence with milk dripping down her chin, and Jim held his newspaper in front of him like a barrier until he felt ready to face the day.
But here, everything felt neatly staged, like being part of a play. Greta half expected an audience to break into applause when she passed the jug of milk.
At first, Greta ate her pancakes with her shoulders a little rounded, anticipating Lottie grumbling or Jim making teasing remarks that went down like a lead balloon. She waited for a silence to descend on the table that felt like a veil made from chain-mail. But the atmosphere remained bright and cheerful.
Lottie passed around honey for the pancakes, and Jim announced the weather was going to be warm today. He listened intently whenever Greta spoke, his attention making her feel like she’d stepped out of the shadows and onto the bright side of the street.
‘What are you doing in school today?’ Jim asked Lottie as he poured himself another coffee.
