PROLOGUE
FRANCE, 1938
Hope looked up at Gus, his fingers linked with hers as he smiled down at her. The wind whipped at her hair, cool against her skin, but all she cared about was the man standing in front of her.
He came for me.
There had been a moment, as she’d stood in the moonlight and closed her eyes, face tipped to the sky, that she’d worried he might not. But she’d been wrong.
‘I choose you, Hope,’ he whispered. ‘A thousand times over, I choose you.’
He pulled her closer, holding her so that her head was pressed to his chest. His arms encircled her, fingers splayed across her skin, lips brushing against her hair as he spoke, as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. She’d forgotten just how much she missed that reassuring sound.
‘What will we do about your family?’ she asked, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
‘We forget about my family, and we leave here and never look back,’ he said, stroking her hair as she raised her head to look up at him.
‘But—’
He pressed a warm kiss to her lips. ‘There is nobut,’ he murmured. ‘There is only me and you. It’s all that matters now.’
His smile sent a shiver through her, and she laughed when his eyes fell to her stomach, watching the way his hand followed protectively.
‘We’re a family now, Hope. You, me and our baby. There is nothing in this world that matters to me more.’
Hope blinked away tears. She should never have doubted him; he’d certainly never given her any reason to, but ever since she’d found out she was expecting, she’d been terrified of being left to fend for herself. Of having to face the world alone, and what that might look like.
‘Where will we go?’ she asked, reaching up and stroking his cheek with her thumb, tracing the curves of the face she knew as well as her own.
‘It doesn’t matter where we go, as long as we’re together,’ he said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm as his eyes caught hers. ‘But I was thinking London could be a fresh start for us. We don’t need my family, or anyone else. We only need each other. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as his lips caressed her forehead.
London. She’d never thought about moving away before, but as long as she was with Gus, there was nowhere she wouldn’t go.
1
LONDON, 2022
Mia stood outside the house with the red door. It didn’t feel so long ago that she’d stood beside her mother in that exact spot—she’d only been a little girl then, and she’d immediately wondered how difficult it would be to climb the magnolia tree. Her mother had scolded her when she’d asked, and again when she’d reached up to touch the little gold sign fixed to the wall by the door.
But the sign that once announced Hope’s House was no longer there, and the front door that had once shone was now faded, the paint peeling. The home had stood derelict for some years—owned by a charitable trust since her great-aunt’s passing—but it was soon to be demolished to make way for a new housing development. Which was why Mia was here, invited by the trust to go through and make sure there was nothing of sentimental value left behind. They’d given her a key to come and go as she pleased over the next couple of weeks, but she was hoping to find whatever she wanted to save today, and be done with it.
Mia put the key in the lock and turned it, stepping into a dusty yet perfectly preserved home. The furniture was still here, all covered in plastic and earmarked to be given to a women’sshelter, but Mia had been told to take any personal effects she wanted, including Hope’s collection of art. Otherwise, what was left would be cleared before the house was demolished.
Returning to visit so many years later was like a walk down memory lane, and Mia studied a large painting in the hallway. She’d always liked it and made a mental note to request it, along with the other paintings in the house, before walking through to the kitchen. Mia pulled the blinds up and stared out at the fading patio furniture, hating how overgrown the garden had become. She remembered running around playing while her mother and Hope had coffee one afternoon. Her great-aunt had told her that she loved nothing more than seeing a child enjoy the sunshine, barefoot on the grass, and she remembered thinking how nice Hope was, and not at all like most other old ladies she’d met.
But now the weeds were as tall as the grass, and the trees and hedges had grown unruly, the polar opposite of what they’d once been. She had a look around the living rooms before heading back through the house and deciding to go upstairs. The guest rooms that had once played host to the pregnant women who’d sought refuge there were mostly empty, save for the beds and wardrobes, but most interesting was the room Hope had used as her office.
Mia went in, glancing around and taking in the desk and shelves, but it was the rug that she couldn’t take her eyes off, and she had the overwhelming urge to roll it up and take it with her. She didn’t know why, but something about the colours and the pattern resonated with her, and she found herself wanting to take something from Hope’s personal space. But when she was barely halfway through rolling it, something caught her eye between two of the floorboards. It was almost as if the boards didn’t match, and she gave one a gentle pull, her fingers easily slipping between the boards to do so.
What do we have here?
Mia bent lower, her knees protesting against the hardwood floor as she pulled up the other loose board and reached in.
There were seven small, dusty wooden boxes in a line, and when she reached in for the first one, she saw that there was a name tag attached to the string sealing it shut. Each one was the same, and each bore a different woman’s name.
Did Hope hide these down here?
