“Room’s stuffed full of Cara’s shit. Haven’t got space for my own work, let alone someone else’s. Breaks my heart, baby, I’d have him there in a flash if I could swing it.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ll get my thinking cap on.”
“Get it on swift, baby. Kid needs a break. He needs it quick, too.”
There was something in her tone, something heavy. I felt it in my stomach, a low rumble of dread. “Has something happened?”
She paused too long. “Nothing for you to worry about, baby. Think hard, think fast. I’ll be doing the same.”
“Won’t be thinking about anything else. He’s got me bad, Bex. So bad it’s scaring the shit out of me. I can’t even explain it, this thing. He’s electric, driving me insane.”
“I feel you,” she laughed. “Enjoy the ride, baby, got a feeling it’s gonna be a white-knuckled fucker.”
She wasn’t the only one.
***
My thinking cap didn’t have too long to work its magic. Call it fate, the universe, or pure bloody coincidence, but my break came out of nowhere, dropping in my lap on Wednesday afternoon without even a hint of warning. I’d been itching to call Callum, itching to have him in my place again, in my bed, in my pussy. I’d held back, a scaredy cat to my own emotions, but my resolve was buckling, my fingers darting to my phone with increasing urgency.
Christine’s expression was twinged with disapproval as she announced I had a visitor at the office.
“Miss Headley,” she announced. “34 Haygrove Park, insists she needs to see you.”
I knew Helen Headley well, a carer for her elderly parents on the Haygrove estate. I knew them all well, in fact, regular attendees at my resident coffee mornings back in the days when I was good at my job. I missed Haygrove so bloody much.
I greeted Helen warmly, ushering her into a meeting room with a genuine fondness. She sat at the other side of the table, clutching paperwork in white hands. Her mousy hair was scraped back in a ponytail, her skin sallow and sunken. My heart dropped.
“How are you?” I said. “How are your parents?”
Her lip trembled, and instinct forced a lump into my throat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I should go to the new estate manager, Veronica whatever-her-name-is, but, you know. She’s not you, Sophie. I needed to see you.”
“What’s happened?”
“It’s Dad,” she said. The tears welled up in a flash, and my own threatened to join in. “He, um, had another stroke last week. He… I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”
Real grief knocked me sideways. His cheerful grin as he helped with the Community in Bloom initiative, his willingness to muck in and help with the estate. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “So, so sorry.”
She waved thanks and took a breath. “I need your help, with the tenancy stuff. I’ve sorted out Mum’s stuff with the benefits, I just need the tenancy transferred to her sole name.”
“Of course.” I took the paperwork, flinching at the copy of the death certificate.
“And the garage,” she said. “I’ve cleared out his tools, as much as I can, anyway. Mum can’t face it. You know how he loved that place, his little workshop.”
I smiled sadly. “I know. I’d always find him down there.”
“He liked the quiet,” she said. “Helped him think. Away from Mum’s nagging, he used to say.”
I smiled along with her, trying my best to keep it together. “You want me to end his tenancy?”
“Please.”
I took the key. “I’ll sort out the paperwork. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“Thank you,” she said. The tears dropped from her eyes freely and she made no attempt to brush them away. “He liked you,” she smiled. “Said you were a good lass. We all miss you, Sophie, it’s not the same without you.”
“I miss you all too,” I said. “I’m on East Veil now, not so far away.”
“Maybe you could call in sometime. We’ve got the young mum’s support group up and running now, meets on a Tuesday.”
“I’d love to.”
“I’d better let you get on,” she smiled. “Hope we see you again soon, under happier circumstances.”
“Me too.”
I broke protocol completely by pulling her in for a hug. I held her tight for long moments in the meeting room, and she sobbed onto my shoulder like a broken child. My eyes were wet with tears when she pulled away, and I struggled for composure as I waved her off. I sat at the desk in that poxy little room and cried. Cried for Derek Headley, for Helen and her mum. Cried for Haygrove and my old job. Cried for me, too, cried for something I couldn’t place, some deep-seated fear of missing out on life, on not seizing the fleeting gifts that life offered up to me. Life is short, and fragile, so fragile.