Take Me Home to Kelsea Sands (Skelsea Cross #1)

Chapter 1

‘Well, Alison,’ the nurse said cheerfully, ‘your blood pressure’s definitely up since your last health check. We’re going to have to do something about that, aren’t we?’

She released the pressure from the arm cuff and Alison slumped in the chair, relieved that it was over even if the results weren’t what she’d hoped. She hated having her blood pressure monitored.

‘It makes me feel a bit queasy,’ she told the nurse. ‘That horrible tightening on my arm is so uncomfortable. You know, I’m pretty sure it’s that which sends my blood pressure soaring. Bet it’s much lower really.’

‘Yes, a lot of people say that,’ the nurse replied. ‘White coat syndrome. Isn’t it funny?’

Hilarious.

‘Well, that’s you done for today, my love.

If you give us a ring in a few days, we’ll have the results of your blood tests for you and let you know if you need an appointment.

Have you still got your own BP machine at home?

’ As Alison nodded, she said, ‘Smashing. Well, in the meantime, can you monitor your blood pressure for us over the next four days and let us know the readings? Then we’ll discuss whether you need your medication increasing. Okay?’

It wasn’t really a question. Alison was dismissed. She nodded her thanks and stumbled out of the consulting room feeling as deflated as the cuff that now lay, harmless-looking, on the nurse’s desk. You’d never believe it could grip with such ferocity. Bloody thing.

She gave a half-hearted smile to the receptionist then hurried out of the building, eager to get as far away from the place as possible. She dreaded visiting the surgery. Doctors and nurses and monitors and tests…

Unfortunately, it was January, which meant it was her birthday month and time for her annual health check.

She’d skipped it last year and had hoped she could get away with it this year, too, but there’d been a few text messages from the surgery, and even the chemist had pointed out to her that there was a note on her prescription saying she needed to book an appointment before she could get any more blood pressure tablets.

There had been no escape.

At least it was over with now, she thought, as she unlocked the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, glad to get out of the drizzle that had persisted all afternoon.

Slamming the door shut, she took a deep breath and leaned back against the headrest for a moment, closing her eyes as she tried to still the panic.

‘It’s done,’ she murmured. ‘The worst bit’s over with now.’

Except she knew that wasn’t true because she still had to take her own blood pressure for four days and it was an ordeal she really wasn’t looking forward to. And then there was the waiting for the blood test results.

‘Don’t think about it now,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on, let’s go home. I’ll treat you to a posh coffee and a slice of that Victoria sponge.’

She wondered vaguely if anyone else had conversations out loud with themselves. Maybe it was just her. One thing to talk to yourself in your mind, but to say it out loud?

‘I think you might be a bit daft,’ she told her reflection in the rear-view mirror as she wrestled with the seat belt.

‘Hey, me too!’ it replied.

She shook her head, laughing, and started the car.

At least she had the whole evening to herself tonight. No late shift at the petrol station. No babysitting duties. Just the latest episode of her favourite soap and a few chapters of the book she’d been trying to read for the last three weeks.

‘And a bath,’ she decided, as she navigated her way out of the car park and on to the main road. ‘Not a shower. A nice long soak in the tub, with my posh bubble bath, and maybe even candles.’

She knew it would never happen. She’d seen it in the films but had never actually had a soak with candles around the bath in her life and probably wouldn’t start now. Besides, her hair really needed washing, and a shower was so much quicker…

The drive home took forever. Rush hour, with the world and its wife making their way home after a hard day’s graft. She’d managed to leave work a couple of hours early so she could go to the doctor’s but had forgotten about the busy main roads through Hull at teatime.

She finally pulled up outside her house thirty-five minutes after leaving the surgery on what should have been a ten-minute drive. She was feeling frazzled and anxious and had no doubt that her blood pressure had just climbed to even greater heights.

‘Why are some drivers such morons?’ she wondered aloud as she unclipped her seat belt, reached for her bag and finally stepped out on to the pavement.

‘There you are, stranger! Thought you were never coming home.’

For a split-second Alison thought the voice was her daughter’s and her heart sank, but it was only Rosie, sitting on the doorstep, the light from the wall lamp revealing her beaming face as Alison moved closer.

God, she thought, what an awful way to feel about my own daughter! I’m a horrible person, I really am.

‘What are you doing here?’ She couldn’t help smiling as her cousin jumped to her feet. It was hard not to smile when Rosie was around.

‘I’ve been sat on your doorstep for bloody ages,’ Rosie told her. She peered round at her behind and said, ‘Is my arse wet? Just have a look for us, will you?’

She spun round so Alison could check the back of her jeans.

‘No, you’re fine,’ Alison reassured her, resisting the urge to correct Rosie’s grammar and tell her she’d actually been sitting on the doorstep.

All those years of teaching, she supposed.

Hard habit to break but not a very likeable one, especially as she hardly spoke with perfect grammar herself, despite her writing skills.

She unlocked the front door and switched on the hallway light.

‘Go on in. I’ll put the kettle on. You still haven’t said why you’re here. ’

‘Well, why do you think?’ Rosie held up a carrier bag and shook it. ‘Your birthday cards! Belated happy birthday, Ali!’

Alison paused in the act of hanging up her coat and stared at her. ‘You never came all this way just to bring me those!’

‘What else was I supposed to do? We felt awful. We thought you’d be at your mam and dad’s last weekend, so we all left your cards there, and then you didn’t turn up, so…

Hey, you’ve got pressies too. There’s even one in there from Mam and Dad.

Mind you, I wouldn’t like to guess what it is. You know what Mam’s like.’

She grinned and Alison grinned back. She adored her cousin and always felt cheerier in her presence.

At forty-three, Rosie was nineteen years younger than Alison, and was a lively, bubbly woman with a glorious mop of thick, wavy strawberry-blonde hair that tumbled over her shoulders, and large, heavily made-up blue eyes that usually twinkled with humour.

Despite the weather she was wearing tight jeans, trendy trainers and a denim jacket.

Alison, whose own fine light-brown hair wouldn’t know what a wave was, usually kept her style simple by putting it in a ponytail or a bun, and her eyes, although blue like most of her family’s, were pale like her dad’s and uncle’s, rather than the vibrant blue Rosie and her brother boasted.

At five foot three she was an inch taller than Rosie, but while the younger woman’s curves were in proportion, Alison was most definitely pear-shaped.

Her flat chest and broad hips had been the bane of her life.

In short, Alison had every reason to envy her cousin but didn’t. She couldn’t muster a single negative thought about her.

When Rosie was born Alison had been at university, though still living at home, and she’d been all too keen to babysit for extra money.

She’d watched her cousin grow up, and for most of the time she’d been fond of her – apart from the tricky teenage years when Rosie had really got on Alison’s nerves for a while.

When Alison became a mum herself, it was Rosie’s turn to babysit as soon as she was old enough.

Alison would get home from wherever she’d been – usually with her husband, Drew – and while he’d wander into the living room to give them space, she’d sit in the kitchen and listen to Rosie’s latest news, her joys, her woes, her worries and secrets.

And Alison began confiding in Rosie, too, and discovered her cousin had become a good listener.

Over the years, Alison had come to feel that Rosie was the sister she would have loved to have. Having her as a cousin was the second-best thing.

Impulsively she threw her arms around Rosie and hugged her.

Rosie blinked. ‘Bloody hell, what’s up with you?’

‘I’ve missed you, and it’s so good of you to come all this way to bring my birthday cards.’

‘I’m a saint, me.’ Rosie gave her a worried look. ‘Are you okay, Ali?’

‘Yeah, of course.’ Alison hurried through to the kitchen where she immediately flicked the light and the kettle on and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. ‘Isn’t the weather miserable? Bloody drizzle all afternoon. Sick to death of grey skies, aren’t you?’

‘Well, you can’t expect anything else in January,’ Rosie pointed out, sitting at the table. ‘Never sunbathed in the New Year in my life. Ooh, your kitchen’s lovely and warm.’ She gazed around, an appreciative look on her face. ‘I do love your house.’

‘Are you still at your mam and dad’s or have you gone back to the caravan?’ Alison queried.

‘Still at Mam and Dad’s.’ Rosie wrinkled her nose. ‘Park doesn’t open again until 1 February. Bit of a pain but there you go.’

‘Oh, of course. I don’t know how you cope in a caravan through the winter,’ Alison said, shivering at the thought of it.

‘You know, I’ve offered before but I’ll say it again.

I’ve got a spare room. You can always come and live here with me, you know.

I’m sure you could get a job locally. You’d be very welcome. ’