‘Come on, let’s go and show Nanny your new coat,’ Hayley said, opening the car door.
She stepped out of the car and shut the door, putting her hands into the pockets of her coat. The trees on the street cast dark shadows against the orange glow of the streetlights. Frost was starting to coat the windscreens of the parked cars and half a dozen houses had flashing and blinking Christmas lights on their brickwork or hanging from their eaves. Outlines of decorated Christmas trees were just visible behind net curtains and Hayley sucked in the quiet of the English suburb, turning her attention to a cat jumping up onto a neighbouring fence. Her whole landscapewas about to change for a couple of weeks. Was she ready for all that could bring?
She watched Angel run up the path, the bag containing the new, bright-red duffle coat clutched in her hand.
Hayley took another moment, leaning back against the car and surveying the house she’d grown up in. It hadn’t changed in twenty-eight years. The small, black, iron gate was still half off its hinges, the grass trimmed neat but the rose bushes overgrown. It was a hotchpotch, some things working, other bits uncared for. It had been a little like that with the people inside. Dean had been thoroughly nurtured, was still cared about; she had been left to garner weeds. For someone relatively self-sufficient, it hadn’t been a problem, until she got pregnant and her dad died.
The cold wound itself around her and she internally shook. She didn’t resent her brother. She loved him with every fibre of her being. But as soon as Angel had come along, things had deteriorated. Her mother just didn’t look at her the same way. There were awkward silences, guarded help, emotional detachment. Rita had been there for her in every practical way possible, but that was where it ended. Money and advice had been handed out rather than love and support. Even now, it still felt a bit hollow.
‘Mum!’ Angel called. ‘Nanny says if you don’t come in now, I’ll have to shut the door. It’s letting all the heat out!’
Hayley rolled her eyes and braced herself. She had to be positive, smile and, most important of all, not mention that she’d lost her job.
‘Red? I thought you were going to get her pink. You said you were going to get her pink.’ Rita Walker didn’t hold back. Hayley watched her mother turn her head, directing hard eyes her way.
Angel stopped twirling around and stood still, her arms held out stiff like an insulted scarecrow. The joy in her new coat instantly shattering at Rita’s remark.
‘We tried on nine coats in eight different shops. Angel liked this one and to be honest, I was losing the will to live by then,’ Hayley responded. Why did she always feel like she had to defend all her decisions? She slumped down onto the sofa, just missing a pile ofHome & Countrymagazines. Why her mother had ever signed up for that monthly subscription, she would never know. Their home was, and always had been, far moreBritain’s WorstthanDownton Abbey.
‘You gave up, you mean.’ Rita sniffed. ‘Made do.’ She reached forward, picking up her fine bone china teacup with the chip on the rim.
Hayley nodded. ‘It was a bargain too.’ She pitched her voice just right. ‘Nothing like acharity shopbargain.’
She had never seen her mother move faster. She was up and out of her reclining chair quicker than a fighter jet taking flight.
‘Take it off, Angel.’ Rita tugged at the sleeve of the coat, shaking the girl’s arm in the process. ‘Quickly.’
‘Nanny! You’re hurting!’
‘Mum, stop. I was joking.’
Angel wrenched her arm back and hugged herself.
Rita turned her body to Hayley then settled herself in an angry stance. ‘Why would you say something like that?’
‘Why would you go on about it needing to be pink?’
Hayley watched Angel clamp her hands over her ears. She’d been backed into a corner again. Rita was good at that but it was unfair for Angel to be caught in the middle. They had a couple of nights staying here because the landlord was redecorating their house while they were away and the firm needed to start early. She should try and maintain peace and tranquillity and ignore thejibes directed her way. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t completely accustomed to it by now.
‘Shall I make a pot of tea?’ Hayley offered, getting to her feet.
‘I’ve made a shepherd’s pie. Angel, you must be starving,’ Rita said.
‘Oh, we’ve had dinner already,’ Angel replied, spinning around again.
‘Oh?’ Rita queried.
Hayley practically ran for the kitchen, waiting for the words to come from Angel’s mouth.
‘We went to McDonald’s.’
Hayley could almost feel the temperature drop. Just two more sleeps. Two more sleeps and they’d be heading for America.
2
DRUMMOND GLOBAL OFFICES, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN, USA
Oliver Drummond let his eyes wander. Mackenzie, the head of his legal division, had her voice pitched at boring the second she opened her scarlet lips.Settlement. Management. Negotiation. Collaboration.And his very least favourite:strategize. Strategizing wasn’t in his nature. He was a doer. He acted, instinctively, and, more often than not, impulsively. He didn’t mull things over; that’s what he paid other people to do. By the time his employees had strategized the ass out of everything, all that was left was for him to do was give the green light. He wanted the finish line. The winning touchdown. He had no interest in the bits in between. Creation and completion were his fortes. And if people had a problem with that mantra, well, they knew what they could do.
