If I Should Go

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‘Was that Martin I spotted dropping you off before?’ Carol asked casually when she had finished issuing orders for the day.

The blush that rose in Rachel’s cheeks was as scalding as her coffee. ‘Yes.’

‘I would have thought he’d have treated himself to a better car by now. When he settled the final bill here, he was telling me he had quite a bit of inheritance coming his way.’

‘He’s not going to waste it, Carol,’ Rachel said proudly. ‘In fact he’s going to invest his money in a new business venture.’

‘Ooh, that sounds interesting.’

There was a pause as Carol waited for further details but Rachel was feeling even more uncomfortable than she had earlier. Martin’s inheritance had indeed been substantial. His mum had died just over three months ago and up until that point they had kept their relationship at arm’s length, partly because Martin had been too preoccupied with his mum’s care and partly because he had been too shy to make the first move and Rachel was still convincing herself she wasn’t looking for love. It was only after his mum’s death that Martin had realised he wouldn’t have an excuse to see Rachel anymore and had plucked up the courage to ask her out and she had had the courage to accept. Not everyone, however, would see things that way, and Rachel worried that some would view her as a gold digger. ‘He’s still working on the plans,’ she said.

‘Well, I’m glad to see he’s factoring you into those plans,’ Carol said with a kind smile and a look that told Rachel that she shouldn’t always think the worst of people.

Rachel scraped her hair back into a ponytail as she headed upstairs. Her party frock had been replaced by a crisp cotton uniform, her heels by practical pumps and there was only a faint smudge of make-up on her lashes from the night before. The woman who had been courted by her attentive boyfriend had vanished, outwardly at least, and now the working mum took over. Her first job of the day was to check on Mrs Wilson, who was still refusing to leave her room. ‘I’m sure she thinks we run a hotel service here,’ Carol had complained but Rachel didn’t mind being given the task of looking after the retired headmistress. Mrs Wilson had eighty years’ worth of memories that Rachel would love to hear if only she could be persuaded to share.

‘Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?’ Rachel said, picking up the tray that Mrs Wilson had discarded in favour of her book.

‘Enough of that mush, yes,’ came a muttered reply.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. ‘Judging by the clothes hanging in the wardrobe, I’d say you’ve lost a fair bit of weight recently. If you’re so determined to get home then you’re going to have to do better than that.’

There was a sigh as Mrs Wilson put down her book. ‘The same could be said of your cooks.’

‘If you could make it down to the dining room, there’s a better selection. It’s not all mush,’ Rachel said, tipping her head towards the scrambled egg congealing on soggy, brown toast.

‘I think I’d rather have the mush, thanks.’

Rachel wasn’t going to be fobbed off for the second day in a row. ‘How about we try again to get you up and dressed?’ she said with an air of confidence that had nothing to do with Mrs Wilson and everything to do with Martin. He had spent the night telling Rachel how wonderful she was, how lucky he was to have her and how amazing their life together could be. She had woken up that morning believing him and, more importantly, believing in herself.

The steel in Mrs Wilson’s eyes seemed unyielding but then she said, ‘Oh, anything to shut you up.’

‘Another way to shut me up would be to talk to me. I’d love to hear about your family or all of those boisterous kids you taught over the years. Maybe you could give me some tips on how to keep my six-year-old in check.’

‘The best advice I can give is that, if you make a promise, keep it and if you make a threat, follow it through. Children like the reassurance of knowing what comes next even if they know they won’t like it.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Rachel said as she picked out a blue summer dress from the wardrobe and lifted it up for Mrs Wilson’s approval, but she was already nose deep in her book again. ‘Now, back to the promise you made to me.’

Mrs Wilson looked up. ‘Whatever you think,’ she said, wafting her hand dismissively.

This time, when she tried to return to her reading, Rachel stared at her with silent disapproval. Eventually the protest worked and Mrs Wilson lifted her head. ‘I’m not in the mood for talking but by all means carry on the conversation for both of us. Tell me about your date last night if you must.’

‘Ah, you were listening yesterday. Well, it went very well, thank you for asking,’ Rachel said, trying not to notice how Mrs Wilson’s eyes were already glazing over. ‘It was lovely having that much more time together. We’ve had a few dinner dates but normally we make do with meeting up at the end of my shift; we spend an hour together before I go to collect Hope from school, going to a cafe for a quick cup of coffee or the park to feed the ducks. Martin’s a software developer so his hours are quite flexible. He’s designing a new appointments system for a local dentist at the moment.’

‘How fascinating,’ Mrs Wilson said dryly, as Rachel helped her to the side of the bed so they could begin the complex manoeuvre of getting her dressed. Her legs, or at least the one that wasn’t encased in plaster, was scrawny and had a network of dark blue veins threaded beneath pale, almost translucent skin.

‘Okay, so it’s not exactly working for NASA but his mum has left him enough to set up his own business. In fact, we were up half the night talking about it. A friend of his has suggested they go into partnership together.’

Rachel was helping Mrs Wilson take off her nightdress and when her face re-emerged from the folds of cotton, her eyes had narrowed as if she was actually taking an interest in Rachel’s love life. ‘But you’re not happy about that, are you?’

‘Rob lives in Liverpool and from what Martin’s said, it would make more sense to set up there – and he wants me to go with him. I was playing with the idea of doing an accountancy course anyway, so he thinks I’d be perfect to do all the business admin … It’s just all so daunting.’ Rachel’s voice had trailed off and she had to clear her throat.

‘I thought you were a straight-A student?’

Rachel was shaking her head. ‘It’s not the training that worries me, it’s the whole new life Martin’s offering, especially while our relationship is still so new,’ she said, thinking of her mum’s cautionary advice rather than the web of dreams she and Martin had been spinning. ‘Three months is no time at all to get to know someone. I knew my last boyfriend, correction, my ex-fiancé for two years and he promised me the world too. It was no one’s fault when it didn’t work out, we just fell out of love, but if it can happen once it can happen again.’ There was a pause before Rachel was able to voice her biggest fear. ‘And I’ve yet to see how Martin copes with a ready-made family.’

‘If he has any sense he’ll realise how privileged he is,’ Mrs Wilson said.

‘I think he’ll make a good dad,’ Rachel said, as she tried to recapture some of the enthusiasm from the night before. ‘He was certainly a devoted son. He misses his mum of course, but he put his life on hold for such a long time. He’s twenty-nine now and has a lot of catching up to do. It’s such an exciting time for him and if his plans come off then it’ll be an amazing legacy for his mum to have left behind.’

The old lady’s eyes fixed on her. ‘Then I envy her.’

‘You can’t tell me you haven’t already made an impression on this world,’ Rachel said, slipping the blue dress over Mrs Wilson’s head.

‘I have a couple of nieces who will probably be grateful for the estate I’ll leave them but I can’t claim to have influenced their lives in any way.’

Rachel looked furtively at the family photograph on the windowsill, focusing on the faces of the two people who had not factored in the brief summation Mrs Wilson’s had given of her life. ‘The little boy, what happened to him?’

It wasn’t so much that Mrs Wilson froze but rather that time stopped as she too looked over at the photograph. When she drew her gaze away, she made sure the focus of the conversation changed. ‘I suppose there are people whose lives I’ve touched. All those boisterous schoolchildren you mentioned, but it’s not the same. Other than bumping into one or two on the high street occasionally, I wouldn’t know what became of any of them. Who’s to say they didn’t all throw away their education to spend their lives wiping the noses of silly old ladies like me?’ There was a look of reproach in her eyes as she held Rachel’s gaze.

‘Maybe that is my fate,’ Rachel replied, no longer buoyed by Martin’s enthusiasm but dragged down by yet another dose of reality. ‘I really do want to believe that I can make something of myself. It feels like Martin has entered my life at the right time, but what if it’s wishful thinking? What if moving to Liverpool is a step too far?’ She shook her head as if to free herself from a tangle of emotions. ‘At least it’s not a decision we have to take until next year, and who knows where we’ll all be by then?’

‘If there’s one thing you can’t take for granted, it’s the future,’ Mrs Wilson said. As she set about straightening her dress, her eyes swept across the room like a lighthouse beacon, lighting up briefly as she caught sight of the photograph on the windowsill, only to dim again as her gaze settled on the calendar hanging on the wall.

‘Once I’ve done your hair, how about we get you out of here?’ Rachel offered. ‘I could introduce you to some of the other residents if you like?’

Mrs Wilson was still staring at the calendar. ‘I don’t intend being around long enough to make new friends.’

Rachel took hold of the old lady’s hand which felt cold and papery, her grip tightening as if that alone could stop Mrs Wilson’s relentless withdrawal from life. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, you already have.’

There was the merest hint of a curve to Mrs Wilson’s mouth which Rachel took to be a smile. Taking a step back, Rachel waited for the old lady to fasten the buttons on her dress. She had to accept that Mrs Wilson was in control of her own destiny and she willed her to make the right choice.

‘I suppose I could take a look at that rose garden you’ve been droning on about,’ Mrs Wilson said.

2 (#ulink_428a5528-0df6-59d1-95a6-c9d0ec6c5c7f)

After being dropped off at Hope’s school, Rachel could hear an audible groan as Martin’s ancient Volvo turned the corner. When the car had disappeared out of sight, she felt her heart tug a little but then smiled. At some point in the last month their dreams had been transformed into an actual plan – perhaps not the definite, written-in-stone kind – but one that inexorably linked their lives together and that had been made apparent today when, without thinking, Martin had said, ‘when we’re married …’ They had both blushed and pretended not to notice but his words still rang in her ears like the peal of a church bell. Her smile broadened as she stepped through the school gates. It might be clichéd but she really did feel as if she was walking on air.

There were of course some major obstacles to overcome before their lives could be merged and their future assured. She still only got to see Martin for a snatched hour at the end of her shift and then one blissful night together each week. This week she had found a bright pink toothbrush waiting for her in his bathroom and a new red silk nightdress and dressing gown hanging on the bedroom door. It was certainly progress, but more dramatic changes were required and that notion filled her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation in equal measure.

Hope didn’t yet understand why her Mummy had changed her routine and had continued to complain, but in spite of the inevitable challenges Rachel’s new relationship would bring, they were heavily outweighed by the positives: that feeling of walking on air for one.

The school bell had already sounded by the time Rachel reached the playground but she didn’t panic. She had her routine planned to perfection and arrived in time to see the side door open and Hope’s teacher step out, eager to hand her excitable charges back to their parents. As she joined the throng, a couple of other mums smiled and Rachel did her best to pretend the grin on her face had been directed at them all along. Half a dozen children, laden with lunchboxes, school bags and precious works of art, were discharged before Mrs Carnegie looked over to Rachel. Rather than call Hope to the door, the teacher beckoned Rachel over. Like a naughty schoolgirl, she dropped her head as she approached, her cheeks flushed with guilt although she didn’t know what for.

‘Hope needed a little quiet time today,’ the teacher began in a hushed tone so they wouldn’t be overheard.

‘Oh,’ Rachel said in dismay. Hope had never been in trouble at school before but it was clear by the way Mrs Carnegie emphasised the words that ‘quiet time’ wasn’t a good thing.

‘Hopefully it was just a storm in a teacup, but she did become quite upset.’

‘I’ll have a word with her,’ Rachel said as, on cue, a small face peered around the door. Hope’s long lashes brushed against her cheeks as she fluttered her eyes at her mother. She was the picture of innocence but Rachel didn’t doubt for a moment that her daughter had heard the exchange between teacher and parent.

As they began the short walk home, Hope slipped her small hand into Rachel’s and began to skip.

‘So,’ Rachel said, ‘what have you been up to today?’

‘Michael Jones threw up after lunch. He went blurgh, all over the floor,’ Hope said dramatically, ‘and splashed Tasha’s shoes. It was disgusting!’

‘It sounds it.’

‘What are we having for tea? Can we have fish fingers and chips please, Mummy?’

‘I was going to make Spaghetti Bolognese as a surprise for Nana. It’s her favourite,’ Rachel said. She wanted to have a serious talk with her mum and although pasta wasn’t going to make what she had to say more palatable, it was worth a try.

‘Fish fingers are her favourite too,’ Hope told her helpfully.

The little girl was looking to her mum for a response but Rachel was momentarily distracted by the battered Volvo parked at the top of the road.

‘Martin?’ Rachel said, greeting him as if they were practical strangers.

He smiled softly and winked at her. ‘Fancy meeting you here. I was just on the phone to one of my clients,’ he said waving his mobile at her. ‘He was wondering where I’ve been for the last couple of hours when I was scheduled to be on site.’

‘Oh,’ she said, still none the wiser. Martin hadn’t objected to holding off from meeting her daughter until they were both sure of their feelings for each other, so she was at a loss to explain why he would contrive a meeting and there was no doubt in her mind it was contrived. Had his slip up today made him think again? Was he eager to meet the girl who might one day become his step-daughter? While those thoughts only fuelled Rachel’s excitement about the future, she needed more time to prepare Hope for a proper introduction. If Martin wanted a glimpse at the family he might one day inherit, it was going to be just that.

Hope pulled at Rachel’s hand as she stared at the man with neatly trimmed dark hair and hazel eyes which hadn’t left her mum’s face. ‘Sorry,’ Rachel said, ‘this is my daughter, Hope. Hope, say hello to Martin.’

‘Hello,’ she mumbled with another tug at her mum’s hand.

‘Hello, Hope. It’s nice to meet you. Have you had a good day at school?’

Hope shrugged.

‘What’s your teacher’s name?’

The little girl mumbled, ‘Mrs Carnegie,’ before turning to Rachel. ‘Can we go now, Mummy?’

‘In a minute,’ Rachel said a little too brightly. She was standing stock still, trying to disguise the fact that her daughter was dragging on her arm.

She had known Martin’s people skills weren’t the best but it looked as if children would be a new challenge entirely. He appeared even more nervous than Hope. ‘What’s your favourite subject?’ he tried again. ‘Mine was chemistry.’

Silence.

Rachel gave Martin a smile of encouragement which he latched onto like a life buoy. ‘I suppose I’d better get going but I’ll see you again soon. Both of you,’ he added, more as an afterthought.

After watching Martin’s car recede into the distance for the second time that day, Rachel no longer felt as if she was walking on air but wading through a mire.

‘You shouldn’t talk to strangers,’ Hope said.

‘Martin isn’t a stranger, sweetheart. He’s a very nice man.’

‘Nope,’ the little girl corrected, ‘he’s a bad man.’

‘Hope, that’s not a very nice thing to say!’ Rachel said, only just stopping herself from saying more. She didn’t want to open up a discussion about what the future might hold and the role Martin might play, and so they carried on their journey in silence.

After a few minutes, they crossed over Sedgefield High Street and slipped down a side road crowded with redbrick terraced houses, one of which was where they lived with Rachel’s mum. It had tiny gardens front and back which were pretty enough but offered little appeal to a child growing up – Rachel could testify to that. She wanted more for Hope; a family home with large rooms and a garden big enough for a little girl to roam free. But after her daughter’s recent encounter with the man who could provide that perfect life, Rachel was only too aware that those dreams weren’t yet within touching distance.

Standing at the garden gate, Rachel brought her thoughts back to the realities of the present. ‘Did anything else happen today? Anything that Mrs Carnegie might want you to talk to me about?’ She swept a hand over her little girl’s glossy brown hair before cupping her chin and turning her face upwards. ‘What happened, sweetheart?’

‘We were colouring in numbers and there were no green crayons on our table. The Red Table were using them all and they wouldn’t share.’

‘And?’

‘I tried to tell them that I needed it for my number eight but they still wouldn’t let me have one,’ Hope said. ‘And then Mrs Carnegie said I didn’t have to use green!’ Hope’s chin pushed against Rachel’s hand as she tried to lower her head, only managing to lower her voice. ‘I don’t think she knows what she’s talking about.’