‘Do you truly think that the person who sketched this is related to our family?’ Abby asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
Blake leaned in to her sister, their shoulders pressed together as she continued to stare at the piece of paper. ‘Honestly? I don’t know. I mean, maybe, but also perhaps the design points to something else. Perhaps whoever left it behind just wanted their daughter to find the person who’d designed it. Maybe that person is the one who has answers about our family.’
Abby lifted the piece of fabric, which was a fine, grey, silky velvet, and as she did so, Blake found herself wondering if the fabric was connected to the design, or held some other significance. But as she stared at it, she could imagine a larger sample of it being used to drape over the design in the picture, almost as if it were coming to life before her eyes.
She imagined the dress would have been considered provocative when it was drawn, decades earlier. It was low at the front and hugged the curves in a way she was almost certain wouldn’t have been common back then, and was clearly designed to show off the female form.
‘Do you still have your old sketchbook? From when we were younger?’ Abby asked.
Blake put the fabric down and went back to the food, checking it was plated perfectly before calling out for Tom to come and carry it to the table. ‘I think so. I haven’t looked at it in years, but it must be somewhere.’
‘You were always drawing in that book. I remember the day I sneaked into your room and opened it up, thinking that you’d been scribbling in a diary and wanting to know all your teenage secrets. I was determined to read everything you’d written about boys, or what you’d been doing with your friends, or whatever it was that girls older than me did.’
‘And instead, you found a load of designs.’ Blake laughed. ‘I thought they were great at the time, but in hindsight, I’m sure they were terrible. I was obsessed with drawing all the clothes I wished I could have, all the things I would have made if we’d had a better sewing machine, or bought if we’d had the money.’
‘Hey, I barely noticed what the designs looked like. I was just devastated that I’d sneaked into your room and didn’t get to read about your boyfriends and whether you’d been kissing them or not.’
Blake didn’t bother telling her sister that there hadn’t been any boyfriends to write about, even if she’d wanted there to be—she’d been too busy making sure her siblings got to school and didn’t realise how incapable their mother was. All she’d ever wanted was to make sure they felt normal, and that none of the other kids at school realised how dysfunctional their family was. It was bad enough having lost their dad when they were young, but having a mother who couldn’t care for them was mortifying at the time—it hadn’t been until they were older, and their mother had been diagnosed as having severe depression, that they’d understood why she’d been so absent. Just then, her phone pinged with a text message, and she reached for where she’d left it on the bench.
You officially have the green light. Start Monday, first story due by the end of next week. You need a new story at least every week, so get cracking!
Blake gulped.Nothing like a bit of pressure.
‘What is it? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. It’s not Mum, is it? Please tell me it’s not Mum?’
Blake shook her head. ‘No, it’s not Mum.’
Abby was staring at her with a mildly alarmed expression on her face when Blake eventually looked up.
‘I pitched this,’ she said, gesturing to the clues spread out in front of Abby, ‘to my editor. I thought it would make a good story.’
‘It would make one hell of a story,’ Abby said, before pulling a face. ‘So long as you can work out the clues, that is.Canyou work out the clues?’
‘That’s what I’m worried about.’ Blake groaned, but not before replying to her editor’s text with a thumbs up, as if it was no different to any other story she’d been commissionedto write. As if she wasn’t completely terrified at the prospect. ‘What if I can’t deliver?’ she asked, more for herself than because she needed an answer. ‘What if I can’t make head nor tail of what’s been left behind? What if I write the first two stories, and then there’s nothing else to write?’ She suddenly felt like hyperventilating.
‘You’ll deliver, you always do,’ Abby said. ‘And honestly? I think this will be good for you. Imagine what you might discover! This could change everything we know about our family’s past.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t mind?’ Blake asked. ‘I mean, this is your heritage, too. If it’s something you’d like to explore, or if you don’t want me to go public with it, if you think we should keep it all private…’
Abby placed her hands squarely on Blake’s shoulders. ‘You’re doing what you always do. Don’t overthink this. You do not need my permission, or anyone else’s, to do this.’
Blake stared back at her. Abby was right; she was exceptionally good at overthinking everything. It came from always being the one worrying about everyone else.
Abby shook her head, her hands still on Blake’s shoulders. ‘Okay, I have a feeling you need to hear me say it, so this is me saying it. I think it’s a great idea, you can shout about it from the rooftops if you want to, and I love that you’re doing this. Okay?’
‘Thank you,’ she said, resting her head on one of Abby’s hands. ‘I just, I realised I hadn’t really talked it all through with you first, and I should have. I feel like it’s not only my story to tell.’
‘You know, I was serious about what I said before, that it’s almost as if it’s been left for you specifically,’ Abby said, stepping away so she could have a sip of her wine. ‘I honestly feel as if it isyourstory to tell. You and Grandma always had such a specialconnection, and she was the one who encouraged you to design. She would love to know it was you doing this.’
‘You truly think so?’
Abby blinked away tears, which made Blake wipe at her own eyes. Their grandma had been incredibly special to them both, and it had been hard for them all when she’d passed.
‘I don’t just think so, I know so.’
Blake picked up her phone again, seeing that Deborah had sent her a thumbs up emoji back.
‘No work, not tonight,’ Abby said, taking Blake’s phone and placing it farther down the bench. ‘For now, let’s drink wine and eat that incredible-smelling chicken. One day you’re going to have to teach me how to cook, you know. I mean, just in case you decide to travel the world and leave us all in danger of starving.’
