Discarded M. Hunter (the snowy day read aloud TXT) 📖

day. She’s just woken from her nap and she’s asking for you directly. I appreciate it’s short notice, but if you’re close by do you think you could come up here?’

I picture Rick’s face when he reads a message from me asking for a raincheck, but what choice do I have? She’s my mum, and she needs me more.

Chapter Forty-Two Now

Weymouth, Dorset

Rick said he understands my need to see Mum, but I could hear the hurt in his voice when I phoned to explain that I needed to postpone our date. He told me not to worry and that he could easily switch the reservation to tomorrow, but it hasn’t helped alleviate my guilt. Here’s this guy desperate to impress me and I seemingly keep finding excuses to keep him at a distance. Maybe I’m just not the loving kind; or maybe – like Jack – I’m not ready to welcome love into my life while all this is hanging over me.

Rachel and Daniella debunked to the nearest hotel with a vacancy and I’ve agreed to meet up with them after my visit to the home, if time allows, or for brunch tomorrow otherwise. I do so desperately want to celebrate their engagement but I’m sure they can find plenty of other things to do without me crashing their celebration. I’ve never so much as been a bridesmaid, so I will have to read up on what is expected of the bride’s maid of honour. They haven’t set a date yet, so I have plenty of time to educate myself and it will serve as a welcome distraction from everything else.

These thoughts play in my mind as I make the journey to the home on foot once again. It’s only when I see the old building and the wrought-iron gates at the top of the road that I start to feel positive about the journey. Pam was adamant that Mum is in a much better place today and I don’t know how many more days like this the future has in store, so I need to grasp it with all my might.

Part of me is tempted to video the visit for posterity, but I think it would make Mum feel weird having a camera pointed at her. She was never much one for posing when I was growing up; in fact, we weren’t much of a family for photographs at all. There are two albums in her room at the home, and from what I can tell she and Dad rarely took more than a couple of pictures of us as a family when we did go on holiday. After Anna’s disappearance we barely left Portland, so the few photographs there are of me between ages seven and my graduation day were taken by me and my friends.

Visiting hours at the home are usually restricted to between meal times so that the nurses can maintain a routine with the residents. I’m assuming Pam’s invitation so late in the afternoon is an exception to the rule. I explain why I’m there as I sign in, and the bored-looking girl behind the desk tells me Mum is eating supper in her room and is expecting me. She’s less sullen than she was on Sunday and there is no sign of a sudoku book this time. I thank her and hurry along the corridor, knock twice, and open the door to Mum’s room.

She is sitting at the small round table, eagerly eating sausages, mash, and gravy. She leaps up with excitement as she sees me enter and shuffles over, putting her hands on my upper arms.

‘Ah, there you are, Emma. I had hoped to have finished supper before you arrived, but I still have a few mouthfuls left. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? I can ask one of the nurses to bring you a drink.’

This is the most coherent and welcoming I’ve seen her in I don’t know how long. Even before the specialist suggested the round-the-clock care offered by the home, I can’t remember when she seemed so pleased to see me. If I could bottle a moment, this would be it.

‘Tea would be lovely, Mum, thanks.’

She leans in conspiratorially and nudges me with her elbow. ‘I can ask if there’s any bangers and mash going spare too, if you fancy?’ She adds a wink at the end.

‘That’s very kind,’ I say with a smile, ‘but just the tea will be fine.’

She ushers me to sit in the remaining chair at the table then scurries to the door, opens it, and attracts a passing nurse’s attention, before returning. ‘Do you mind if I finish? I’d hate for it to get cold.’

‘No, please finish your dinner. I don’t want to intrude.’

She picks up her knife and fork. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on in your life while I eat? Have you got any new books due out soon? Pam was telling me you’re quite the success story these days.’

I don’t know how to answer that. Usually when I’m here she doesn’t even recognise me, let alone recall my writing career. I try to tell her about some of the success, but it always feels like it falls on deaf ears, and I don’t like to boast.

‘Well, I don’t know where to begin. The hardback version of Isolated came out recently, and I was signing copies of it at the Waterstones in town on Sunday. My next book is waiting to be reviewed by my agent and then it’ll be sent to my publishers, and is shelved for release before the end of the year. I’m keeping busy in between times, helping the police with cases involving missing children and we’ve had a couple of big successes, but I’m not allowed to share too much about all that as it’s top secret.’

I could easily tell her about Faye and Cormack and Tomlinson’s involvement as she’ll probably forget most of it by the time